Guapa Lady.....

          We have neighbors as everyone does. This is an area that actually acts like a neighborhood. People talk to each other. They even say, "Hi!" or stop to chat in town, in the market, etc. The last actions seem almost unthinkable or at least things to be dreaded in many of the places I have lived. I for one, enjoy it. I also dread it.
          Most often I actually look forward to it. I like people. I want to practice Spanish. I really adore my boyfriend's family (they are in this neck of the woods as well), and honestly, I'm nosey. I admit it. People fascinate me. I can hear 10 different versions of the same story and be equally intrigued, more so even. What?
          The occasions I hope to avoid are few. But they happen. One: if in a contemplative mood, I might just want to enjoy my thoughts whether it's my trip to the market or at home. Two: if I am stressed and/or in a hurry, I generally don't see anyone nor do I necessarily want to. Then I feel horribly rude when someone says something RIGHT as I pass by (and usually scares the crap out of me!). A close knit community has it's ups and downs like anything else. 
          Still, I enjoy my new stomping grounds and the people in it. Everyone with their own definite personality. That brings me to the point. There is one particular neighbor we have, Guapa Lady. I have two reasons for calling her this. First, I don't know her name. Second, she always calls me or someone else gaupa or guapo. Always. Repeatedly. 
          She invariably has a smile on her face when she greets you. Once the chatting begins, her intermittent laughter follows without fail. And of course she must call you guapa (or guapo) at least five times within every ten minute interval. Let's not forget that she will also refer to either your love, a family member, a friend of yours, or all of them as guapa as well. At least a few times. She is truly sweet. She hugs. She kisses. She leans in really close and then laughs herself to a normal distance away. But if you think she will talk herself out... you must be deluded. The woman can talk. And enjoys it. And frankly, I enjoy her enjoying it!
          Today, I was waiting outside for a potential student. This is not my normal habit, but as I am so absolutely horrible with Spanish on the phone I made a quick decision. I said I would wait outside. Low and behold, who walked by while I was lazily taking in the sun waiting for my student? Guapa Lady. 
          So, as I am sure you can imagine we started to chat. And chat. Finally two guys came and rang the bell next door, but I heard my name. I told Guapa Lady that these were the students I was waiting for. "Okay okay," was her reply, along with a pat on the arm.
          I went over and introduced myself, only to find Guapa Lady right behind me. True. She started talking to them, asking them what they wanted. Making jokes about the hairstyle that one of them had. Calling me guapa, but not to think anything because I have a boyfriend. He's guapo too. I just kept thinking, "Crap, I am not going to get the job!" Finally, she left as her husband made it known that he was still waiting for her (30 minutes later). The two guys (student and friend/translator) and I went next to the building to discuss the details of class; level of English, hours, days, etc.
          Before I could even say, "How many hours do you want?" Guapa Lady was already back. I didn't even see her coming, which is shocking really. My guess, she doesn't actually touch the ground when she walks. She started chatting again. The same, his hair, all of us were guapa, me especially, and let's not forget my boyfriend and that I'm taken (at one point the student did reply that he had a muy guapa girlfriend also!). Luckily these guys were laughing with her, and were quite engaged in the conversation. I felt like I was in one of those embarrassing family situations you just can't get out of. Weird right?
          The topics changed from her granddaughter and language, to hair again, and guapaness again. Finally after one last heads up from her hubby and a sweet compliment from my potential student (that I could swear put a bounce in her step), she was off. Talking as she went.
           In my head, all I could think was, "ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" But she was so charming, and so nice. Apparently, not I am not just living in a neighborhood. I am not just idly watching the folks talking and connecting with each other in that special way that only an openhearted community brought together by sheer proximity can do. Now I am a part of that clan. I am still on the fringe and possibly always will be. Even so, it's pretty neat. My hat's off to you, Guapa Lady.

kimbersfrog


    Definition: guapa/guapo- cute, pretty, handsome 
                                             (a man is guapo; a woman is guapa)
                      muy- very
                         

White Christmas?

           As a kid, every year I went to bed on Christmas Eve hoping for snow. I used to wish so hard, I almost believed that I could will it to happen. Almost. As you can imagine, I had to split my wishes. Seriously, there was also the hope and excitement of  "mistakenly" seeing Santa, whilst going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. What?? It was worth the risk of no presents. I would rather have met Santa than gotten presents. Good thing I didn't tell my mom that, she might have called. That's right, she has a direct line! Heh, heh.
          Sliding back to snow. I would wake up, early, (duh) and before I even left my room, I would check for snow. Apparently I've always been a little 'hallmark'. Deal with it. I did this even if there was already snow on the ground Christmas Eve. I had to know if there was snow over night. I think it was more important than knowing if he ate the cookies, drank the milk, and gave the carrots to the deer. Don't get me wrong... had he not eaten, drank, and fed the deer, I probably would have been very worried about him, if not a little mad. Just sayin'.
           My Christmas' have always been good. I've been lucky. I love my family and I enjoy being with them at Christmastime. I know not everyone is technically family there, but to me everyone I see is my family. As the day goes on, more and more people come. And more and more dogs. Sometimes a new member is brought in- you know the new special someone in life. That is ALWAYS fun! Possibly not for him or her, but for the rest of us, it's great! Heh, heh. 
          My favourite parts are the stockings, watching other people open their gifts, and end of the night. Oh yeah... and the mashed potatoes with gravy. Best ever. The stockings are extra personal and in some ways especially thoughtful. Right, and often funny. The expressions on everyone's faces when they open their gifts are wonderful and candid. And the party after dinner, is relaxed, and full of the spirit of Santa.... he must leave some magic dust around. The magic that creates the mashed potatoes and gravy is purely mom's and dad's. Thanks guys. Still, with all this.... I always want snow. Why? 
           Is it possible I have some weird perversion for snow? Yes. But I don't think so. I am not upset if it doesn't snow. I am just extra excited if it does (that is not what I meant... I'm talking about snow people!). That is why this year I am a little disheartened that there is  scarce chance of snow here. I am in Spain. Not only is it not snowing in the Pyrenees, but I'm in Barcelona, by the beach. Not going to happen. Yet, I keep having a dream that I wake up Christmas morning and low and behold, there is snow on the beach! Now, I am a realist, but I gladly and sadly am also a dreamer. So, I know it will not snow. Nevertheless I hold on to the smallest teeniest weeniest ounce of hope that I can manage. Please, let some freak of nature make it snow. Or an unnatural, whimsical storm might work.
          This Christmas will be decidedly strange for me. I only want three very basic things for Christmas: snow, skype to work, and to magically be able to communicate brilliantly with my boyfriend's family (at least for the day). Too much? Possibly. Well, here's to hoping. The snow alone might make my day.
          So to everyone this holiday season... whether you celebrate Christmas or not, if you are an X-mas hater or lover, or if you just don't care one way or the other.... have some good times during the season. And may your wishes come true. Hopefully, you may have some laughs along the way.


kimbersfrog

Es lo que hay....

          Loosely translated: "It is what it is." I've learned many Spanish words since I have been here (and forgotten many). I have learned a lot of grammar (not that it is always evident in my speech, but no one's perfect). I have also learned quite a few expressions.
          Idioms are fun. They are interesting. I even get a little excited when I learn them (yes I know I'm a dork). I try to think of different situations I could use them in. Then I hope that a circumstance will properly present itself in which I can throw my freshly learned rhetoric into the conversation virtually unnoticed. 
          Ohhhh yes, if I do it right, no one will even notice. On the other hand, if I do it wrong, I could insult people. No, since it's me we're talking about here, I could probably inadvertently shame, abuse, snub, taunt, or proposition someone. Or even a group. Yeah, that's what she said! 
          The thing about colloquialisms is if you have the connotation just a hair off it can make a world of difference. Think about it. Let's say you just throw, "we're all in the same boat" into a conversation without a full grasp of its meaning. If you really were in the same general circumstances, then you just got lucky. Everyone is happy (well, no one's upset with you). But what if you had no hurdles to bear (you're "sittin' pretty" as it were), whilst everyone else you were talking to did? Maybe you understood the basic idea of the phrase, but thought it was more of a thing to say to empathize and let people know you were there for them. Your meaning is still good natured. However you would come off as an ass.
          This I worry about. Regularly.
          Lucky for me, along with my fear and moments of freezing (becoming mute suddenly- it's lovely, really), also comes that wonderful ability to embarrass myself with reckless abandon! This can actually help me. I'll say it again, lucky me! The muscles from my face down to my toes work with and against each other with a force I could never muster on purpose (I am sure it's attractive, not!). My body has the ability to express what is lacking in my Spanberish (heh,heh).
          So in addition to learning vocabulary, verb tenses, and grammar (which my brain insists on twisting like tape balls), I am learning little phrases here and there. The type that people use on a regular basis. The same way we use, "Of course," or "Seriously?" or "Gimme a break!" and so on. There are some things we say that are also said here. Love that!!! But there are other things that are so much a part of my suitcase full of expressions I don't know exactly what to say instead. Despite this, I press on. Heh, heh.
          Unfortunately once I find one that is so wonderful and perfect that I can't wait to use it..... I find I never have a chance to. I don't know why. It just seems to be my luck. I rarely have the chance to go hog wild and blurt out one of those bad babies! Heh, heh. One day. That's what I keep telling myself. One day.
          I believe I should just start saying them to myself while I am cleaning, shopping, cooking and the like. I've already started with 'joder' (under my breath of course, heh,heh). I need to get used to saying things like, "Por supuesto," or "En serio?!" and so on. For the moment, I keep studying, and am trying to fit these phrases into my Spanish thoughts (when I have them- which is freakishly often). And all I can say about my slow learning curve, embarrassing expressions, dorky enjoyment of language, and awkwardness here in general.... is: es lo que hay. My new favourite expression!

kimbersfrog




  

The germ freak inside....

          I should begin with a brief history. My father comes from a family that implanted the fear of germs into their heads. If this is what you grow up with, many things can seem gross and washing your hands a lot might be the least of your cleaning issues. My mother on the other hand, came from a household of the opposite mind.
          The example that best describes it is this: Whilst my mother finished up her last semester in college, my father lived with her parents. He really didn't want my grandmother making him lunch everyday (even if he couldn't cook a bit), because she and my grandfather were being so good to him. So at some point in the first two weeks he decided it was time to start making some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Oooo yeah! This my friends is quite a sacrifice, I will tell you. However this is not about my dad being a fair man. He got all the ingredients (so many there were, heh), but could not find the jelly. He asked my grandmother. She grabbed it out of the fridge. He opened it and at once noticed the mold. Almost as soon as he started the sentence ("Ummmm, there's some mold on this..."), my grandmother grabbed the jar. She said, "Let me see that." Then she got a knife, scraped it out, and promptly handed it back to him, saying, "There you go, good as new!" My father left horrified with nothing to do but eat it out of pure politeness. And probably avoid all peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in that house for a while.
          All my life I have had a mix of these two things. It is a good balance. I have however not gone untouched by the 'germ crazy'. I am definitely not a moldy food eater. It is a categorical fact that I wash my hands much too often. And what goes on in my head concerning germs is the most embarrassing and ridiculous germ crazy of all. That is what this is about.
          I was with my boyfriend on the beach the other night taking photos. I decided just to enjoy the fresh air, the sound of the waves, and watching his cute ass take photos from time to time (instead of taking any photos of my own). We did have to find a good spot to put his camera on first. He was playing with light and time for these specific photos. From this spot though what he would really need is a tripod. Neither of us has one. What he decided on was a garbage can. Great.
          He has no germs issues. In fact, when I am out and about and can not wash my hands, I don't worry about germs either. Okay it might cross my mind, but then it's gone. I think that's just a survival skill I've learned over years of public transport, planes, just living life. But then as I watched him set up my attention was monopolized, not by the sea, the sand or even his cute patootie.... but by the garbage can and the amount of it that was coming in contact with my boyfriend's clothes and hands. It's making me cringe now... a week later. Eeeek.
          I tried (repeatedly) to reason with myself. It's okay. No problem. I'm not touching it. But the other thoughts came in. And these thoughts are the killers. I can't even believe I'm sharing them. They go as follows..... 
           He will sit on the couch when we get home at some point. The couch I share with him. Will he wash his hands before making dinner? Is he going to touch my face when he kisses me? When he hugs me all my clothes will get garbageness on them. And so on.
           A bit irrational? Yes. Extreme? I would say so. So I kept telling myself, 'Just don't say anything when you get inside. Get over it . 'Noooo, problem. Right? All I had to do was use the tried and true method of mind over matter.... right? Right. 
          Is this what I did? Well, I tried. Vigorously. In my mind. But the nagging, no, gnawing, growing stress of the gross out factor and spreading of the germs all over the house overwhelmed me.
          I think what pushed me over the edge was when my sweet boyfriend came over and gave me a hug and kiss (with hands on face, by the way). What's worse, he was making sure I wasn't bored or too alone. He was being thoughtful and loving. I knew that. Nevertheless, all I could think about was the germs. Clearly I have a problem.
          Sadly, I didn't even make it the 2 minute walk home before I told him to make sure to wash his hands before making dinner. I did point out that I knew I was nuts. He agreed. I changed my outer layer of clothes when we got home. Luckily he did too, he favors pajamas at night... YAY for me! (Was that too enthusiastic?)
          My point? I don't remember. However, if you have anything strange and pervasive that invades your thoughts.... work on it. I'm still trying. Still I do think I will forever avoid moldy food. Just sayin'.

kimbersfrog
          

         
         

Cuddling- what you don't see in the movies....

          There are so many things that happen in relationships. The good, the bad, the sex (heh,heh) and the funny! The funny is what I'm talking about today. Oh, don't winge about it, I know you were hoping for the sex!
          If any of you out there watch cheesy movies (or have been forced to by your significant others), you have seen many cuddly moments. Cuddle moments are sweet. Both people look happy. They look completely comfortable, in all ways. There have been times that I secretly and embarrassingly have hoped for moments like these. Shut it!
          The things I never noticed until recently, is that no one ever talks about that part of their relationship. Maybe they don't think it's funny. I however do. Shocker. I recently have experienced a few of these moments. I would like to share.
          First I will go with spooning. As wonderful as spooning is for a short time, it can be uncomfortable for a longer period of time. That is not the funny part. There are several things that can become unseemly during this special time. And they have!
          One: If the person being spooned (the inside) farts. It was a surprise fart, what could I do? 
          Two: If the spooner (person in back) sweetly puts his arm around you and rests his hand on your stomach, you should be sure you don't have indigestion. The sounds your stomach were making (that you were hoping he wouldn't notice), now they are definitely noticed. And felt.
           Now I will move away from the bed. Cuddling on the couch whilst reading or watching t.v. seems so lovely doesn't it? But before we even worry about comfort, let's think about logistics. We have hurdles to cross.
           We have the length and width of the couch to contend with. Is there an ottoman, coffee table, two small tables, or nothing in front of the couch? Or are there only two love seats? As I cannot speak for anyone else I will just speak for me. I will also make this the last example, because it should be the focus. It's awesome.
           Our couch is of average length but very wide (which I very much enjoy). We have two small tables in front of the couch. That is the set up. The odd part is that although the couch is average length, it only has two cushions. If either of us want to sit straight up we need to sit smack in the middle of a cushion. If we don't mind sitting on an angle, slowly sliding into the crack.... well then we can sit closer to the other person.
          Sometimes I sit a little closer. And as a result crooked. I have done this more recently as it has gotten chillier and sharing body heat is always nice (for many reasons, heh). A week or so ago, I decided to put my head on my sexy man's lap. It just seemed natural. And honestly, my arm was in danger of falling asleep, in addition to a small pain in my cheek from lovingly leaning on his shoulder. (I am also pretty sure he was not overly comfortable in that position either, but was too nice to say so.)
          So there my head lays. His hand naturally resting alternately on my head and waist, gently. Just like a movie. Humffff. Then it started. Apparently his stomach makes noises like mine does when spooning. The big difference being that when your ear is right up against it, it is as if you are listening with your ear attached to a giant speaker. Vibrations and everything. I stuck with it though, his hand on my waist was so sweet . Then I noticed something else.
          First I noticed he was shifting a little here and there as if my head might have the weight of the entire earth to it. It's possible I come from a large headed family. Or maybe just one piece of my head was pointy and stabbing his leg. Or possibly my head was heating his nether regions to point in which he felt like they had been stuck in a sauna- but not in a good way. I have no way of knowing. Also I realized I could only see the edges of the t.v. screen and two feet. I like my boyfriend's feet don't get me wrong, but I need the English subtitles when I can't understand something that is said in Spanish. This occurs about half the time now. Sad but true.
          So there you have it. The unfortunate drawbacks of cuddling. There are so many more, yet I am sure to try again in different ways. And there are some cuddling moments that have been perfect. They however are not at all funny, but sweet, personal and comfortable. I am sure some of you can relate. If you would like to share, I would truly enjoy a story or two, if not I hope you get a laugh from mine!

kimbersfrog


   I must apologize for my lack of writing.... I am working on my new schedule.... be patient. Please.

It's not all bad....

          Truly. It's not. Good things remain even when you're flat broke. Everyone is a heartbeat away from being worse off than they currently are. What? Am I wrong? Well, then, shut it! Heh, heh. The trick is to look at the good things. Search them out if you must. I heard they like to hide (or so it seems).
          I, in no way, am implying that anyone should ignore the problems at hand. But I do believe that sometimes if we notice the good things we have, it makes it a lot easier to cope with the giant landfill of problems we have awaiting us... RIGHT NOW!
          I try not just to notice the good things, but really feel them. Otherwise they are just 'nice'. Not helpful. And by the way, this is not easy. A long time ago, I decided I did not like feeling depressed, and slowly I learned how to drag myself out of it, or keep myself from falling into it (depending on when I noticed, I am not always quick nor am I perfect. Surprised you right?!). I wish I could say there was an easy formula, and that it worked every time for everybody. But one, that would be a bold face lie (however if you believed me, I have a bridge to sell you.....). Two, everyone is different so it would have to change a little or a lot for everyone. For some, what works for me would be the antithesis of what would work for them. Three, even if it usually works, it won't always. We are human. I am human. But hey, if you come up with a cure all- call me, maybe I'll buy your bridge!
          I have veered slightly, so let me get back on track. Being strapped for cash is not fun. True enough. Especially when the economy is having a big ass snort laugh right in your face. Just sayin'. It's harder yet when there are two of you to worry about. I won't get into all the different worries, but there are many. And yes it makes everything hard. And the ease in which anyone could fall emotionally into oblivion is astounding. Almost tempting for some.
          However, some of these worries I have been through before. Those, for me, are the easy ones (well, at least as painless as baking brownies in an easy bake oven! hee,hee). Those are the ones I know how to navigate. The others not so much. Luckily some of the others can be put at bay. Not all though. And I am not an island. Now I worry about not just me and my situation, but also my man and our situation. It matters not that he is a grown man and can handle himself. We are a team, and I have his back. And he's got mine.
          Consequently, one of my coping skills is noticing those small things. You know what I mean, the sound of the ocean against the rocks at night once the traffic has stopped. The small moment of sun on a stormy day. Siestas!!!! Amazing home cooked meals (okay, my boyfriend is a magician in the kitchen), and home cooked meals can taste wonderful AND save money. Bonus! Even the things as small as being able to wear the pair of socks I really want to wear on the day I want to wear them (as opposed to having to wait a day because they are dirty). What I love socks!
          Yes, some of these sound cheesy. And some sound silly. Even so, they are all true. I could name many more but to do so would be pointless. Everyone has their own. I will say however that one of my favourites is the way my boyfriend makes me laugh. Yeah, yeah.... I am not looking for a sigh or smile here, it's just what works for me.
          And remember, your situation, mine, everyone's..... can always be worse than it is now. So freakin' enjoy what you can while it lasts! Sorry, had to do it.

Laugh, love, and smile damn it!

kimbersfrog 

There are times, that I am inappropriate.....

         Yes at times I can be, well a little inappropriate. And that, my friends might be an understatement. Don't get me wrong, I can be very polite even charming at times (although usually through humour or awkwardness). And there are plenty of occasions in which I am correctly connected to the situation I am in (I know it's shocking!). Those of you who know me can probably agree. Or not.
          I am only going to write about one of these improper behaviours. It follows me to this day. When I am with my family, it seems to work out just fine, because they are equally inept at controlling themselves in these situations. However, placing a friend in a situation like this with me, is not a good thing. Even, if I warn them ahead of time. The end result is generally a promise to never return with me again. Fair enough.
           I will start at the beginning. When my sister and I were young we periodically visited my father's mother on our own. Only a few times. On those occasions, she brought us to church. I was 5, my sister was about 3 and 1/2. And we didn't know anything about church at the time.
          We were asked to pretend we were singing and to be very quite. We tried. We were actually fairly successful. However a lot of nudging went on about those fruit basket hats the women were wearing. I mean really, how a hat that nests a bunch of plastic fruit (that by the way appears to be old dried or dead fruit) in it equals their love of god and all things sacred, I will never know. But back then, all I thought was they looked funny. My sister too.
          We were however, very quietly giggling and nudging each other. We really didn't want to make my grandmother angry. That was never a good thing. We managed quite well, until the singing started. Then everybody got up and then down on their knees. And again. And again. All throughout the song. Many of you know what I am talking about. As a kid, who had no idea what it was about, nor anyone who would explain it... well, we thought it was hysterical. All those weird hats, voices singing that were bad, good and all over the place, creaking chairs and weird ups and downs.... it was too much for us. Needless to say, we were reprimanded.
          Flash forward. I am an adult now. I had no idea I have a problem. I don't think it even crossed my mind that I would giggle. Really, being a child giggling uncontrollably in church due to lack of understanding is completely acceptable. Why would I ever think it would happen as an adult?
           I will skip all the little ones that are not as entertaining. The brief episodes of stifled giggles, as an adult that should have clued me in to the fact that I might have a problem. You might think it is because I am not religious. Maybe that I am purposely being disrespectful. This is actually not the case. I am not traditionally religious, but I do have very strong beliefs. I also am very envious of those who have a religion that they can fully believe in. I wish I could find one. I have not yet. I am however truly happy for those who have.
           Back to the story. The next big blooper was in Edinburgh, Scotland. I enjoy live choir music on the holidays. I rarely go and see it, as you might imagine. A friend of mine suggested a few of us go on Christmas Eve to listen to some. There was a really old church that had Christmas choirs several times a day the entire week before Christmas. Apparently it sounded amazing in this church. So we went. I warned my friends of my... condition. They ignored me. Fools. (I love you all)
           I was able to not laugh at the fruit hats. I thought that bode well! Although I did wonder if the people I saw when I was a kid were still wearing theirs. It was truly beautiful. Then the organ. Amazing sound. The choir was up in the front (we couldn't see them because we were all the way in the back). They started some low level music with just their voices. Harmony if you will. Beautiful. Then, a man (I have no idea what station in the church he was or wasn't) all in white stepped to the back of the aisle, even with us. He was giant. Truly GIANT. And skinny. All this was accentuated by his long bright white robe, and long skinny face. Then without looking at anyone but the choir ahead....a loud, deep voice let out a very long note. It carried from the back of the church to the front and back again. And it was almost hollow, yet somehow robust. And I don't know, but for some reason it struck me funny! Of course.
          Was it the bright white mixed with the dark interior of the church? The tininess of the man mixed with his grandiose stance and huge voice? Maybe it was the deepness of the voice that shocked you yet soothed you at the same time. I don't know. But it was enough to make me giggle. I was trying to be good though. So, I silently bowed my head to hide my cheeky smile and tried to contain my laughing fit to simple shoulder shaking. Even that, I was able to somewhat control. There was no constant shoulder shaking. Then I managed to quell the amusement, and regain control of myself. I was quite impressed with myself. For a while.
          Then came the group singing. I don't truly know what was wrong with me, but I didn't expect this. Apparently I had a stupid attack. So we're singing along quietly. The ladies with the hats too. I'm doing fine. Shocking right. Until my friend starts switching keys. Whenever he couldn't hit a note, he'd switch to a lower register so he wouldn't go off key, and visa versa. This... struck me as funny. It might strike you as funny too if you knew him. So then the shoulder shaking and tittering began. Sporadically controlled. Then the tall man's voice came again. Harder to control.
           This is about the time I noticed I had infected one of my friends with my amusement. Poor girl. She had noticed. She is a sweet girl and quick to smile and laugh. Unfortunately for her, she noticed my barely contained chuckling. And now another friend shot us both a look. Of course this made it funnier. Very mature.
           Low and behold, now another of us was laughing. So the singer and the shooter of the looks were not amused, but the rest of us were losing our ability to be in control of ourselves. Now in all fairness, everyone else was able to get themselves in control better than me. I know, you're surprised right?! Oh, no, you're not? Well, no worries. Heh, heh.
           Unfortunately for them, I kept starting right back up again. I wasn't trying, in fact quite the opposite. That just made it worse. Needless to say, by the end my stomach hurt from trying to contain myself, I had tear marks, and sparkling giant eyes of amusement mixed with fear! When we got outside, all my friends swore they would never go to church with me ever again. I wouldn't either if I were them.
           Now, I only go for weddings and funerals. The last two weddings I was at were with my immediate family. The difference is vast. My sister and parents and I all have this problem. Usually, it has more to do with things we ourselves are doing than what is going on around us. Still, it is completely inappropriate. And though I may be embarrassing myself, at least I am doing it with people who are embarrassing themselves of their own accord.


So I apologize for making my friends laugh in church. (But it was weirdly funny) And to all the church goers I truly mean no disrespect. I am not perfect and that's all there is to it.

kimbersfrog

Heh,heh. You can't be pretty all the time...

          I'll start by saying, my mother HATES it when she has to take photos of me. Or maybe I should say the results of those photos. And in all fairness, she can't get a good photo. I always have some weird, funny, and usually ugly or at least scary expression on my face. I am uncomfortable with photo taking. But even when I am caught unaware, somehow I manage to put Jim Carey to shame! I will show you a couple examples:

 As you can tell these are pretty bad. They are not the absolute worst but I can not find those at the moment. I think these will suffice.


          Now during these moments, I have no idea how ridiculous, scary, ugly and/or funny I look. This is probably good. My face is expressive, what can I say! I think my parents put it best when they said they didn't actually have to watch the movie if I was in the room. They could just watch my face and they would know what was happening.
          I am lucky in some ways. I don't tend to spend much time worrying about how I appear to others, especially when it comes to being pretty or not. In fact I think that can be a hindrance to people really knowing who you are. That aside, I have finally found a man who loves and likes me for my odd, normal, crazy, strange, opinionated, etc. personality. Not what I look like. This is a whole new thing for me. Even better, I love him back! The lucky part, is he thinks (as deluded as he may be- remember I am only a year away from 40), that I am beautiful! I let him believe!
           It's amazing really. Men can say, 'You're pretty.' or 'You're beautiful.' It might feel nice briefly, but if it doesn't feel like they mean it, or it feels like it might be for their benefit (how polite was that?!), it falls a bit flat. Sometimes it just feels like they are saying out of habit or obligation, I'm not sure if that's worse or better, but my heart sure didn't sing zippity-doo-dah! Now I have someone who really truly believes it, and I can feel it. That is a whole new world. I didn't know it existed. I didn't know I wanted it. Apparently I do. Weird right. This does apply to the point, don't worry. I haven't lost the plot yet!
          My boyfriend is also a brilliant photographer. He has taken photos all over the world. Portraits, exotic wildlife, and places that are so beautiful the photo can actually make you skip a breath. Recently he has decided to take a few photos of me. Apparently he is one of the very few who is capable of taking good photos of me. My mother is very happy, as I have sent a couple to her! But DO NOT FEAR, my adroit skills for ruining photos have remained fully in tact. Yes, I can even foil the talented, creative, steady hand of a real photographer. Here are a couple of those:

          We took pictures a couple days ago at the beach (not just of me- that would have been BOR-ING!).  When we got home, I started doing the dishes (so my man can make yet another magical creation for dinner). All of the sudden I hear raucous laughter from the other room. The T.V. was not on, no music, I could not hear anyone outside... I wasn't sure what was up. I looked over. There he was on the computer. Immediately I knew. The photos were now on the computer. Something was hysterically funny. My guess... me.
          Now, I can't imagine what it is. We've laughed at other funny pics of me before. But this was particularly strong laughter. Then he calls to me, "Baby, come here, you have to see this!" Oh boy. It must be good, scary, ugly AND funny! Just a guess.
          It was. All of those things. What's even scarier is it was not a face that I purposely made. It was one of those 'in-between expressions' faces. So I might do it all the time. There were other funny ones, but they were mock faces. On purpose. My next thought: Facebook. He seems to like to put his least flattering photos of me on facebook. I don't mind, but I just wonder why. So I asked, "Is this going on facebook?" The look said it before he did. Yes. Great. At the same time, I'm kind of happy about it. It is funny!
          Then I asked him why he very rarely put good photos up of me. His response was genuinely interesting. He said anyone could see a beautiful or pretty photo of me. But that part of what made me special (especially to him), was that I made funny faces, weird faces, scary faces, and yes... ugly faces. He said there are many other beautiful women who are beautiful all day. What they are missing is the humour and dorkiness of expressions in their faces (I'm paraphrasing here- but you get the idea). So, I of course made a face- old habits die hard!
          Later, we were relaxing, watching a movie. (Okay this is not fully relaxing for me, as it is a bit like studying, but it is still nice) At about one or so in the morning I started to get sleepy. I yawned. You know the type of yawn that you can feel is going to relieve you before it really starts?! That kind of yawn. So of course I let loose with complete abandon. My boyfriend, happened to look over. He broke into laughter. The same laughter of earlier in the night. He said, "That was a really ugly face (still laughing and me too at this point), but I love you anyway!!! (more laughter from us both) How does such a beautiful girl do that with her face?" Then I said, "You can't be pretty all the time!" He agreed and we laughed again!
          So now I leave you with a photo that as of yet, has gone unsurpassed in it's unequalled achievement of ugly. A photo to make you laugh and cry! I find it to be disturbing and refreshing really. This is in-between expressions:

Damn, that's HOT!

kimbersfrog

He went to pee in his pants. He came back in undies and a smelly shirt

          Okay, first you have to understand a little bit about how we were set up. Not a lot don't worry. The hostel that I made as my home away from home in Edinburgh for a while was huge. They had a giant main side that all the transients stayed in. But if you ended up staying for an extended amount of time you would be moved to a smaller area. We called it the 'long termer' area. (or something close to that) As a result, we all knew each other fairly well, or at least knew who the other was. In fact a lot of us even worked in the hostel for at least a little while (and oh how I loved cleaning toilets). The only time someone stayed on that side that was only staying for a weekend, a night, or a week was if there was a big footie weekend and they needed extra beds.
          The second thing you must know about is a guy. There was a long termer, who shall remain nameless, who had a particular odor. All the time. You might even call it a stench. If you smelled this singular funk before you turned a corner, you could be fairly sure that he was only a few yards away. He was a very nice guy don't get me wrong. A little odd,  maybe a lot, but nice.
          One day, I was hanging out in one of the big spaces outside my old room with some friends. This happens to be outside two bathrooms as well. I kept thinking.... I smell ______. Finally I just interrupted conversation, and asked, "does anyone else smell _______?" Yes, but they all thought it was too strange to be true. He was nowhere to be seen or heard, and his room was on a different floor. In the end, we found a pair of his shoes and one of his shirts under the sink in the bathroom. In a closed cabinet. These things happen I guess (NO they DON'T). There were many stories of roommates telling there roomies to put their shoes on the window ledge, etc. to avoid the room (and ostensibly themselves) being polluted with suffocating stink. Fair enough. Maybe this is what had happened to ______.
          Well, then came a footie weekend. This was months later. I was in another room down the hall. I was even near two different bathrooms. (the amount of bathrooms in that place was awesome- except when it was my job to clean them all!) One of these bathrooms had become a sort of closet for my roommates and I. The showers didn't work, nobody used it, so there it is. My roomies and I got along well. In fact that night a few of us were up late chatting and I think we might have been playing cards. I'm not really sure about the cards though. That could be a factoid. Just sayin'.
          At some point in the middle of the night (why were were still sitting at our uncomfortable table in uncomfortable chairs I have no idea), the two guys who had been put in our room for the footie weekend stumbled in. They were both on top bunks. We watched this process with a mix of amusement, a dash of anxiety and perhaps a bit of admiration. Oh, come on, that's what world's funniest videos is all about right? I do believe I was the most stupefied (and really glad I was on the bottom bunk!)
          Then of course, we went right back to talking, laughing, whatever. There were also no worries of keeping these guys awake. They were out for the count. Oh did I forget to mention one of them stripped down to his underwear before getting into bed- how he managed without falling over, I will never know.  And then it happened.
          One of the guys said something. That got our attention. It was unintelligible if I remember correctly. Shortly thereafter, he sort of half threw himself and half climbed off the bed. It was yet another impressive feat. He proceeded to put on his pants and head out the door. We watched silently. And like children, as soon as the door shut the laughter started.
          After what seemed like forever, he came back in. Really, we were about to start taking bets on whether or not he would find himself in another room in the morning. As soon as the door opened however a truly bizarre thing happened. Something even I could not have previously imagined. I smelled _______ but saw a completely different person with the smell. Somehow, this guy had come back from taking a pee (that's the best guess anyway) and now smelled just like ________. Impossible. WE all sat stunned. Until, one of us nudged the other and we all saw his outfit as he was attempting to mount his bunk again. He was no longer in his pants. Only undies. And he now had a shirt on. He had no shirt when he left.
          Guess who's shirt it was. Yes. ________'s. It was very distinct not just by smell but by the band and specific wear and tear. So now our room had that funk we could not call our own. My roomie took photos. We were beside ourselves. We actually waited up to see what his reaction would be.
           He was horribly confused in the morning. The first thing he noticed was his pants and wallet were missing. I don't know if he noticed us trying to hide our laughter. It was a slow process for him to realize he had someone else's shirt on. One of us suggested he look in the shower with all the clothes. Yes. Apparently he had gone to pee in the shower stall that didn't work, and changed his clothes after. 
          He needless to say, was not as amused as us. I do believe his friend was slightly amused. He might have been more amused if he hadn't been so hungover. I was a bit worried he might vomit onto my bottom bunk.
          That is all there is to tell. I hope you enjoyed.

kimbersfrog

Finally I braved the Beach!!!!!

          I am a person who does not tan. I begin with the glow of the moon (that description might be considered... 'poetic license' ). In fact, I start off so white I have fears that I could blind people when the reflection of the sun hits me. When people here started telling me I should be wearing a bikini (because it seems to be a cultural prerequisite) I kept wishing I could communicate to them how much of a hazard that could be. Just walking on the sidewalk, a car could veer off the road from the glare of my stomach! I think my dad put it best when he said, "He isn't allowed to go shirtless within 20 miles of an airport." I'm sure this is just a safety precaution!
         I do change colour as everyone does however. I turn varying shades of pink. Then I turn red. Red hurts. And is itchy. Try scratching the most extreme rug burn you've ever had. Not fun. That is why the idea of lying out in the sun baking does not really appeal to me. I don't get that beautiful brown like most people for one. In the end I end up, sweaty, bored, and finally, looking like a lobster. And pain. Right, let me run right out!
          I do love the smell, sound and feel of the water. I don't even mind the giant amounts of sand that sometimes fill your bathing suit. It's worth it. But when I'm by myself, I have two choices. I can go out get wet and get bored, fairly quickly. Or I can swim for exercise. I hate swimming for exercise. I find it tedious. Oddly I wish I liked it, for me it would be the best way to keep in shape. But all I can think is, "Back, and forth, back and forth, really, I haven't gotten back yet?, oh okay finally, forth, back..." etc.
          I have gone to the beach this summer. Only to take leisurely strolls in the evening (once the heat has gone down). Sometimes I bring a book out or study Spanish. I wouldn't call that 'real beach going' though. The other day I finally went to the beach for real. The first time this summer. I loved it! I went with my boyfriend. It really makes all the difference when you have someone to go with. We went in the middle of the day. Shockingly, I did not burn to a crisp. (Right, pick yourselves up off the floor.) I had forgotten, HOW good it really feels to swim in the ocean. And how quickly a wave can surprise you! Luckily I like the taste of salt water. Heh, heh. And I had someone to play with. I know it sounds silly, but there it is.
           On the beach, I also had someone to talk to, joke with, and listen to music with. That made a huge difference. I didn't mind the heat so much. I had someone to help me with my lotion (more importantly remind me to reapply). For the first time in a long time I had fun going to the beach- as a real beach goer!
          Any trials and tribulations, you ask? Well, I didn't burn as I mentioned. I also barely tanned. I was even laughed at when I jokingly pointed out how tan my legs had gotten, the next day. I will admit to getting a little beaten up though. In the water doesn't count. The rocky bottom, you are lucky or unlucky if your foot catches a rock wrong. (I was a little unlucky, not a lot). On our way to the beach I pulled a brilliant Kimber move, if ever there was one! As we were walking, I stepped on the edge of the sidewalk. You know, where the sidewalk meets the sand. I just sort of toppled down. Okay, I slammed down with a BAMMMM straight to my knees! Soooo cool am I! Maybe, that's why I was spared the sunburn for the day!
          That was my day. I enjoyed it immensely. I hope you are taking a day here and there to delight in something of your own choosing!

   kimbersfrog

Is it the dark edges of your mind? Or are things really going Bump in the night?

          Anywhere you go there are noises. We get used to the everyday sounds. Sometimes so much so, they help us sleep at night. They can be endearing, if it's your partner snoring (or not), or the crickets chirping. It can also be disturbing when you realize what's helping you sleep are the sounds of ambulances, fire trucks, helicopters, and gun fire. But I digress that was long ago. 
          I have lived in a lot of different places and apartments. All of these places have had their own unique sound. Some have similarities, but still each have their own individual vibrations. The same is true of the place you live. Apartment, house, camper or tent. This my friends, is about the noises in the house.
          When I was young, I had a very hard time falling asleep. Everything kept me awake. Then I grew up. "Grew up" might be an overstatement. Heh, heh. The point is, throughout my adult life I have been moving from one place to another. As a result, I am currently able to sleep through almost any sound. I am happy my body has adapted this way. It makes up for the sleep I lose staying up late writing stuff no one wants to read. Hee, hee. (I am speaking for you because I can. Post a comment if you want... I would love it!!!)
          My boyfriend warned me about the noises from the street here. He was very worried about it. For me, I like it. I also enjoy hearing the people who walk by. One night while writing (quietly) I heard two guys outside the door talking. I innocently decided to listen in. Hey trying to learn Spanish... duh! I started to tune out once I realized it was Catalan, but I couldn't help but get a kick out of the laughing and obvious drunkenness of it all. Then right in the middle of a sentence... A big loud fart! It was truly awesome. Who wouldn't love that? They kept right on talking too. I am smiling now thing of it!
          Moving on. This apartment has the normal sounds inside. The constant hum (with sporadic gurgles) of the refrigerator motor. The creaks. The after flush noises that last for ten or fifteen minutes. And of course the stove noises. The stove.
          Our stove is just two burners. Electric. Set into the counter. Once you turn it off, it starts making a sort of clicking noise as it cools off. That intermittent clicking can last anywhere between a half hour and an hour. Pretty normal. 
          What I was not ready for was what happened about a month after I got here. Or should I say started happening?! Not every night mind you. But maybe once a week. My boyfriend would get out of bed about 5 minutes after the lights went out, saying, "Did you hear that?" "NO... I was about 2 seconds away from full sleep, half in a dream... of course I didn't hear, 'that'!" I think my actual response was, "hhhunhhh? ummm, whahht?" By then my curiosity was sparked. So I would wake up because I NEEDED to know what it was.
          So I watched my brave man (and his cute butt) peek out our bedroom door to see (in the dark), what it could be. Eventually he would decide it was the refrigerator. The one time I heard it first, I went to check. I came up with another possibility. There is a minute chance that there is a rat stuck inside the motor scratching to get out. However, I do not believe this is the case. Phew!
          Then he went away for a week of work. It was my first time in the flat alone at night. Okay I will admit I was looking forward to a couple of things. I was going to get to finish off the ice cream! And I was NOT going to have my covers stolen in the middle of the night! What I didn't expect was the noise at night to be something OTHER than the fridge.
          First night. Suddenly the need to sleep hits me like a tornado hits a trailer park. So I slide into jammies, turn out the lights and put my head on the pillow.I can feel sleep slowly taking me over... and then I hear it. Crap. Every single cell in my body is now super alert. Right up front I noticed, it was NOT the fridge. 
          Okay. So it's not the fridge. It also was not the noise we heard before. I am alone however. Before I could have any funny images go through my head of what it could be (in a parallel universe), I sat up noiselessly. Then I soundlessly slid my ass to the end of the bed and sat for a second. The click, click, click was still repeating. In one more incredible, inaudible move I stepped to the door and peeked out. The noise was coming from the stove.
          This clicking was almost like an irregular pulse. And it was not the same click as the cool down click. It was a sound I had heard before. A very distinct sound. One that I had made happen. With my own hands. I'm thinking all of that as I am staring at the stove, in the dark. I can see just enough to know that no one but me is in the house. Not even a mouse. Heh, heh.
          To turn on the burner, I must turn the knob. The knob has a very specific CLICK to it. ThatUsually, when weird stuff happens, as soon as you are close to it, poof, it's gone! And for about two weeks this happened randomly, day or night. No rhyme, no reason. Sometimes I hadn't even cooked that day. And my boyfriend heard it too so I am not nuts (well, at least not for that). Although I don't think he is as convinced as I am that it is that specific sound. But I know my noises. Just as I know when he's taking more than half the bed (Heh, heh), in all fairness, I may not take more than half the bed... but my ass does take a lot of the bed space!
          Now however it's been almost two months without the noise. And even though my boyfriend heard it that one night, I'm beginning to wonder, was it real? Or was it just my mind playing tricks on me? I would love to think it was a ghost, but I can't really sell myself on that one. I would really have to see a ghost to believe in it. Maybe you have an opinion. Or a similar experience...

I am going to sleep now... we'll see what awaits. My guess is nothing.

kimbersfrog       

          

It has happened......

          Finally it has happened! I am glad it has too! I know, I know, it's been obvious I have been having a hard time with the language and little things here and there. Trying to adjust in a new country isn't necessarily hard. When it's for REAL however, that is when it becomes hard. At least for me.
          There were days I could tell I was almost feeling I was at home. But then I would rush in and change from my slippers to shoes. Maybe I would start outside... then slip back inside because I had forgotten to even put a tiny bit of effort into taming my hair. That is not to say that it would work, my hair can be quite unruly!
          These things are easy for me when I feel I am at home. I feel strong enough within myself to just be, no matter what kind of stresses are hampering my life. I don't care if I leave the house with my pajamas on. Forgetting to brush my teeth, if I'm only running to the corner store. I am confident enough in myself and love myself enough that I don't care about others opinions of me. What can still hold me back is if I feel I don't belong.
          I am not implying that I fit in. I gave up the ghost on that one years ago! I will always be a foreigner here. Anyone who lives outside of their native land will always be a foreigner. I also want to point out that there is one home I have been feeling all along. My heart has been at home since I saw my boyfriend's smile waiting for me at the airport.
          It's the literal, physicality of living here, that I wasn't feeling. I'm not sure I even realized it to be honest. Today, I was taking a short trip to the shop. I was walking and thinking in Spanish about all the things I had to do after lunch today. I was halfway there before I realized that not only, was I in my slippers still. I was ALSO still without my bra. I hadn't even looked at my hair since I threw it up in a bun (without looking in the mirror), and although I had brushed my teeth I felt like I still needed to.
          I was only halfway there. So if I had turned back around right then, that would have cut three quarters of an unpresentable trip. However, I just kept walking. I didn't even make a decision. I just went on. On the way back, it hit me. I finally feel like I live here.
          Not only does my heart feel like it has a home here (as it has since the day I arrived). But I actually physically feel like I am here. And it feels good. It doesn't take away the struggles, stresses or potential problems that might come my (our) way. It is comforting all the same.

Now on to lunch!

kimbersfrog

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