Tonight is ZTA's formal, and obviously since I have a boyfriend but he's in another country, I am left to scramble. Not to mention, I have no money, so not only do I feel guilty about buying tickets in the first place, I'm wondering why I ever thought it would be a good idea to buy two, and on top of that, I can't even have fun getting ready because I can't get my nails done, buy a pretty dress, shop for jewelry, or get new shoes to go with said dress.
At least I can take a shower and shave ... that's always free.
Both of my sisters are going on their own dates tonight, my girlfriends are either already going (obviously), or can't make it, and of the guys that I know, it would either be awkward or inappropriate or they would just be out of place or they are working(e.g., Hunter would be extraordinarily inappropriate, anyone from work would be weird/I guess I really don't have friends at Rio/I would feel terribly desperate). Of all the other people I know - some have girlfriends that wouldn't like it, some would just be out of place ... I guess I'm incredibly picky?
So now I'm going with some random Delta Chi ... woo hoo ... at least the drinks are only $4.
And I don't really like my dress. And I don't have shoes to wear with it. And my nails are terrible and my ends are split and I have no makeup and no sisters here to help me and I have class so I can't get ready with anyone who's going.... life is so hard.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I discovered that greek life on college campuses across the nation has a entire language used to describe themselves. I learned this language last night while reading a website called totalfratmove.com. Similiar to the FML and MLIA websites, this website allows all my fellow greek system members to post stories and comments about how well they fit the fraternity and sorority mold. It is mildly amusing, I will admit, but only as long as you don't take it too seriously - because as soon as you do, it makes you extremely ashamed at how stuck up, self centered, and materialistic many college greeks can be.
TFM - total frat move
TSM - total sorority move
GDI - god damn independent
sorostitute - sorority prostitute - the girl who sleeps with everyone
fratdaddy - I'm guessing this is something like a pimp daddy? baby daddy?
walk of shame - when you have to walk out of the bedroom the next morning in front of the whole house
slampiece - the girl you are having sex with but who you would never consider as a girlfriend - presumably because she's such a slut
I mean - these are incredibly offensive. Frat guys are proud of being assholes, dicks, but never douches? They are in a brotherhood that promotes manliness and good conduct, but then they also have "slampieces"? They are concerned with success, having a good job, following in their father's footsteps, all good qualities - but they get to the top by putting people beneath them. They expect those beneath them to "clean up after them for the rest of their lives". Wives to them are trophy wives. As for the girls - they "can't stop looking at themselves in the windows of buildings" as they pass by, and when they are complimented by other women about how pretty they are, they say they are sick of hearing it because they already know, and the other women will never be as pretty.
All of this they think is funny, and they are proud of it. Not all greeks are like this, I promise. But no wonder we have so many haters! Attitudes like the ones on this site make me very much not proud to be part of the college greek system.
What ever happened to honor, loyalty, trust, LOVE???
TFM - total frat move
TSM - total sorority move
GDI - god damn independent
sorostitute - sorority prostitute - the girl who sleeps with everyone
fratdaddy - I'm guessing this is something like a pimp daddy? baby daddy?
walk of shame - when you have to walk out of the bedroom the next morning in front of the whole house
slampiece - the girl you are having sex with but who you would never consider as a girlfriend - presumably because she's such a slut
I mean - these are incredibly offensive. Frat guys are proud of being assholes, dicks, but never douches? They are in a brotherhood that promotes manliness and good conduct, but then they also have "slampieces"? They are concerned with success, having a good job, following in their father's footsteps, all good qualities - but they get to the top by putting people beneath them. They expect those beneath them to "clean up after them for the rest of their lives". Wives to them are trophy wives. As for the girls - they "can't stop looking at themselves in the windows of buildings" as they pass by, and when they are complimented by other women about how pretty they are, they say they are sick of hearing it because they already know, and the other women will never be as pretty.
All of this they think is funny, and they are proud of it. Not all greeks are like this, I promise. But no wonder we have so many haters! Attitudes like the ones on this site make me very much not proud to be part of the college greek system.
What ever happened to honor, loyalty, trust, LOVE???
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
It's 1:23 pm and I am still in bed and I don't want to get out of it. I have homework to do, and errands to run, but I don't want to do any of it. I have work at 5:30 and that might be the only thing I do today. I think that is so depressing. I woke up at 11:40 today, had some toast, frozen raspberries, and coffee, and watched House. I wish I could just watch tv all the time. It's an alternate universe that's so much more exciting than mine.
It's raining outside, too, and cold, which makes the day that much harder to get started. I just love my bed. If only there was a boy that I loved in here with me, the day would be perfect.
Speaking of boys that I love, I have been texting Hunter about seeing Harry Potter. He suggested that he buy me dinner, we see the midnight showing, and then relax on a bottle of wine afterwards. As much as that was sarcastic, I actually would love to do that and really wish that we could. How long will it take me to get over this boy? It took me a good two years to get over Curtis, so I guess I have another year and a half to go with Hunter. I just keep thinking that I'll spend my whole life regretting that I'm not with him.
At the same time - I know how he thinks, I know that he knows that I still want to be with him. I watched how it was with Grace when we were first together. He had her over one night and slept with her, and he said that she was so happy and thought that they were getting back together, but he just felt bad that he had cheated on me - he wants love in his life, and someone to love, but it's not going to be me. Maybe for a day or a week, but it won't last, because nothing fundamental has changed.
Why isn't he a good guy? Why did life have to be so unfair to him? He is such an amazing person and I want to be with him so badly. Damn this chemistry, this unexplainable feeling.
It's raining outside, too, and cold, which makes the day that much harder to get started. I just love my bed. If only there was a boy that I loved in here with me, the day would be perfect.
Speaking of boys that I love, I have been texting Hunter about seeing Harry Potter. He suggested that he buy me dinner, we see the midnight showing, and then relax on a bottle of wine afterwards. As much as that was sarcastic, I actually would love to do that and really wish that we could. How long will it take me to get over this boy? It took me a good two years to get over Curtis, so I guess I have another year and a half to go with Hunter. I just keep thinking that I'll spend my whole life regretting that I'm not with him.
At the same time - I know how he thinks, I know that he knows that I still want to be with him. I watched how it was with Grace when we were first together. He had her over one night and slept with her, and he said that she was so happy and thought that they were getting back together, but he just felt bad that he had cheated on me - he wants love in his life, and someone to love, but it's not going to be me. Maybe for a day or a week, but it won't last, because nothing fundamental has changed.
Why isn't he a good guy? Why did life have to be so unfair to him? He is such an amazing person and I want to be with him so badly. Damn this chemistry, this unexplainable feeling.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Some thoughts, in my coffee and banana bread induced sugar high at 3 pm because that's all I've eaten today.
I was walking through campus at GMU today and I noticed three people: two of them were "geeks" talking rather vehemently about some sort of computer video game subject matter. Their voices were raised not because they were angry but because they were excited, and trying to out talk each other (I suppose?). The third person was a girl running up some steps wearing a long denim skirt and a very modest sweater, with very long, plain hair. We all know that stereotype. Homeschooled and very baptist, poor thing.
But, here is why I noticed them, and why I was thinking about them. They are obviously comfortable in their image. They have an identity. They know exactly who to be friends with, exactly how to behave, where to go, what to do, how to talk, what to read, what to do on certain days of the week. They stand out from everyone else because they have an all consuming passion that takes over their lives. The boys have computers and video games. The girl has her church and God and equally conservative family.
I would almost rather be one of those people, than who I am. Because I don't know who I am. I would rather be openly mocked by the majority of society, but have a niche support system, than be aimlessly floating around with no real identity, like I am now.
What is my all consuming passion? I'm not a sorority girl, I'm not an athlete, I'm not an academic, I'm not a conservative evangelical God loving Jesus freak church going whatever you want to call it. Doctor? Lawyer? Artist? Politician, activist ... I mean, I guess I could be a humanitarian, but that seems so vague to me. It's like being a missionary. What the hell do missionaries even do?
I was walking through campus at GMU today and I noticed three people: two of them were "geeks" talking rather vehemently about some sort of computer video game subject matter. Their voices were raised not because they were angry but because they were excited, and trying to out talk each other (I suppose?). The third person was a girl running up some steps wearing a long denim skirt and a very modest sweater, with very long, plain hair. We all know that stereotype. Homeschooled and very baptist, poor thing.
But, here is why I noticed them, and why I was thinking about them. They are obviously comfortable in their image. They have an identity. They know exactly who to be friends with, exactly how to behave, where to go, what to do, how to talk, what to read, what to do on certain days of the week. They stand out from everyone else because they have an all consuming passion that takes over their lives. The boys have computers and video games. The girl has her church and God and equally conservative family.
I would almost rather be one of those people, than who I am. Because I don't know who I am. I would rather be openly mocked by the majority of society, but have a niche support system, than be aimlessly floating around with no real identity, like I am now.
What is my all consuming passion? I'm not a sorority girl, I'm not an athlete, I'm not an academic, I'm not a conservative evangelical God loving Jesus freak church going whatever you want to call it. Doctor? Lawyer? Artist? Politician, activist ... I mean, I guess I could be a humanitarian, but that seems so vague to me. It's like being a missionary. What the hell do missionaries even do?
Monday, November 1, 2010
Why would you not tip your server? I mean seriously ... what do you think I'm doing? Nothing? Do you think that just because it's lunchtime I somehow do less work for you? Are you seriously going to order some complicated ass shit and then tip me 15%? And also, what difference does one dollar make to you? Just leave it for me, because it makes a difference to me. Your change is $7 in cash and you're honestly going to take a one dollar bill out of that book and put it back in your wallet - just leave it in there you mother fucking tight wad. And also - $4 on a $26 bill? It's one god damn dollar we're talking about here, ONE, that's all I ask for, it makes a difference. And I bought you dessert you cock sucker. I know that this can be turned around, and maybe I shouldn't care about a dollar here and a dollar there - but it adds up, especially when I'm here all day. Do you not have friends? Do you hate yourself? Why are you taking it out on me?
It's so mind boggling to me when people go out to eat and don't tip their server the way they are supposed to. I'm bringing you food, that you put in your body. I am bringing you drinks, straws, napkins, silverware. If you think about it, when you go out to eat, you put a lot of trust in the person bringing you your food. Why would you stiff them? Why would you choose that moment to bring out your cheapest side? Do you realize what they could do to your food?
I'm generally a pretty honest person who wants to help people, but honestly, I get so angry when I'm waiting tables. It comes out in the little things. Like when I'm roling silver, thinking about how shitty people are, and some forks fall on the ground - the ground that has trash, raw meat, shoes, old food, rotting vegetables, all over it - yeah, those forks are not getting washed again. Nope. Why would I give a fuck. Don't be shitty to the people who are serving you, it's literally the stupidest thing you can do.
It's so mind boggling to me when people go out to eat and don't tip their server the way they are supposed to. I'm bringing you food, that you put in your body. I am bringing you drinks, straws, napkins, silverware. If you think about it, when you go out to eat, you put a lot of trust in the person bringing you your food. Why would you stiff them? Why would you choose that moment to bring out your cheapest side? Do you realize what they could do to your food?
I'm generally a pretty honest person who wants to help people, but honestly, I get so angry when I'm waiting tables. It comes out in the little things. Like when I'm roling silver, thinking about how shitty people are, and some forks fall on the ground - the ground that has trash, raw meat, shoes, old food, rotting vegetables, all over it - yeah, those forks are not getting washed again. Nope. Why would I give a fuck. Don't be shitty to the people who are serving you, it's literally the stupidest thing you can do.
Friday, October 29, 2010
I hate my job. I get so frustrated, so angry, and it makes me hate people. It makes me not care. I get home after even just a three hour shift and I want to hit people. And I'm not even doing any good or contributing to the well being of society. No, I am actually doing the opposite, and furthering the obesity issue in America and western nations in general, and helping people waste tremendous amounts of food.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Marshalls and Michael Kors
I was at Marshalls today. Great place.
I saw the most beautiful purse, it was gorgeous, classy but edgy at the same time. It was leather and snakeskin and black and it had those big gold chain links on it that I love on anything. I WANTED IT SO BADLY.
It was $200.
Which was almost half the original price!
But still $200.
I wish I had never seen it.
I saw the most beautiful purse, it was gorgeous, classy but edgy at the same time. It was leather and snakeskin and black and it had those big gold chain links on it that I love on anything. I WANTED IT SO BADLY.
It was $200.
Which was almost half the original price!
But still $200.
I wish I had never seen it.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Your pillow is still on my bed, waiting for you ... I guess it will be there until January, lonely, cold and unused.
So, okay, you told me about your day on Saturday. On the plane. I can't believe you never had pretzel sticks, lol, that's hilarious. You want to hear about my day?
First of all, it took me twice as long to get home as it did to get to the airport because there was construction traffic on 495 and 66 ... q terrible, lol.
Then, I made plans to go to a fraternity party with the barbie club later that night.
But, I did not go, because I was incredibly stressed out, to the point where I could not stop crying in the shower, and then when I got out of the shower, I cried into the mountain of dirty laundry that is my room. It was awful. I told Valerie that I was sick and couldn't go ... she offered to come over with soup and movies, she's so sweet. I told her I was just incredibly stressed out about my little and all the crafting I had to do.
I was getting so angry about crafting and being in a sorority and blah blah blah ... it was not a good day. I posted something about it as my status - I said, "to the girl who made a chair as a clue for her little, BRING IT." I thought it was kind of funny, but the girl who got the chair got offended and said something - and she read my blog about it and ended up sending me a whole facebook mssg about how offended she was. So then I had to apologize and then I felt really guilty and got even more upset - I get really sensitive about things like that. I hate it when people are mad at me.
Anyway, if you didn't understand any of that it's okay.
Long story short, I stayed home, drank a big glass of your Argentinian wine, and crafted. Then I woke up, crafted some more, and then went to chapter.
WHERE MY LITTLE DIDN'T SHOW UP. AFTER ALL THAT!!!
Her uncle died. So I understand. That's really sad. But seriously? Fue muy anticlimatico!!!!!!!!
I apologized to the girl who made the chair that I was bitching about on facebook.
She had no idea what I was talking about. But I guess I was being proactive, in case she ever DID find out. It was like a pre-apology.
I got dinner with Rachel (who is my big, the one you met, with the super tall boyfriend) afterwards and it was really nice to hang out and talk and catch up for a bit.
That has been my weekend. I'm about to clean my room and do laundry. There's glitter and paper and paint all over my room, it's ridiculous. I haven't done laundry in so long that I'm about to run out of underwear. Which wouldn't be a problem except that I've also run out of pants and only have mini skirts left.
So, okay, you told me about your day on Saturday. On the plane. I can't believe you never had pretzel sticks, lol, that's hilarious. You want to hear about my day?
First of all, it took me twice as long to get home as it did to get to the airport because there was construction traffic on 495 and 66 ... q terrible, lol.
Then, I made plans to go to a fraternity party with the barbie club later that night.
But, I did not go, because I was incredibly stressed out, to the point where I could not stop crying in the shower, and then when I got out of the shower, I cried into the mountain of dirty laundry that is my room. It was awful. I told Valerie that I was sick and couldn't go ... she offered to come over with soup and movies, she's so sweet. I told her I was just incredibly stressed out about my little and all the crafting I had to do.
I was getting so angry about crafting and being in a sorority and blah blah blah ... it was not a good day. I posted something about it as my status - I said, "to the girl who made a chair as a clue for her little, BRING IT." I thought it was kind of funny, but the girl who got the chair got offended and said something - and she read my blog about it and ended up sending me a whole facebook mssg about how offended she was. So then I had to apologize and then I felt really guilty and got even more upset - I get really sensitive about things like that. I hate it when people are mad at me.
Anyway, if you didn't understand any of that it's okay.
Long story short, I stayed home, drank a big glass of your Argentinian wine, and crafted. Then I woke up, crafted some more, and then went to chapter.
WHERE MY LITTLE DIDN'T SHOW UP. AFTER ALL THAT!!!
Her uncle died. So I understand. That's really sad. But seriously? Fue muy anticlimatico!!!!!!!!
I apologized to the girl who made the chair that I was bitching about on facebook.
She had no idea what I was talking about. But I guess I was being proactive, in case she ever DID find out. It was like a pre-apology.
I got dinner with Rachel (who is my big, the one you met, with the super tall boyfriend) afterwards and it was really nice to hang out and talk and catch up for a bit.
That has been my weekend. I'm about to clean my room and do laundry. There's glitter and paper and paint all over my room, it's ridiculous. I haven't done laundry in so long that I'm about to run out of underwear. Which wouldn't be a problem except that I've also run out of pants and only have mini skirts left.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
crafting is making me angry
I have been crafting my little heart out for over a week. Literally, my heart is gone, as a result of crafting under pressure. I would like to have a friendly little conversation with whoever it was that came up with this ridiculous idea. "Like omg guys, let's paint glitter on A LOT of shit and throw it in a basket and it will be soooooo cute!" I think they MUST own significant stock in craft stores, just saying.
I would also like to have a chat with all the over achieving crafty sisters. A chair? for clue week? really? I guess I'll have to dust off my jigsaw, start making a dining room table and a kitchen sink. All I can say is I appreciate the sisters who threw some shit in a gift bag and wrote clues on index cards. DAMN.
I just finished fighting with my mom's sewing machine, hemming a big piece of tie dye fleece to make into a blanket. Honestly, I think it's really cute and if someone made it for me, I would love it to pieces. But all I can think about is that for some reason my little won't like it, or that someone else will make a better one, or hand piece an entire quilt or something ... nbd, just a full size heirloom quilt that I made for you ...
I would also like to have a chat with all the over achieving crafty sisters. A chair? for clue week? really? I guess I'll have to dust off my jigsaw, start making a dining room table and a kitchen sink. All I can say is I appreciate the sisters who threw some shit in a gift bag and wrote clues on index cards. DAMN.
I just finished fighting with my mom's sewing machine, hemming a big piece of tie dye fleece to make into a blanket. Honestly, I think it's really cute and if someone made it for me, I would love it to pieces. But all I can think about is that for some reason my little won't like it, or that someone else will make a better one, or hand piece an entire quilt or something ... nbd, just a full size heirloom quilt that I made for you ...
Monday, July 26, 2010
Day 2? I mean ... week 4????
My fourth week in Ecuador is in full swing. I have no idea how it got here. I LITERALLY just stepped off the plane. What happened???? Here's what happened - I have been traveling around by bus every weekend.
The first weekend I was here we went to Cuenca, in the mountains. It was very beautiful, and even chilly. What a nice climate change from hot humid dusty Guayaquil. There is a river running through the city, and when we went down to see it there was an Indian women doing her laundry in it. The contrast was so strange, because there was a busy highway with a huge Banco Pichincha in the background, and then this Indian lady wearing her son's batman t-shirt, barefoot, scrubbing away at her family's pants in the river.
Second weekend we went to Montanita. The pictures speak for themselves. It's a beach town, lots of tourists, all young people. Tons of alcohol, a good amount of drugs, surfers, hippies. We went swimming in the dark - it was one girl's first time swimming in the ocean! A couple of random moments:
- At the club/party we were at I wandered over to talk to two guys who were sitting by the pool (high). Immediately upon discovering that I was from the U.S. (they were Norwegian) they started yelling at me about Obama. Like this guy stood up, kind of teetering, and was like "blah blah blah OBAMA YOU AMERICANS blah blah blah IT'S AL YOUR FAULT" and I was like ummmm this conversation is over and walked away.
- long walk on a deserted beach with the sounds of the town partying in the distance
-everybody out on the street at 2 am
-four gay guys (one had a long scarf wrapped around his head like a turban, with the ends dangling all the way down his back) dancing - James, the british guy with us, didn't know they were gay and was dancing with them until someone told him.
- our street bartender named Eugenio who made me an AMAZING strawberry mojito and it was only $2.50.
Third weekend - this past weekend - I went to Quito. Two things: the altitude is really high, so I felt a little lightheaded, and the weather changes literally every 5 minutes. You have to dress in layers and then spend all day taking them off and putting them back on again. We went on the teleferico, which is this cable car thing that takes you up to this really high point where you can see (a good portion of) the city. Quito is huge, it is narrow and very long. Very very long. I was shocked. It was freezing up there on that mountain, but the view was spectacular.
We also took an hour bus ride to Otovalo, which is also very touristy because there is a huge artisan market there. I bought some things. Here's how it works - they name a price. You name a lower price. They name something in the middle. You walk away. They run after you, drop the price down to less than half of what they said before, wrap up the item, and try to give it to you as if you've already bought it. Tricky tricky little artisans.
I did buy a little painting from one of the artists. He was really nice - one of those people that give you a good feeling inside. His wife was there with him, and their little baby. She was really sweet too. I wonder if that is their entire income - his paintings that he sells in the art market.
There is so much I want to say.
I eat a lot of rice, so I'm trying extra hard to go running and work out.
Coffee here is really good. You take milk, heat it up, and then put in a couple spoons of Nescafe, which is basically instant coffee. So good. My favorite. I panic if I don't have it in the morning.
Ecuadorians gossip a lot. Faster than facebook, as one girl put it. It's true, so true. People talk so much here. You can't keep anything a secret. And you never know what's true and what's not.
My day Monday - Friday: Alarm goes off at 7, I wake up at 7:30. Rush to throw on some combination of scrubs/jeans/t-shirt. Drink my nescafe. Search for 25 cents. Wait for the bus. It takes like fifty million hours for the freaking 131 rt 1 bus to come. One time I got on the bus and there was puke all over one of the seats. Sometimes I ride the short bus and I hit my head without fail. Oh! and people come on the buses trying to sell little things like candies or bracelets. The way they do it is to give it to you, and then come back around to get money for it. The first time this happened I thought they were giving away promotional items, so I took like the five little candies the guy put in my hand, thinking I'd ask Raul later if it was okay to eat them ... when the guy came back around looking for money I had to dig them out of my purse to give them back. The mom in front of me apparently felt bad for me and tried to give me one of the candies she bought for her kids.
Anyway, that's the bus. So I arrive at the Center, after being spewed out of a basically still moving bus onto the side of the road, usually into a pile of trash (which isn't hard because the roads are built out of piles of trash). Sometimes I buy an energy drink from Anita, who gets upset if I don't have exact change.
On a side tangent, not a single restaurant, bar, store, street vendor or guy selling stuff on the bus has change. But the ATM only gives you $20s and $10 and maybe a $5 or two. People get so annoyed if you pay for something that's a dollar with a fiver.
The first weekend I was here we went to Cuenca, in the mountains. It was very beautiful, and even chilly. What a nice climate change from hot humid dusty Guayaquil. There is a river running through the city, and when we went down to see it there was an Indian women doing her laundry in it. The contrast was so strange, because there was a busy highway with a huge Banco Pichincha in the background, and then this Indian lady wearing her son's batman t-shirt, barefoot, scrubbing away at her family's pants in the river.
Second weekend we went to Montanita. The pictures speak for themselves. It's a beach town, lots of tourists, all young people. Tons of alcohol, a good amount of drugs, surfers, hippies. We went swimming in the dark - it was one girl's first time swimming in the ocean! A couple of random moments:
- At the club/party we were at I wandered over to talk to two guys who were sitting by the pool (high). Immediately upon discovering that I was from the U.S. (they were Norwegian) they started yelling at me about Obama. Like this guy stood up, kind of teetering, and was like "blah blah blah OBAMA YOU AMERICANS blah blah blah IT'S AL YOUR FAULT" and I was like ummmm this conversation is over and walked away.
- long walk on a deserted beach with the sounds of the town partying in the distance
-everybody out on the street at 2 am
-four gay guys (one had a long scarf wrapped around his head like a turban, with the ends dangling all the way down his back) dancing - James, the british guy with us, didn't know they were gay and was dancing with them until someone told him.
- our street bartender named Eugenio who made me an AMAZING strawberry mojito and it was only $2.50.
Third weekend - this past weekend - I went to Quito. Two things: the altitude is really high, so I felt a little lightheaded, and the weather changes literally every 5 minutes. You have to dress in layers and then spend all day taking them off and putting them back on again. We went on the teleferico, which is this cable car thing that takes you up to this really high point where you can see (a good portion of) the city. Quito is huge, it is narrow and very long. Very very long. I was shocked. It was freezing up there on that mountain, but the view was spectacular.
We also took an hour bus ride to Otovalo, which is also very touristy because there is a huge artisan market there. I bought some things. Here's how it works - they name a price. You name a lower price. They name something in the middle. You walk away. They run after you, drop the price down to less than half of what they said before, wrap up the item, and try to give it to you as if you've already bought it. Tricky tricky little artisans.
I did buy a little painting from one of the artists. He was really nice - one of those people that give you a good feeling inside. His wife was there with him, and their little baby. She was really sweet too. I wonder if that is their entire income - his paintings that he sells in the art market.
There is so much I want to say.
I eat a lot of rice, so I'm trying extra hard to go running and work out.
Coffee here is really good. You take milk, heat it up, and then put in a couple spoons of Nescafe, which is basically instant coffee. So good. My favorite. I panic if I don't have it in the morning.
Ecuadorians gossip a lot. Faster than facebook, as one girl put it. It's true, so true. People talk so much here. You can't keep anything a secret. And you never know what's true and what's not.
My day Monday - Friday: Alarm goes off at 7, I wake up at 7:30. Rush to throw on some combination of scrubs/jeans/t-shirt. Drink my nescafe. Search for 25 cents. Wait for the bus. It takes like fifty million hours for the freaking 131 rt 1 bus to come. One time I got on the bus and there was puke all over one of the seats. Sometimes I ride the short bus and I hit my head without fail. Oh! and people come on the buses trying to sell little things like candies or bracelets. The way they do it is to give it to you, and then come back around to get money for it. The first time this happened I thought they were giving away promotional items, so I took like the five little candies the guy put in my hand, thinking I'd ask Raul later if it was okay to eat them ... when the guy came back around looking for money I had to dig them out of my purse to give them back. The mom in front of me apparently felt bad for me and tried to give me one of the candies she bought for her kids.
Anyway, that's the bus. So I arrive at the Center, after being spewed out of a basically still moving bus onto the side of the road, usually into a pile of trash (which isn't hard because the roads are built out of piles of trash). Sometimes I buy an energy drink from Anita, who gets upset if I don't have exact change.
On a side tangent, not a single restaurant, bar, store, street vendor or guy selling stuff on the bus has change. But the ATM only gives you $20s and $10 and maybe a $5 or two. People get so annoyed if you pay for something that's a dollar with a fiver.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Well - here I am! In Guayaquil. Both of my flights were pretty uneventful. I used the bathroom when I got to the airport, and I went in the stall to pee, and then looked around for toilet paper but there was none. At first I thought "oh how silly of me I didn't check to see if it was out," but then I looked around some more and there was never any tp there in the first place. I mean, that's perfectly logical, to not put tp in a bathroom stall. Of course, I just forgot to grab some from the communal tp dispenser on the wall next to the sink on my way in. Naturally that's where it would be.
I walked out into the main airport and experienced my first feeling of slight panic. There were crowds of people in the airport and I didn't know any of them or who I was looking for or what I would do if I couldn't find them. But that only lasted for a couple minutes, because there was this little Ecuadorian woman holding a paper with my name on it. I met Patti (the mom), Ernesto (the dad), and their son Raul. They are very nice and welcoming and patient with my lack of Spanish.
There are two other students living in the house as well, Karina and Natasha. Natasha took me out to walk around our neighborhood in Guayaquil for a little bit. The buses are positively frightening, but that is how I am going to have to get around. They kept on telling me what to do if I got lost and what to tell the cab driver and all I could think was, I hope to God I never get lost. Apparently we are on the bad side of town? I don't know if it's the bad side or if it's just not the wealthy side.
Camilo just told me that I'm going to need scrubs for my job, and let me tell you, that literally made my day. I'm working at an orphanage, or center/clinic, for malnourished children. I'm going to be working with the nurses there. I was really glad to hear that, because I thought I was going to be at an orphanage doing the whole "play with the children and make them feel loved before you leave them to go back to America and Starbucks" thing. I would much prefer to do something a little more concrete. And really, "helping the nurses" could also mean "play with the children." But I was worried that my job wouldn't be as health related as I wanted - or really needed - it to be.
I begin on Tuesday. Today I am going on a city tour with Raul. Monday I am doing an orientation with Camilo. I am taking this whole thing one day at a time, because I am freaking out on the inside.
I walked out into the main airport and experienced my first feeling of slight panic. There were crowds of people in the airport and I didn't know any of them or who I was looking for or what I would do if I couldn't find them. But that only lasted for a couple minutes, because there was this little Ecuadorian woman holding a paper with my name on it. I met Patti (the mom), Ernesto (the dad), and their son Raul. They are very nice and welcoming and patient with my lack of Spanish.
There are two other students living in the house as well, Karina and Natasha. Natasha took me out to walk around our neighborhood in Guayaquil for a little bit. The buses are positively frightening, but that is how I am going to have to get around. They kept on telling me what to do if I got lost and what to tell the cab driver and all I could think was, I hope to God I never get lost. Apparently we are on the bad side of town? I don't know if it's the bad side or if it's just not the wealthy side.
Camilo just told me that I'm going to need scrubs for my job, and let me tell you, that literally made my day. I'm working at an orphanage, or center/clinic, for malnourished children. I'm going to be working with the nurses there. I was really glad to hear that, because I thought I was going to be at an orphanage doing the whole "play with the children and make them feel loved before you leave them to go back to America and Starbucks" thing. I would much prefer to do something a little more concrete. And really, "helping the nurses" could also mean "play with the children." But I was worried that my job wouldn't be as health related as I wanted - or really needed - it to be.
I begin on Tuesday. Today I am going on a city tour with Raul. Monday I am doing an orientation with Camilo. I am taking this whole thing one day at a time, because I am freaking out on the inside.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
As my big trip gets closer and closer (t-minus 4 days now) my emotions are switching between very excited and very nervous. I have found, and this is quite terrible, that thinking about Hunter, looking at his facebook, and being reminded that he is avoiding me really makes me want to get the HELL out of here. Healthy strategy? Maybe not. But two months away will do both of us some good, I'm sure.
But on a more positive note, there is hope left in the world, and I am not completely unlovable. So far at least. I think I am very slowly beginning to like someone new. I was HELD last night. I had no idea how much my body and my soul were CRAVING that feeling. And he makes me laugh, too, which I have also missed - much more than I thought I did.
And I have to run, but my last thought is this. Why is there so much last minute crap to buy before a trip????
But on a more positive note, there is hope left in the world, and I am not completely unlovable. So far at least. I think I am very slowly beginning to like someone new. I was HELD last night. I had no idea how much my body and my soul were CRAVING that feeling. And he makes me laugh, too, which I have also missed - much more than I thought I did.
And I have to run, but my last thought is this. Why is there so much last minute crap to buy before a trip????
Friday, June 11, 2010
He had a swastika tattooed on his hand
Joy, Elissa and I were driving home from North Carolina today, and our car broke down near Richmond. Literally five seconds after we pulled off the road, a little red pickup pulled off to help us. The two most redneck men - guys - got out and asked if we needed help.
Just picture the situation. Joy wasn't even wearing a shirt when the car died. The a.c. had stopped working an hour previously, and she was down to her bikini top, driving along 295. My sister was showing so much cleavage I kept waiting for her entire boob to fall out, and all of our shorts were appropriate for the trashiest country concert.
One of the guys was covered in tattoos, and they were either prison tats, or they were from a non - professional source, or maybe the art was just damaged by the sun, because he had one hell of a tan. I kept noticing his skin though, because it was so damaged. He had one tattoo of a bomb on his arm, and it looked like it was about to fall off, like a giant scab. There were numerous scabbed over sores on his arms, too, but they were hard to see because of all the ink. And of course the nazi symbol on his hand, which was comforting in a ridiculously backwards way - because Joy has a good friend with swastikas on his fingers, and because after all we are all blonde-haired blue-eyed Germans and Poles. I shouldn't even think that, let alone write it.
When someone stops to help you like that, you want to think that it's basic human kindness. It's like the Good Samaritan. I listen to enough country music to almost implicitly trust anyone with a truck, some camo, and a confederate flag somewhere in the vicinity. And there is something romantic and appealing about the fact that these were two men who jumped at the chance to help three damsels in distress.
But at the same time. I really didn't trust the one guy. It's not that I didn't like him. Their names were Tom and Jim. Jim's brother died serving in Iraq, and he hadn't seen him since 9/11.
And then the tow truck driver was big and very black, and we got in the car with him, but there was a name and a number painted on the cab, so that means it was perfectly safe, of course.
Oh, and then we walked from the Pep Boys to McDonalds, past a pretty ghetto mall, scared to death of stepping on a needle, and trying not to catch anyone's attention. I'm not sure, but I think we stood out a little bit.
Just picture the situation. Joy wasn't even wearing a shirt when the car died. The a.c. had stopped working an hour previously, and she was down to her bikini top, driving along 295. My sister was showing so much cleavage I kept waiting for her entire boob to fall out, and all of our shorts were appropriate for the trashiest country concert.
One of the guys was covered in tattoos, and they were either prison tats, or they were from a non - professional source, or maybe the art was just damaged by the sun, because he had one hell of a tan. I kept noticing his skin though, because it was so damaged. He had one tattoo of a bomb on his arm, and it looked like it was about to fall off, like a giant scab. There were numerous scabbed over sores on his arms, too, but they were hard to see because of all the ink. And of course the nazi symbol on his hand, which was comforting in a ridiculously backwards way - because Joy has a good friend with swastikas on his fingers, and because after all we are all blonde-haired blue-eyed Germans and Poles. I shouldn't even think that, let alone write it.
When someone stops to help you like that, you want to think that it's basic human kindness. It's like the Good Samaritan. I listen to enough country music to almost implicitly trust anyone with a truck, some camo, and a confederate flag somewhere in the vicinity. And there is something romantic and appealing about the fact that these were two men who jumped at the chance to help three damsels in distress.
But at the same time. I really didn't trust the one guy. It's not that I didn't like him. Their names were Tom and Jim. Jim's brother died serving in Iraq, and he hadn't seen him since 9/11.
And then the tow truck driver was big and very black, and we got in the car with him, but there was a name and a number painted on the cab, so that means it was perfectly safe, of course.
Oh, and then we walked from the Pep Boys to McDonalds, past a pretty ghetto mall, scared to death of stepping on a needle, and trying not to catch anyone's attention. I'm not sure, but I think we stood out a little bit.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Going hiking today in Shenandoah national park. Why is there a cover charge to get into the place, it's not a club.
Huge country music fest party tomorrow, going to be a good time. I'm putting on my cowboy boots and rocking out to some Little Big Town and Montgomery Gentry.
Beach on Monday, here I come.
Good week coming up, starting right now.
Huge country music fest party tomorrow, going to be a good time. I'm putting on my cowboy boots and rocking out to some Little Big Town and Montgomery Gentry.
Beach on Monday, here I come.
Good week coming up, starting right now.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Begin Again
I want to leave myself and start over. Different country, different people, no past. No nightmare Hunter crushing me and destroying my soul. I don't know what is up and what is down, what I am supposed to do or think.
All I know is that I want to be loved and I want to love. I also want forgiveness and someone to realize that I am good. I want to actually be good. My entire life I have made mistake after mistake, everything learned the hard way. How much do I have to lose before I finally figure out that I need to change?
All I know is that I want to be loved and I want to love. I also want forgiveness and someone to realize that I am good. I want to actually be good. My entire life I have made mistake after mistake, everything learned the hard way. How much do I have to lose before I finally figure out that I need to change?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
My guardian angel was smoking a cigarette
Friends of mine who have gone abroad have all started a blog to document their journey. In one month's time I am going to be living in Ecuador for two months, so I thought I'd start a blog of my own.
This will be good for me, I think. I have always turned to writing to get my thoughts out of my head.
So today at work I was driving the big catering van. I always drive the oldest, most beat up van that we have, and here's why: I parked between another car and a concrete pillar, and somehow managed to get the van completely wedged in against the pillar. Now, if there had been another car there, that wouldn't have happened (I hope). My strategy for unsticking myself was to just reverse and hope for the best. This guy taking a smoke break came over and knocked on my window and was like, "Do you need some help? Because I just watched you take off half of your van." I always end up getting help from a stranger at these events, always. Half the time they even end up driving the van out for me. I just give up and surrender the keys to a complete stranger because anything is better than my driving at that point.
Anyway, this man of course knows exactly what to do and how to maneuver to get out of my mess of a situation. How do men know these things. The van is left with a couple major gashes along the side. These aren't just little scratches in the paint. These are metal baring wounds that will rust badly later on. Oh, and the door hangs even more crookedly than it did before - but it still locks, so it's good as far as I'm concerned.
I toyed with the idea of blaming on another car - I was in a parking garage, after all. But other cars don't leave gashes like that. And another car would have left their own paint residue. So I didn't lie. I told my boss in a text. I feel like that's worse than breaking up with someone via text message. But at least I did the right thing by telling her and not trying to lie about it. Right?
This will be good for me, I think. I have always turned to writing to get my thoughts out of my head.
So today at work I was driving the big catering van. I always drive the oldest, most beat up van that we have, and here's why: I parked between another car and a concrete pillar, and somehow managed to get the van completely wedged in against the pillar. Now, if there had been another car there, that wouldn't have happened (I hope). My strategy for unsticking myself was to just reverse and hope for the best. This guy taking a smoke break came over and knocked on my window and was like, "Do you need some help? Because I just watched you take off half of your van." I always end up getting help from a stranger at these events, always. Half the time they even end up driving the van out for me. I just give up and surrender the keys to a complete stranger because anything is better than my driving at that point.
Anyway, this man of course knows exactly what to do and how to maneuver to get out of my mess of a situation. How do men know these things. The van is left with a couple major gashes along the side. These aren't just little scratches in the paint. These are metal baring wounds that will rust badly later on. Oh, and the door hangs even more crookedly than it did before - but it still locks, so it's good as far as I'm concerned.
I toyed with the idea of blaming on another car - I was in a parking garage, after all. But other cars don't leave gashes like that. And another car would have left their own paint residue. So I didn't lie. I told my boss in a text. I feel like that's worse than breaking up with someone via text message. But at least I did the right thing by telling her and not trying to lie about it. Right?
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