new years, catholicism, and procrastinators

This is going to be a really random assortment of things-- be forewarned!

I hate New Years resolutions. Therefore, I never make them. If you really want to change something in your life, do something about it when the idea occurs to you. If you decide in April that you want to shed those lovehandles, start being a nicer person, quit smoking, stop serial-killing or whatever change you see necessary in your life, why wait til the following January to actually do something about it? You could lose those 15 pounds, replace your outer bitch with your inner sweetheart, lessen your chances of lung cancer, and spare a few lives long before January 1st rolls around. So, in a nutshell, that's why I think they're stupid.

Another reason that I don't make resolutions is because I am admittedly lazy/ indifferent/ unmotivated about things like that. (Example: the one time I tried an actual organized diet, I did it with my roommate and we lasted for two weeks before we bought a bag of Dorito's and freakin went to town on those bad boys. Mmm, crisp, cheesy deliciousness.) I don't see the need for a whole lot of changes in my life and the things that I could hypothetically change about my lifestyle or myself don't bother me enough to actually do anything about them. I'm pretty healthy, I'm not fat, I don't smoke, I'm nice although sarcasm sometimes gets the best of me, I don't drink unhealthy amounts of alcohol (anymore), I don't torture my siblings (anymore), etc. I'm not saying I'm perfect (pretty damned close though!), but hell... if I don't bother others and I don't bother me, then why try to fix what's not broken if you know what I mean.

"Giving up" things for Lent goes right up there with New Years resolutions. Granted I went to the 'College of the Holy Cross' and life experiences have confirmed that yes, I believe in God, however I do not like or support my religion (don't tell my Grandma. I made the mistake of telling her that I never have gone nor go to church in Spain... and I've never seen such a look of utter disbelief and disappointment. It was a key lesson on 'when lying is a GOOD thing'). So why would I change my lifestyle for forty days for something that I don't believe in? When I was a kid in CCD classes I already knew that me and the Catholic church weren't overly compatible, so when they asked us what we were giving up for Lent, I'd always just say "I'm giving up chocolate" to get them off my back. Then I'd eat a KitKat bar on my ride home. A king size one just for emphasis. Devout is my middle name.

Meanwhile, for Christmas my dad gave me the "Procrastinator's Planner for 2006," full of tips, tidbits, and laughs for chronic procrastinators such as myself. So, for a chuckle, here is the procrastinator's planner's take on New Years resolutions:

Every January 1st you decide that THIS year will be THE year. Promises are made, resolutions are set... then two weeks later the dementia sets in and it's, "Resolutions? What resolutions?" Sure, you could go that route, or you could make some effortless changes for the better. Who said eating more ice cream isn't worthwhile? What genius made clothing size the measure of a human being's worth? Skip the guilt and stress this year, and jump right into some more realistic resolutions:
Relax- Get more sleep
Be loved unconditionally- Adopt a dog
Love unconditionally- Buy an inflatable doll
Get into shape- Choose any shape you desire
Prepare for your future- Find a sugar mommy or daddy
Learn something new- Figure out how to work the DVD player
Find inner happiness- Find a good gin
Love yourself- Tattoo your own name on your arm
Find daily inspiration- Read your horoscope
Become a better person- Become a better procrastinator.

writing so Alfonso will still be my friend

'Twas a sunny, rather mild day in Madrid, annnnnd I was opting to head home to the frozen tundra that is currently East Lyme, Connecticut. In theory, I reassured myself, seeing my family and friends and taking peanut butter baths would cancel out the cold factor. I'll let you know after this vacation whether that's true or not... :o) So I bid farewell to our beloved waiters in Casa Poli (an extra tear was shed for Fernande..) and got a free coffee out of them before I hailed a cab and set off for the airport. My flights would follow the normal route I take between Spain and the U.S. of A., the normal route being that it included a stop in good ole London. Which I have grown to like because I know my way through Heathrow airport so well now that I feel like some sort of seasoned traveller with my little laptop bag. For some reason it almost makes me want to throw on a pair of giant sunglasses and carry around a little dog.

Regardless of how dear to my heart British Airways may be, I almost always have to deal with some sort of incident. A few of the examples:
August 2003 - Delayed flight out of JFK, missed flight in London, therefore missed flight in Madrid, arrived to La Coruna without luggage. Luggage seems to have disappeared miraculously into thin air. Airline says luggage has been delivered, Betsey's lack of a) clothing, b) a cheery disposition, and c) basic personal hygiene products suggests otherwise. 5 days later, Betsey goes back to La Coruna airport to fight with the people there. It is discovered, 2 hours later of talking to one person after another, that Betsey's cherished possessions are sitting in an airplane hangar full of cardboard boxes in the middle of the airfield. Why?? You're asking the wrong gal.
September 2003 - Nobody told us that we'd perhaps have a problem with luggage weight when flying within Spain. Since we spent the first month in La Coruna, we brought all of our things there. One month later, I had to get to Sevilla... preferably with all my belongings. Turns out that domestic flights and international flights do not have the same weight allowances and so we're all charged some ungodly sum of money for 'overweight' luggage. Meanwhile, I was petrified of arriving in Sevilla and having no clothing/toothbrush/stuffed bear again, so I packed as much as I could in my carry-on bag. This leads to a very Meet the Parents moment in which I was starring as Greg Focker in the scene where he yells at the flight attendant with the sticks in her hair telling her that she'll have to rip his bag from his kung fu grip. It didn't escalate to me being carted off the plane and interrogated by police, but the flight attendant did try to take it from me. ... I made it fit. So what if I ended up with bra's jammed in my pockets.
January 2004 - After a 3 weeks vacation, I was heading back to Sevilla for semester 2 of the academically easiest year of my life. Yes, that includes kindergarten. Anyway, I got to talking with two American guys who were permanently moving to Spain and I was too busy taking mental notes (just in case I decided to eventually do the same thing) and therefore clearly did not pay attention to where I put my passport and tickets. Needless to say, this became a problem when I tried to board the plane. Said passport and tickets were back in terminal 4, the terminal I had flewn into. I was in terminal 1, trying to board my next plane. They were eventually found by airport security and rushed via golf-cart (with a siren) to me and I made the flight by approximately 30 seconds.
September 2005 - Almost an August 2003 repeat. Delay at JFK --> late arrival in London --> Betsey running through the airport --> arriving 3 minutes late to the gate --> biatch airlines worker yells at Betsey for being late, even though it was not her fault and reinforces Betsey's dislike of British accents --> Betsey misses flight --> Betsey, tired and travel-weary, cries --> eventually Betsey is given a pity voucher for a sandwich in the airport and is put on another flight --> Betsey arrives in Madrid --> turns out Betsey's luggage is still chillin' up in London

However, the one time I was bumped up to first class (December 2003) for the long flight from London to New York remains fresh in my mind and balances out the bad experiences. British Airways had accidentally sold my seat because I was late checking in (due to.. what else.. a flight delay in Madrid)... so I was bumped up. Score! Big, comfy seat. Footrests. Other things that delighted me which I can't seem to remember now. So now, whenever I fly, I have that glimmer of hope for another upgrade. This past Saturday, that glimmer of hope was trampled and thrown down a flight of stairs.

I had the worst seat on the flight. Without a doubt-- my dad even checked it out on some website. My seat was in red, which indicates a 'warning'... aka an undesireable seat. I can't help but wonder if the J in 53J (my seat) is for JIPPED. Why? Well let's see. It's the last row on the plane, which isn't a big deal in itself. However, being in this last row means that my seat does not recline. There is a BARRIER behind it. Therefore, while you're trying to watch Hitch, The 40 Year Old Virgin, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the three movies I chose) your nose is flattened up against the little tv screen attached to the back of the fully reclined seat in front of you. Oompa-loompas become giants, you can see up Johnny Depp's nose, and Will Smith is well, still hot.

In addition to the non-reclining seat, being in the last row also means that you are in the bathroom section of the plane. Yes, your seat has basically the same distinction on the plane as a toilet. This can be convenient if you're somebody who pees a lot or often feels sick while flying. I don't belong to either of these categories. This also not fun if the bathroom to your side, which you can see with your peripheral vision without turning your head, is frequented by a man clearly suffering from irritable bowel syndrome. I was scared to breathe through my mouth at times because I didnt want to pollute my lungs with whatever was well, for lack of a more eloquent way of putting it, coming out of that man digestive tract.

And then, since you are already the least happy person on the flight due to the knots in your back and the acquired knowledge that you didn't want of bathroom patterns of everyone else on the plane, you are the last person off the plane. By the time you get to the door, the pilots and the flight attendants aren't even standing there to say "Have a nice day... Fly with us again." They've already checked in at their hotels and gone out to the bar. You're then the last person in the customs line, the last to get your luggage, etc. So while Ivana Trump (yes, she was on my flight annnnd sitting in a somewhat different section of the plane) is already in her hotel/luxury apartment/NOT in the airport, I was just getting off the plane.

I think that flight home, not to mention it was an HOUR AND A HALF longer than usual, was a kick in the face for them having bumped me up that one time. Like a reminder saying, "hey it happened once... it ain't happenin' ever again."

alemania

I think the language to study is undoubtedly German. At least some key phrases anyway. That way when you want to, for example, have a fist fight with your 86 year old history of architecture professor for being a complete ass, you can do your stunning Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks with the added vocal effects of a German dictator. Now that'd be a force to reckon with. While in mid-air, you could just yell "my what a pretty kittycat you have!" and it will sound as if you are threatening imminent death to him and to his loved ones.

My one German phrase that I know and cherish as if it were a rare gem (thank you Karsten Steuber, my Logic professor at Holy Cross, who was German and often would start teaching us in German without realizing it) is "Der shnee ist weis!!!" Oh that's right, I SOOOO just went there... I pulled out the big guns. Throw in a few added exclamation points, some profuse sweating, and maybe some pulsating veins popping out of your head and just try to tell me it doesn't look like a threatening phrase. Sorry, but the same phase in English (the snow is white) and in Spanish (la nieve es blanca) just doesn't evoke that same level of cowering fear as its German counterpart.

Maybe if I were able to speak said language of 1/4 of my ancestry, I, the girl impossible to anger, would actually get mad every once in awhile just as an excuse to use it.

Tuesday the 13th

Today's uplifting email of the day:

Embassy of the United States of America
Madrid, Spain
U.S. Citizen Warden Message
= December 13, 2005 =

The following Warden Message is for maximum dissemination to U.S. Citizens.

SUBJECT: PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT -- WORLDWIDE CAUTION

1. This Public Announcement updates information on the continuing threat of terrorist actions and violence against Americans and interests overseas. This supersedes the Worldwide Caution dated August 2, 2005 and expires on June 12, 2006.
2. The Department of State remains concerned about the continued threat of terrorist attacks, demonstrations and other violent actions against U.S. citizens and interests
overseas. Ongoing events in Iraq have resulted in demonstrations and associated violence in several countries. Americans are reminded that demonstrations and rioting can occur with little or no warning.
3. Current information suggests that al-Qaida and affiliated organizations continue to plan terrorist attacks against U.S. interests in multiple regions, including Europe, Asia, Africa and the Middle East. These attacks may employ a wide variety of tactics to include assassinations, kidnappings, hijackings and bombings.
4. Extremists may elect to use conventional or non-conventional weapons, and target both official and private interests. The hotel bombings in Jordan in early November
illustrate how terrorists exploit vulnerabilities associated with soft targets. Additional examples of such targets include residential areas, business offices, clubs, restaurants, places of worship, schools, public areas and locales where Americans gather in large numbers, including during holidays.
5. In the wake of the July 2005 London bombings and the March 2004 train attacks in Madrid, Americans are reminded of the potential for terrorists to attack public transportation systems. In addition, extremists may also select aviation and maritime services as possible targets.
6. U.S. citizens are strongly encouraged to maintain a high level of vigilance, be aware of local events, and take the appropriate steps to bolster their personal security. For additional information, please refer to "A Safe Trip Abroad" found at http://travel.state.gov.
7. U.S. Government facilities worldwide remain at a heightened state of alert. These facilities may temporarily close or periodically suspend public services to assess their security posture. In those instances, U.S. embassies and consulates will make every effort to provide emergency services to U.S. citizens. Americans abroad are urged to monitor the local news and maintain contact with the nearest U.S. embassy or consulate.
8. As the Department continues to develop information on any potential security threats to U.S. citizens overseas, it shares credible threat information through its Consular
Information Program documents, available on the Internet at http://travel.state.gov. In addition to information on the Internet, travelers may obtain up-to-date information




On that note, I'm off to walk through my residential neighborhood. Then, I'll take the metro to my American university. Then, after taking my exam, I'm going to eat in Burger King. Perhaps to relax we'll throw on our GAP shorts, J.Crew flipflops, a Red Sox jersey, and a John Deere trucker hat (cocked to one side, clearly) to go play football or frisbee in the park. Then, we'll head to one of the movie theaters that plays movies in English. For dinner, some 16 ounce burgers in a Tex Mex restaurant should do the trick. THEN, we're going to get blackout drunk and go walking through the streets of Madrid singing the U.S. National Anthem wearing an American flag do-rag. Then, just for kicks... we'll say we voted for Bush and stand by his every move. Anyone up for a good ole fashion crucifixion?

english

Last night, I was having an 'moment'... in fact, last night everyone in our apartment was having a 'moment'... and I was actually swearing AT the Spanish language (yes, out loud) as if it were an enemy who had thrown me down the stairs or an old friend who had betrayed me. So, I refused to speak it for a good two hours... that's right... I gave a LANGUAGE the silent treatment like I used to give to my brother and my sister when we were younger. My maturity amazes me.

In fact, the three of us were speaking in English... which is fun because it never happens... and yet it is nice when you are frustrated. Taking a break and speaking in English for awhile proved therapeutic... well, aside from Susan making fun of the way I say "cat" and "pan." It led to me saying "cat" and "pan" over and over again trying to understand- think along the lines of Dustin Hoffman in Rainman- cat, pan, cat, pan, cat, pan, cat, pan. Walmart, Walmart, Walmart. Gotta go to Walmart. I don't get it, whats the problem with the way I say my a's? Anyway, during said conversation, I also said "traduction" instead of translation and asked "in serious?" instead of "seriously?" Even when I'm giving Spanish the silent treatment it still invades my English bubble without my knowledge.

And then Joanne made apple pie, because she is a domestic goddess... annnnnd because she didn't want to study and when Joanne doesn't want to study she cooks. Nothing like a little visit to Fat Hell to improve a bad day.

...

frustrated

I am by no means a 'vain' person. I like to think I'm pretty low key in that respect. The only thing that I'm somewhat particular about, however, is my hair... and its not like I even do anything interesting with it... a) ponytail, b) blow dry. I don't know why it matters to me that much... that's a lie, I do know why. I think it is rooted in the shman phase of my adolescent years. Luckily, senior year of high school I had to cancel a haircut appointment, and since I am lazy, I just didn't reschedule one. A few months later, I noticed that letting my hair grow past my chin took some of the edge off the shman-ness. It made me look more like my little sister, who has very feminine features, than my little brother, obviously a guy. I think now-a-days, 6 years post cancelled haircut, if I were to cut my hair short again, I could manage to still look like a girl due to some other key features... and the discovery of makeup. But the fear of looking like my eighth grade self again prevents me from trying anything drastic, unlike Hannah, one of my pals here, who admittedly changes her hair all the time. "It's just hair" she says, "It'll grow back if I don't like it." I feel that way about dying my hair- you can always dye it and if you don't like it, you walk down the street and buy another box of hair dye- but not about cutting it. And believe me, I've made some hair-dye judgement errors... one time I accidently dyed it so black that it looked blue. Corinne liked it. I waited a few days for it to grow on me. It didn't. I looked Asian from the back, no joke. Four days later, the problem was resolved.

So anyway, to sum things up, I am always anxious of cutting my hair, even though the amount that I let them cut off is usually so minimal that nobody would even know if I didn't tell them. Even during the summer, when I cut off 6 inches it was hardly noticeable. However, after four months without a haircut I began to notice that a lil trim-ski was in order. That was two weeks ago. Since then, I'd been vascillating between getting it cut and just waiting until I go home for Christmas.

Yesterday, I grew some balls, figuratively of course, and finally went to get it cut. Phase one included the hair-washing girl, who I swear to God was actually aiming that fire-hose strength jet of water straight at my ears (do I LOOK like a 90 ear old man with hair popping out of my ears that needs shampooing? I personally think not) Then the girl with the mullet, which is a supposedly fashionable look here and not white trash, says she's going to cut my hair and change it up a little bit. Oh boy... that's when you pray with every fiber of your being that you don't walk out with business in front and a party in the back if you know what I mean. (Oddly enough, these are the exact same fears I had two years ago when I dared to cut my hair in Sevilla. That had big potential to be traumatic day. Because for all I knew, instead of efficiently explaining what I wanted I was probably saying, "please, take an out of control lawnmower to my head.")

After she spends some time attacking my head with her trusty scissors, she's like, "ooh now we're going to 'style' it." Twenty minutes later, having watched my hair actually emit plumes of SMOKE as she blew-dry it (I was actually bracing myself for flames and being doused with a fire extinguisher), I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like an electrocuted french poodle. As soon as I walked out the door, her pruned creation that used to be my hair went immediately into a ponytail.

Now, having showered, it's not too bad. The moral of the story: I got a haircut and I don't have a mullet.

Metro (no, not metrosexual)

I love me some good ole irony in my day to day life. Today's ironic sighting was spotted on the metro, line 4 to be exact. The following characters were all on one end of the metro car:

1) A nun reciting her rosary beads standing against one of the walls. Right next to her,
2) A tween couple making out and "exploring their newfound pubescent sex drive," the girl's hand blatantly down the front of the boys pants. Across from them,
3) Me, listening to Christmas carols on the Ipod-aroonie. And trying to contain my laughter.

just your typical guy from the Canary Islands...

I need to write this right this second to be sure not to forget any single detail of the experience I just had.

Here I was, in my apartment writing my paper on the presence of duplicity in the life and works of Salvador Dali... sounds about as exciting as it is. I'm on page 7. Of 13. Hoo-freakin-ray. I decided I was stressed out... which automatically translates to wanting to eat my feelings. Instead of devouring a television or something, I thought hmm... time to make voyage number 2 of the year to Subway. Frankly I'm proud of myself that I've only gone there twice seeing how I pass it on a daily basis... but the idea of a good ole American tuna grinder with extra pickles and a side of chips was just too good to pass up today. The Subway is right down the street on the corner... maybe a two minute, basically uneventful, walk. And yet, during this short stroll I met the single most strange person I have ever met in my life. Sometimes I ask myself how I manage to meet so many whack-jobs... and then think, clearly they are drawn to my inner-lunatic.

OKAY. So, I am walking down my street, putting my keys in my pocket and making sure that 10euro bill hadn't disappeared from my pocket if you want details, when a guy, probably about 30-35 years old, stops me and asks if I had a light for his cigarette. I respond saying no, sorry and I kept walking. I'm almost to the crosswalk when I hear "excuse me, excuse me!!" and look to find that he's running after me. So now he's speaking in English, since apparently my 'no, I'm sorry' wasn't in the most convincing Spanish accent. Here, more or less, is the conversation that followed:

Jose: I'm sorry, I just wanted to tell you that you have a wonderful smile. It's so natural... and it gives you... how do I put it... it gives you glamour. But I'm sure you hear that all the time.

Betsey: (Thinking 'yah natural my ass'... that's 6 years of braces buddy) Nope, not really... I'm not exactly a glamorous person, but thanks! (she turns to keep walking... the yellow Subway sign in her view)

J: Really? I find that shocking! I'm sorry, you must think I'm completely mad.

B: No, no... that's nice of you to say, thanks again.

J: Where in America are you from?

B: Connecticut

J: Ohh Connecticut, I actually know somebody from Connecticut.

B: Oh really? There aren't too many of us. Where are you from?

J: I'm from the Canary Islands.

B: Oh really. I actually know somebody from there as well. (side note: Angel, I can only hope that this isn't one of your relatives...)

J: What's your name? I'm Jose.

B: Betsey.

J: Bepsi? (clearly)

B: Betsey.

J: Ahh Betsey... it's a pleasure to meet you. (cheek kisses)

J: (Looks intently at Betsey, squinting his eyes.. then they pop open a bit and he gasps as if a lightbulb just went off in his head) Virgo? or Gemini?

B: (Thinks, oh boy... this is about to get interesting...) Uhhh... libra actually.

J: Ahh of course.. that makes sense. I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy... it's just hobby of mine... not a job or anything...

B: No.. um.. that's very interesting (as she thinks yes, I think you're an absolute nut)

J: ... but I studied astrology for awhile back in the Canary Islands.

B: (voice in her head is screaming, RUNNNNNN!!!) Oh wow- thats certainly different...

J: ... I study astrological signs, read hands, I can sense vibes...

B: (inner voice: oh dear Lord..)

J: ... and I have to tell you, that I acted on impulse when I stopped you. (gets very serious) I sensed that you have very, VERY strong vibrations. I couldn't let you just walk by without talking to you.

B: Ohh...

J: I need to go... but can I please just look at your hand... please, I need to see it.

B: OOooookayyy... (holds out hand, eyebrows raised beyond normality)

J: OH... OH! Oh wow. This explains everything. You are an extremely complicated woman Bestey... and very intelligent. You have lot's of things going on in here (touches side of Betsey's head) and in here (points to Betsey's chest)

B: Oh .. um.. errr...hm..

J: How long are you in Madrid?

B: (too confused to lie and say 'tomorrow') Probably til May or June...

J: Oh wonderful! I would love to get together and have a drink... I would love to spend more time looking at your hands.

B: Ohh.. uhh..

J: Ok I can't this week, but next Monday, at 6:00, meet me here on this corner... right where I first saw you and felt your vibes.

B: Ohh.. yeah, okay (translation: when fish grow antlers and carry Santa's sleigh..)

J: Okay, see you then! I live right here on this street (sidenote: yes, MY street...) so maybe I'll see you before then!

B: (speedwalks to Subway, vascillating between utterly confused and utterly amused)



Honestly... how do I meet these people? And why, why, WHY does he have to live across the street from me. This could get tricky. Next thing I know he'll show up at my door with a cape, a turban, and a crystal ball calling himself Jose the Great and saying that he can see our future children.



SOMEBODY REMIND ME NEXT MONDAY NOT TO PASS BY THAT CORNER BETWEEN 5:30 AND 6:30.

fun with numbers

We're going to play a little counting game.. ready?

1 is for the number of presentations I have left to give

2 is for the weeks remaining until break, when, upon arrival to JFK, I will fall into a heap and have to be wheeled out to the car in a luggage carrier. And then I'll make my dad stop at 11pm at the same sketchy rest stop to buy me an ice cream sundae at McD's... it's tradition.

3 is for the number of papers I have left to do.. a nice lil 30 cumulative pages of what's sure to be crap crap crap. On the positive side, at least for my art paper I got to read about how Salvador Dali used to piss himself in bed until the age of eight for the pure joy of doing it.

4 is for the number of exams I have to take, and consequently also the number of times I will get mentally, and possibly even physically, annihilated by them.

5 is for 5:00am, or my average bed time

6-10 is for the number of nervous breakdowns that I predict I've got left in me before they throw me in the loony bin... or better yet before I throw MYSELF in the loony bin.


Um, happy December?