an open letter to... Mother Nature

Yo, Mama N... what the frijoles?

In times when parts of the world are being ravaged by earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes and floods, I understand that - in comparison - you're going pretty easy on me. After all, the floor has not collapsed beneath me, I don't have to paddle around town in a rowboat and the apartment roof remains firmly in place above my head. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate this greatly.

That said, and with the utmost respect, we have GOT to come to some sort of agreement here.

What's the deal with the overcast skies, constant rainfall and frigid temperatures? Are you pissed? PMS-ing? Vengeful? Depressed? Well it's time to snap out of it Eeyore. It's JUNE (well, in two days) and I'm still donning my winter attire. It's been weeks... I repeat WEEKS!... since I've seen the sun and felt its warmth upon my face. NOT ACCEPTABLE.

"June" and "hold on, let me grab my coat" are two concepts that should not, under any circumstances, go hand-in-hand. So please, pop some pills - be they Midol or Xanax - and bring that fiery yet beloved ball of gas out of hiding so I can put away my umbrella, store my sweaters and sip on cool beverages outdoors while enjoying its rays.

Mkay? Great, thanks.

huh?

So I just spent an exorbitant amount of time choosing a new font for instant messenger when I should have been - cough, cough - working. Because it's borderline embarrassing, I will not reveal how long this selection process took, so let's just settle with "too long". Why did I do this? Because I am bored out of my mind at work right now and it was the only thing within my control to change. You im-ers won't know what hit you when you meet the new and improved Bitstream Vera Sans size 10 font Betsey in a kickin' shade of... navy blue. Can you feel the energy?

So then I got to thinking (again, instead of - cough, cough - working) that, as silly as something like a font change may be, it's only natural to want to tweak the things that we can so as not to be perpetually stuck in a monotonous wake-work-eat-sleep-repeat cycle. Now don't interpret this badly... I don't at feel stuck in a mundane routine and I am FAR from bored. In fact, I'm pretty damn happy. I'm just bored at work right now and feeling a tad over-caffeinated!

Anyways, unless you're a nomadic hippie - which believe me would be appealing if not for the inevitability of b.o. and offspring with names like Rainbow and Ocean - it's natural for life to become a little less up to you and a little more up to others (government, bosses, etc.). After all, society tells us it's a sign of maturity to wake up and be a productive member of society instead of living in a perpetual college mindset of "eh, I'll skip life today because I'm hungover". Blurry flashbacks of rocking out on the air guitar to "Summer of '69" on top of a beer pong table are funny when you're 22 but, when you're a balding 45-year old with no steady job but with a steadily expanding beer gut, that same scenario loses its comical edge and lands you a spot in pathetic creepster territory.

I think this need to exert control over the little things is also why so many women end up with shorter and shorter haircuts as they get older. Sure, they'll say it's for purposes of easier maintenance given that they don't have enough time to primp their mane as much as they once did. This is, of course, valid. I, however, think it has more to do with them feeling that - between working, grocery shopping, driving the kidlets to soccer practice, paying bills, packing school lunches, walking the dog, etc. - the hair is one of those few precious things that you can do whatever the frijoles you want with and it won't complain, cry, bark or grow mold. And, since you can't grow your hair in the snap of a finger and the snip-snip of a pair of scissors, shorter is the only way to go. Once the kids have moved out and the hair can't go any shorter, it means it's time to retire, sell the house and dedicate your days to bingo and grandkids.

Where am I going with this? I have no effing clue, although now that I think about it, I think this sporadic urge to "change things up" is also at the core of why I get deliriously giddy about buying new socks.

I'm sick of long sleeved shirts

Why the frijoles isn't it summer yet?

ode to coworkers

When people ask me, in a natural response to my constant complaints about certain "aspects" at work, about why I don't aggressively look for a new place of employment, I usually don't have a legitimate response. Trust me, it's sometime in the foreseeable future, as I certainly don't plan to be here when I'm 40. Or 30, for that matter. I know I have to move out and up. After all, I WOULD at some point in my life like to get myself out of debt to the US government sometime before i hit menopause... and hey, while we're at it maybe even save a few pennies!

However, right now I'm not in a rush and I'm trying to concentrate more on the positive aspects than the negative. So, there are a few key reasons that keep me here.

1) I'm in it partially for the papers, and a dim light is slowly coming into focus at the end of the tunnel otherwise known as Spanish bureaucracy.

2) Relaxed atmosphere. We take 1/2-hour coffee breaks. We drink too much wine at lunch on "social Fridays". We can just about go to work in our pj's if it strikes our fancy, and nobody will care. In fact, if someone were to show up wearing what others in the workforce know to be "work attire", we'd either laugh or assume he/she has an interview.

3) When it comes down to it, I DO like what I do. Sure there are a lot boring parts, but I write, I translate, I plan entire websites, I pretend I'm an internet guru and learn more each day about html and SEO. Nerdy, yes... but if my career path shapes up to be the path I think I'm starting out on, all of this stuff helps beef up my resume.

4 and most important) I have fantastic coworkers. While there's a constant flow of people coming and going, we somehow always have a great group of people. We laugh non-stop. We get drinks after work every Friday. We have inside jokes. We spend more time with each other during the week than we do with our significant others, and yet we still voluntarily choose to hang out with each other after work and on weekends.

Being from abroad, it's hard to form your own group of friends. Our childhood and college friends don't live in this city, in this country and, in many cases, even on this continent. There's no circumstance that forces you into befriending your dorm roommate, the strangers down the hall or the people sitting next to you in philosophy class. Instead, the tendency for us outsiders is to try to infiltrate the group of friends of some "link", whether it's a classmate, a roommate or a significant other.

At work we're from all around the world - USA, France, Germany, Spain, Russia, Dominican Republic, Brazil, Italy... - and yet here we are, each with their own reasons, in Madrid. Luckily for us, we're not just coworkers but we're legitimate friends beyond the workplace... and that's pretty special thing to leave behind.

city living thought of the day

How much dog poo do you think blind people unwittingly step in?

yikesabee

I found quite possibly the least aesthetically pleasing dog breed ever. It's called a "saluki". How the frijoles do you cuddle up on the couch with that??

Unfortunate.

As I scurried to work this morning, I saw a woman (or maybe not..) who looked exactly like Adam Sandler's androgynous assistant in 50 First Dates. Remember? The one who dove headfirst into a barrel of fish and later got covered in walrus vomit? Yeah that one.

My list of day-to-day grievances

That squeaky feel/sound of fabric rubbing against fabric.

Yorkshire terriers

Pistachios that won't open

When the metro leaves just as you get to it

Alarm clocks

When the daily puppy isn't cute

The Electric Slide

Facebook application invitations

When people can't keep their their/they're/there and effect/affect straight

The tangle-prone Ipod earphones

Bad coffee

Kids sitting behind you on flights

Bread bag twisties

Pigeons. May they all perish.

Slow drivers cruising in the left-hand lane

Tuesdays

Looking at the clock and getting excited to see that it's 6:00pm. Then you realize that no, it's actually 16:00 and you still have 2 and a half hours of work left. Damn you military time.

Overzealous patriotism

The size of the towels at the gym

Subjunctive mode

Clementines with seeds

Mushy strawberries

The effect of gas prices on international flight fares

When your ipod keeps going back to the same songs even when it's supposed to be shuffling through your whole play list.

Incorrect weather forecasts

Music from Grease. Especially the Grease medley.

Traffic

Pennies and their international 1-cent equivalents

Bad grammar

When every single crosswalk you get to is a red light.

Reality shows

Any word in Spanish that has the combination of r followed by d in it.

Stupidity

Forgetting to buy something at the supermarket

B.O. in the metro

Cheap alcohol in plastic bottles

Ham-flavored chips.

When nobody posts new photos on Facebook

The dubbed voice in Spanish for Stewie in Family Guy. Just doesn't compare.

Slow news days

cat fanatics

From one of my favorite comics, this is pretty funny:



www.nataliedee.com

what a novel idea

On occasion, I have mentioned half-jokingly the idea of some day writing a book. Unfortunately, I've got a few speed bumps in my way, not the least of which is my attention span and patience, or lack thereof. This unfortunate combination barely allows me to maintain a blog with any degree of regularity, let alone create a 300-page work of literary genius. Plus, nothing has ever come to mind to which I could imagine dedicating myself for weeks, months or even years.

Anyway, this morning we went to the bar for our coffee break, which is really the daily opportunity to release our collective workplace anger so as not to explode and/or resort to violence. In a sudden moment of clarity, the skies opened up, the birds chirped, heaven's angels sang, and I realized the it had been right there in front of me all along- my working experience in Spain! Well, more specifically about my time in the company I work for. Believe me, there's more than enough material.

My nearly two years here have been laden with unusual anecdotes and bizarre characters: the Slovakian intern constantly and unabashedly perusing x-rated websites; the owner's bat shit crazy mother who flies through the office in a whirl of hairspray and Burbury plaid, with her ridiculously small Yorkie tucked under her arm a la Jacobim Mugatu; and, of course, the ridiculous boss, quite possibly afflicted with multiple mental disabilities, that blows Michael Scott outta the water. Seriously.

Really, the only thing left - aside from actually writing it and getting my multi-million dollar book deal - is deciding upon the genre: comedy, drama or tragedy.

my new set of wheels

I bought rollerblades - woop woop!

That's right, I'm just a Ninja Turtle t-shirt, a pair of stirrup leggings and a few heinous scrunchies away from 1990.

kids vs dogs, round 2

The second installment of the children vs dogs series.

Kids:
http://www.news4jax.com/news/15761895/detail.html

Here's a little excerpt:
Three of the nine Ware County third-grade students suspended after accusations that they were involved in a plot to harm their teacher will face some serious charges in juvenile court, according police. Waycross Police Chief Tony Tanner on Tuesday released pictures of the evidence, which includes a steak knife, a paperweight, handcuffs, gloves and several rolls of tape.


Dogs:
http://dailypuppy.com/index.php?itemid=1798

And the accompanying excerpt:
Nissa loves to eat our garden, and we will quite often spot her with a few flowers or some grass hanging out of her mouth. Nissa is also a sucker for a good belly rub, and will happily sit for ages if she scores one. She loves to run and jump - it was hard work getting these photos, because so often she'd move so fast that we'd end up with a photo of the ground!

an open letter

Dear Jelly Belly Candy Company,

Ye pioneers of the palate and gods of glucose delight my senses and speak to my soul with your potpourri of mouth-watering Jelly Belly jelly beans. Even the random and decidedly strange flavors (see: "buttered popcorn" and "toasted marshmallow") have grown on me. Well, all but the jalapeño ones, which are, to be frank, quite horrid.

My relationship with your beans began circa 1994 on a venture to Washington, D.C. with my dad and siblings, when a good friend of his bet me 1000 jelly beans that I couldn't name the statue on top of the capitol building. He quickly learned never to underestimate the knowledge of an 11 year old.

A couple months later, when he traveled up to the good ole nutmeg state, he paid in full with three giant boxed assortments of Jelly Bellies. I was eating jelly beans for months. In fact, it's probably what added the chub factor to my already awkward teenage years (see: school photos, grades 6 through 12).

I was also quite fond of my tour of your factory back in the summer of 2002. I felt like Charlie entering Willy Wonka's humble headquarters; let's disregard the fact that Charlie was like 8 and I was 19. Regardless, for several weeks following the visit, I fantasized of practicing my backstroke in a vat of bubblegum-flavored Jelly Beans, which happened to be the flavor your employees were making on the day of my tour. I can only liken my fantasy to cartoon scenes in which Uncle Scrooge splashes about in golden coins, except I wouldn't emerge smelling like dirty metal.

So, as I sit here at work munching on handfuls of my "Christmas Mix" (yes, I am aware that Christmas was some time ago), I can't help but be moved to express to you my undying gratitude.

Sincerely,

long-time Jelly Belly consumer/current green-tongued enthusiast,
Betsey

Dogs are the New Kids

Mark and I worked together for a couple summers during the good ole college years in this ghetto ass store/easiest place of employment called Odd Job. It was kind of along the lines of a small-scale Walmart, but with even more crap and even less English-speakers.

It was, without a doubt, the easiest job ever.

Aside from eating Hot Tamale and Mike & Ike candies for dinner and being the only all stars to have a) a high school diploma and b) teeth, we/I would keep a tally based on all the bratty 9 year olds who ran around the store screaming uncontrollably, knocking things off shelves, and generally living in a constant state of obnoxiousness. What made things even worse was that as the fruits of their loins launched slotted spoons and whisks at each other, the parents would just shrug and wander off to look at suitcases, insect repellent or four-dollar bras.

Moving along. From time to time Mark would hear my voice across 4 aisles yelling "dogs: 458", which was understood to be the first part of the score in the ongoing contest of dogs vs. kids. The second part was never necessary to include, as the little demons never managed to break into the positive numbers. During those summers, I truly don't know how many times I swore off ever having children.

In related news, last night Susan and I decided that I should start up a new blog called "Dogs are the New Kids", which would essentially juxtapose - through articles, photos and my ever witty commentary - the loving innocence of our cherished canine companions and their polar opposites: children. Why? Frankly, because every day there are new reports about children doing increasingly horrific things to each other. They shoot each other, stab each other over video games... anything seems to be game these days.

So, if I were to dedicate an entire blog to the kids vs dogs issue - and believe me, this is hyp-o-thetical - today's article contribution would be this:
http://www.kirotv.com/news/15547029/detail.html

• Excerpt: A 10-year-old boy is in critical condition at Children's Hospital in Seattle after being buried in a backyard sandbox by his playmates.

Which would then be compared to THIS, today's dailypuppy.com photo.
http://dailypuppy.com/index.php?itemid=1747\


In conclusion, children possibly killing their playmate by interring him alive versus a beagle puppy playing fetch with a stick. I rest my case.

Questions?

SO ready for warm weather...

This weekend it's going to be practically 70º in Madrid- woot!!! Bars and cafés had better get their outdoor tables set up!

Ch-ch-check it out: Madrid's 10-day

tuesday morning randomness

• How is it not at least Thursday?

• Joanne might come back to Madrid in June... to stay! Yay America.
  

• While a smidge embarrassing to admit, Britney Spears' newest album is great for the gym. With the exception of a ballad or two which I promptly skip, the beats of practically all of the songs are right on par with my rate on the elliptical: a nice range of 60 to 65.
  

• I don't care how screwed up she is; Amy Winehouse totally rocks. She adds a touch of sultry sass to the mundane nature of my workday.

• No matter how painstakingly careful I am when winding them up, my iPod earphones ALWAYS tangle themselves into knots. Wtf?

• No Movistar, I don't want a cell phone contract. Please stop stalking me.

• 45 days til vacation- Hallelujah!

• How beyond fantastic is the Sarah Silverman / Jimmy Kimmel video duel? HIL.AR.I.OUS.

Her video:


His revenge:

me = idiot

Going to the gym in the morning, when you're still groggy and trying to figure out why the main characters in your dream were dancing forks, inevitably increases the possibility of leaving something behind. Luckily, such items are generally negligible... hence their being forgotten. Salad dressing. Socks. A spoon. Occasionally a bra. When these things are left behind, it's just a hitch. You can make do, even if it means eating dry lettuce for lunch or keeping the gals hidden with a sweatshirt.

Then today happened, when I found myself standing in the gym locker room - showered and otherwise ready to go - in leggings, boots and a tank top. Noticeably absent from my gym bag was the dress meant to go over said leggings.

I had 10 minutes until work, which is 5-10 mins from the gym, and I had to weigh out my options: A) go to work a la Catwoman, or B) scamper the 15 minutes home, put on the dress and then scamper the 20 minutes to work, hoping to make it in by 10. This is all up and down the same long street, mind you. A shop worker said hi to me three - count 'em THREE - times this morning.

In the end, tardiness prevailed over what would likely have been the saddest attempt at a Catwoman costume ever. Interestingly enough, I probably burned up more pesky calories outside of the gym this morning than inside it.

yay yay rah rah

Is it just me or is Hillary Clinton always, always, ALWAYS clapping in pictures taken of her as she campaigns. I personally - and especially when you throw in the over-exaggerated facial expressions - find that it comes across as quite awkward. Like when parents try too hard to act "cool" or when scrawny, acne-prone teenyboppers in the throes of puberty try to break dance. Or rap.

Then again, I bet a hearty dose of self applause does wonders for your self esteem. That way, you know that you've always got at least one cheerleader on your side. Or in the mirror.

... go Obama!

morning encounters

So there's this girl who I see at the gym pretty much every time I manage to drag myself out of bed in the name of physical well-being. I refer to her simply as, well, an abbreviated nickname stemming from a particular part of the female anatomy. It may seem crass, but trust me... it's appropriate. I will explain why. Plus, she's about an 11 on the bitch meter, so I don't feel too bad about it.

Now I'm not a prude; I understand walking to and from the shower naked. It's normal and doesn't bother me in the least. However, while most folks then put some clothes on or at least use a towel post-shower, this particular lass keeps on in the buff for another 20 minutes as she blow-dries her hair, puts on her make-up and goes through the rest of the steps of her a.m. beauty routine.

Then comes the fun part: when she apparently needs to exfoliate her entire body with this coarse loofah of sorts. This involves her - completely naked, mind you - throwing her leg over her head into a position that can only be compared to that of my cat when he is getting ready to lick himself.

a note from frank

So today I get the following email:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Elizabeth,

As Senior Vice President of Holy Cross, I am writing to ask you for some very valuable feedback. Our records indicate that you have not recently made contributions to the College. I am not asking for money at this time; I am merely looking for information. Will you share with us why you do not give?

If you take a moment to let me know why you don't give to Holy Cross, I promise to respond to you personally. We are working to make Holy Cross the top choice for ambitious students eager to discover themselves in an intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts environment. We need the support of alumni to make that happen. That is why it is imperative for us understand why some alumni do not give. If you're willing to share that information, I would be very grateful.

Just email me at (email address) with your response, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Thank you in advance for sharing your thoughts with me.

Frank ________

Senior Vice President

College of the Holy Cross

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notice the strategically italicized "Will you share with us why you do not give?", as if it were Mother Teresa herself making a heartfelt plea for grain to feed the hungry. In reality, Holy Cross has bazillions of dollars that it invests primarily in schmoozing rich alumni, catering meals for the Jesuits on campus and, of course, plenty o' mulch.

Well, Frank... unfortunately for us all, I'm still looking at 10 years of paying off that intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts education. Ask me a decade from now and then maybe we'll chat... perhaps when I have a bit of cash in the bank to complement my valuable intellectual affluence.