home for the holidays

The Gem State. Famous Potatoes. Idaho.

It’d been a while- 11.5 months, to be exact- but I’m back in the old neighborhood for three sweet weeks of vacation. I find it to be colder, quieter, and calmer than Madrid, but very much like I remember. The housing and commercial development is going crazy, but I still run into the same people downtown, I still live in the middle of nowhere, and I still have to drive 20 minutes to get anywhere which is, well, nice. I’ve eaten steak and potatoes, listened to country music, watched Monday Night Football, gone shopping, and am catching up with the old friends one-by-one. Up next: a little skiing and a lot of brother/sister pestering.

sweater deceit

I'm wearing an itchy sweater today. Granted, it's an itchy sweater that I bought last spring, but that doesn't make it any less itchy, now, does it? My wearing it has really enforced my November's Resolution, and I'm seriously considering whether my decision to not buy a single itchy sweater this season should be expanded to require the donation of all currently-owned itchies. Then again, I'm not sure I can bring myself to give this sort of torture to anyone.

Such materials should be outlawed. It's just that they always look so nice and soft in the store. "It can't be that itchy, can it?" Oh yes, it can, and it is. And they get me every time, including this morning when the inviting "green fuzzy" took advantage of the ever-susceptible morning-brain. Three hours later, I'm wondering what was I thinking and, tonight, "green fuzzy" will be retired. One down, three to go, and the life shall be itch-free forevermore.

I'm back!

Poor blog. Poor, neglected blog. I guess that's what happens when, over the course of one week, I am forced to not only write and present my entire internship report but also move my entire life into a new apartment without Internet. Repeat: without Internet. Luckily, that's just a temporary situation- a situation to be resolved within three weeks. Also luckily, I'm going home on Monday and I thereby evade two of those weeks. Unluckily, I'm going home to a dial-up modem.

Poor blog says he'll take what he can get. More soon.

thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has passed, but it's never too late to give thanks. A mini sample from the many things I'm thankful for:

family, friends, fireplaces, sneezing, country roads, smiles, freedom, peanut butter, health, pianos and guitars, fresh peaches, laughter, snow, everything chocolate-mint, sledding, baking, colors, mountains, post-its, waves, seasons, long showers, oceans/rivers/lakes, sand volleyball, chapstick, hugs, fountain pens, beaches, driving, soup, tall trees, letters, plastic organizers, picnics, walks without destinations, ski/snowboarding, internet, driving, thunder storms, pictures, mousse, swiss army knives, good books, tupperware, bandaids, sweaters and jeans, mashed potatoes, real conversations, trampolines, mittens, friendly strangers, . . .

strawberry quik

You might think less of me after this one, but I like Strawberry Quik. I do, and I always have. I'm not sure if I always will- since it's kind of nasty and has no redeeming value- but I'm going pretty strong for the moment. I know it boasts nothing more than sugar and artificial flavors (well, and maltodextrin, citric acid, red 40, salt, and blue 1), but that has yet to discourage me. It had probably been a good 15 years since I'd had it, but the "we only want what we can't have" came immediately into effect when I discovered Chocolate Quik sitting solo in Madrid markets. Fondly remembering the days before my mom's own Quik ban, I promptly set my US exporters to work and have since enjoyed a glass almost daily. While Nestle suggests stirring 2 tablespoons into a cup of milk (or sprinkling it on ice cream or topping your cereal or adding it to other drinks or... ), I strongly suggest 3 tablespoons accompanied by a spoon for sunken granules. Mmm.

After all, it helps build strong bones.

And I refuse to call it "Nesquik."

umbrella slam

I gathered my things, said goodbye to the coworkers, and was headed toward the door when my boss suddenly turned and said "be careful in the rain." Uh... "likewise," I said, but half-smiled as I turned the corner. Rain? Come on. Two floors down and one door out, however, I understood what he was talking about. It's not the rain, it's the people.

I'm not sure if it's Madrid in particular or big cities in general, but the streets around here have always been somewhat of a challenge for me. And again, it's not the streets, it's the people. I've gone about most of my life believing that when two people are walking directly toward each other, each takes a slight step to the side to avoid tangles. Not so in Madrid, where two people walking directly toward each other results inevitably in a game of chicken. I was frustrated at first, time-after-time taking my understood step-to-the-side only to find my left shoulder plowed straight through by my counterpart. No fair! I thought, but two can very easily play at that game and I've since honed my intimidation stride and non-mover recognition skills.

Chicken with umbrellas is another story altogether. Plowed shoulders are one thing, but poked-out eyeballs are quite another. You'd think that a dual side-tilt or a little "you lower, I'll raise" action would be common sense, but observation proves otherwise. People and their umbrellas refuse to budge, as my right temple will attest. And so, tonight's walk to the metro quickly turned into a game I affectionately call Umbrella Slam. It's quite simple, really: walk down the street and hold your umbrella as if you were the only person there. If someone's coming, brace for the hit and follow through. Hold strong, don't stop, no tilting required. Your weapon doubles as your shield, so heaven help you if you bought the 3 Euro outside-the-metro version. I still pull the umbrella up for the young and the elderly, but have no mercy on the spiteful ladies protecting their hair at the expense of my face. Part of me says I'm becoming a city-monster, but the other half is counting my victories.

May the best umbrella (holder) win.

the visit

I know I missed my traditional Saturday post, but I have a good reason, I do. Having managed to con my pepp friend Cory and my new friend Brent into a Madrid visit, I was busy playing tour guide. With pleasure. Between Saturday afternoon and Tuesday night, we somehow managed to cram in most all of the big stops, patronize my favorite restaurants, and laugh more than we had any right to- especially there toward the end. I racked my brain all of Tuesday to come up with some sort of train-sabotage plan, but alas they're off to France. Everyone still has an open-ended invitation to enter the competition, but Cory and Brent are quite possibly the greatest guests a hostess could hope for.

the highlights:

life plans (or lack thereof)
bird flu
walking/talking tours
mullet sightings
gmail conversion attempts
alternating starv- and stuffation
handshakes vs euro-kisses vs latino-kisses
magic tricks
losing my voice for no apparent reason [not a highlight]
dolce vita pics
swi??ers
zorro, the complete movie experience
3 people/2 umbrellas
pepp reminiscing and people updates
starbucks: 5 sugars
playing mom
finding church
broken [evil] eyes
lessons in spanish: no me importa, cuidado
the epic rock-paper-scissors "battle for the towel"
gift overkill
sierra leone/mi morena/la camisa negra/dee dee dee...

Thanks for a great weekend, guys, I'll take the late lunch anytime.
.

november's resolution

I will not buy a single itchy sweater this season.

frisbee failures anonymous

Frisbee. Great sport. It's probably as "life-time sport" as you can get, when you think about it. You can play ultimate when you're 20 and standing-still when you're 80. You can play in the park, you can play in the field, you can play at the beach. You can play with your friends, your family, your dog.

Unless you're me, in which case you do not play at all.

I think I somehow missed frisbee training as a child. I'm not sure how, since my brothers and sister are frisbee champions, but I missed it. Most likely, I recognized my lack of talent from the beginning and compounded my weakness by taking off when the frisbee came out. Little did I realize how much this would later affect my young-adult life. "Everyone can throw a frisbee," they say. Not the case, I assure you. While other people are busy working on the finger-flip, thumber, and over-hand wrist flip, I'm trying to master the basic backhand. Several kind coaches and attempted-trainers have volunteered their services over the years, but I've driven them away one-by-one with my hopeless cause and finger chafing complaints. I've even played by myself at time or two, throwing the frisbee from one end of the yard to the other in my own private game of fetch.

But perhaps I'm not alone. If you or someone near you suffers from this affliction, please contact me and we can work through this together.

Or maybe just play ping pong.

an ode to BBVA

I couldn't decide between writing a poem and writing about work so...

Adventures at BBVA
"Bay Bay OooVay Ah" to you,
Downtown, Alcalá building
From 9 until 7, floor two.

International payments and profiles
Analyses, investigations,
Electronic banking and transfers
But for now, just a few observations:

José likes his windows wide-open
Teresa gets cold and complains,
The person at my desk before me
Enjoyed making paper-clip chains.

Raquel dashes office-to-office
Running- not even fast walking,
Juan Carlos fiddles a silverish cube
When calling or waiting or talking.

Alberto's a paper-ball wadder
The smaller, the better, the tighter,
Smoking inside is permitted in Spain
I think I might steal Pepe's lighter.

The cleaning girl cuts up old bottles
To plant little ivy-type beans,
It makes the whole place feel exactly like home
Without casual Fridays or jeans.

My computer is none-too-impressive
My efficiency? Hmm, not the goal,
I'm dealing with low RAM and hard drive
But at last I've a mouse that can scroll.

And my screen boasts a perfect reflection
Of my boss, whose desk is behind me,
So reading the news... checking my mail...
Writing poems? he never will find me.

Afterword: I actually wrote all these verses at home on a Saturday... faithful little employee that I am.

curl dedication

.
This might strike some people (most people?) as a little odd, but I used to dedicate curls on a regular basis. Sometimes by request, sometimes by chance, they always went out to someone who I thought had earned it. My hair is really more crooked than curly, so it's the Susan[from Ramona Quimby]-style "boing" curls that get all the attention. It's not every day you get a dedication-worthy version, however, and they're only good until the next shower. I can hardly remember the last time I dedicated a curl, so when I came across this one today I knew what must be done. I had a few deserving friends to choose from, but since Air Supply's "Every Woman In The World" came on the iPod as I was walking by Starbucks yesterday, there was no arguing. This one's for Moose!

the farmer in the dell

Dell Computers, that is. The cable's arrived, the computer's alive.

hi-ho the derry-o

down for the count

I understand that my dedicated and faithful readers (cough) had high hopes for a new post today, particularly since I've managed to post at least once weekly since my July debut. Pretty impressive (obsessive?), if I do say so myself. Anyway, many apologies, but this is mostly a post to say there will be no post. Sense? My laptop charger/adapter has taken ill, deathly ill, and instead of lighting his green light and charging my comp, he emits a faint beeping. I might have been able to withstand the beeping if he could only accompany it with the charging, but that's apparently too much to ask. After a quick internal debate over whether or not I could survive until Christmas without a computer, I kicked myself and asked who am I kidding. Replacement is on the way.

sock shock

I was pulling my clothes out of the washer this week when I suddenly stopped and wondered, "why so many socks?" Socks, who until only recently represented a relatively small share of the laundry-split, have apparently grown to dominate my wash by number if not by volume. How the...?

I'm not one to rip on socks. After all, they've seen me through many a ski-trip, hike, and sporting event- not to mention the occasional cold night. They've served me well and I fully expect them to continue the trend; I just wish it weren't every day.

Socks mean shoes, a concept I've tried to avoid since birth. Growing up, my feet were hardly acquainted with shoes before preschool, if then. The sharp rocks on our driveway served primarily as "tough feet" training, and shoes had no business wading in irrigation ditches or making mud pies in the sandbox. In the event that some form of sole-covering were required, an open-toed or sandal version was always preferred. Even the boots of winter were tolerated only to make the spring's first official Barefoot Day that much more glorious. I would later claim "academic programs" as my primary Pepperdine pull, but who's to say flip-flop dominance didn't rake me in?

And so, imagine me having to wear close-toed, semi-heeled shoes every weekday from nine-to-seven, eight-to-eight with travel time. There are a few shoe options out there, true, but there's only so much you can do with slacks, collars, and the occasional suit. I'm just going to have to consider it a really long winter.

This year's Barefoot Day will be glorious.

barcelona weekend

We had Friday off last week, so Joyce, Regina, and I picked up and went to Barcelona. No reason in particular, really- no tomato fights or running bulls- just a good, old-fashioned tourist trip, and I must admit I enjoyed it thoroughly. Madrid has its charm, but Barcelona has a beach. The Catalan is beyond me, but there's just something about a city on the sea that relaxes people. Bring out the flip-flops, I say. It's been four years since I set foot in Barcelona, so I joined up with Joy and Regis and we did it all: Las Ramblas; La Sagrada Familia; everything Gaudi; seaside; el barrio gotico; I even got conned into feeding pigeons in la Plaza Cataluña, which is pretty much against everything I stand for. I hate pigeons, and even moreso now that I have photographic evidence of one attacking my face. That's disgusting. I almost sang "Feed the Birds" from Mary Poppins, but felt more like the lady in, what, Home Alone 2? The pigeon attack was fortunately offset by our Saturday night visit to the "magic fountain," which for me would justify a Barcelona visit in and of itself. The water, the music, the lights... can I get this Friday off too?

"Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag."

september's santa

Bea went to the US this week. I tried my best not to be jealous, but she was going to none other than my old romping grounds of Los Angeles, California. While I'm not the biggest of LA fans, the mere thought of the Targets and BJ's and beaches almost got to me. Luckily, sending Bea stateside is the next best thing to actually going. Since I'm not scheduled to return to the US until- oh wait, I'm not even scheduled yet- I sent Bea off with a hug and a list of goods. My Spain-ignored essentials included: Herbal Essences Mousse (surely you called that one), American Eagle jeans, Trader Joe's dried mango, Victoria Secret Lovespell lotion (Kristy!), marshmallows, cocoa, and strawberry quik. I also requested peanut butter and mascara, as Spain has been blessed with such luxuries but their pricing/sizing leaves something to be said. Thanks to Bea, I'm back in business on all accounts.

Now if only she could have packed a few of you Los Angeles-residers along...

but the mango will have to console me.

new job

I call it a job. It's officially an internship, but I call it a job. Any "work environment" that requires I be there from 9 am to 7 pm has far surpassed internship status in my book- whether or not I have a two-hour lunch. It's going well for now... check back in six months. I'm in the "Comercio Exterior" department of the "Banco Transaccional" sector of the Corporate and Investment Bank of BBVA, theoretically analyzing the competition's electronic banking strategies, but currently just trying to figure out what in the world is going on. It's a strange transitional period, going from knowing nothing at all to (supposedly) learning everything. Nevertheless, I hope to soon convert myself- with the help of Alberto, my boss- from burdensome becario to productive personnel. All in good time. My first days have consisted primarily of me learning everyone's names and positions, locating the coffee machine, reading up on all sorts of past presentations and formation manuals, and organizing my desk when my boss isn't looking. Having a so-called job sure cuts down on posting time, though, and makes for some potentially boring topics besides. We'll see what I can do.

la tomatina!

- buñol, spain
- august 31st, 2005
- 11:00 am to 1:00 pm
- 40,000 people
- 100,000 pounds of tomatoes
- me

I will never look at a tomato the same way again. I first heard of La Tomatina four years ago when, after returning from summer school in Madrid, I was asked if I went to the "huge tomato fight." "What?" I asked. To be honest, I'd never heard of it and had returned to the US before it. Four years later, I can proudly say 1) that "yes! I went," and 2) that calling it a "huge tomato fight" is an understatement.

Background: The whole thing started with a plaza food fight in 1945, and has been an official Buñol (pop. 9,000) festival since 1959. Even better, the city provides the tomatoes. As our other friends were working, Benjas, Carlos, and I drove four hours to the grand event and arrived just in time to partake. At the first bang, seven trucks' worth of tomatoes are dumped into the street and the madness begins.

I was saturated in tomato within the first five minutes, and did my fair share of "saturating" as the tee-ball and softball years paid off in a series of direct hits. One of the few rules is that the tomatoes be "squished" before throwing, easing the blow and multiplying the mess. Once no whole tomatoes remain, everyone resorts to straining and slinging the street slush that resembles the "crushed" tomatoes of your mom's spaghetti sauce. The whole deal essentially becomes boys vs girls with whoever's next to you, accompanied by a great deal of chanting and jumping around. In the end, I was standing calf-deep in what looked and smelled like a river of tomato soup.

After the second bang, all the neighbors come out with hoses and everybody does their best to rid themselves of the tomato-seed helmet and armor effect. I strategically selected what appeared to be the highest-pressure hose, but let's just say my fifth and sixth Q-tips were still coming out with ear-tomato remnants last night.

Excellent.

hair history highlights

My hair is not normal. I've always known it, but today I realized that my talks with strangers include my hair more often than my name. It's a conversation-starter, really. Following suit, these "hair history highlights" (no pun intended) answer my most Frequently Asked Questions as well as a few extras:

• 1981, born with curly hair compliments of both my parents
• roll hair up in a round brush (haven't we all done that?) at the age of 4, older brother to the rescue with scissors while mom sleeps
• start "styling" my own hair in 2nd grade, my favorite "do" being one side half-up with a green-and-black-polka-dot-ribbon-adorned barrett
• bangs, edition one, start in 4th grade and continue through 6th in a fluff-up, to-the-side number
• my hair-referring nickname "Mushroom" (as conceived by the older brother and friends) overtakes the elementary schoolbus
• curl and frizz take a drastic turn for the worse in junior high
• mousse is introduced for the first time in the summer after seventh grade, and immediately applied to:
• the 8th grade "year of the bun," a tightly-combed version of the ballerina with a twist and a favorite navy scrunchie. every day.
• bangs are reintroduced in ninth grade and (unfortunately) continue through early senior year (see picture at right); this time with a 1 1/2 inch barrel curling iron and 30 minutes of frustration each morning
• mousse in its modern form is adopted freshman year in the form of "Wednesdays only," later extended at the encouragement of friends
• Costco's solitary mousse option is Herbal Essences, securing my allegiance at an early age
• as a soph, I take on the first of two "bets" with my dad to go mousse-free for one week (he likes the "natural"). Conditions include: no ponytails, no disclosing payment, bangs ok.
• five total "straight hair!" events include: 1. fall formal, sophomore year (4.5 hours worth of hair-blow drying and flattening irons*); 2. fall formal, junior year (2.5 hours worth of flattening irons*); 3. senior year "crush party," in efforts to play the part of Demi Moore (2 hours, technique perfected); 4. by stylist in Mexico in the fall of 2004 (4 hrs due to the guy's inexperience with a blow-dryer); and 5. Thursday! (1.5 hrs with just a blow-dryer but a lot of ripped-out hair).
• "big hair" has made the calendar just once (ghetto formal 2004**) and is not expected to return without enormous compensation

I've scientifically tested every mousse brand on earth and am an Herbal Essences loyalist, so my latest challenge has been its inavailability here in Spain. I strategically request a can or two of every visitor- whether or not I know them- and have worked up a decent stockpile for the moment.

Good thing, or it'll be a return to the bun.

*special thanks to Meri, KT
**frizzing by Kristy and KT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MERI!

Today is Meri's birthday. It also marks our five-year anniversary (or very close to it) of having met. Mmm, strike that, we actually met at NSO in July. Sorry I missed our anniversary, Meri. Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! and anniversary, observed.

And so, a small tribute to Meri:

• diet coke (although preferably diet pepsi, and even better through the nose)
• chicken caesar salad (even if it means george foreman grilling in the dorms)
• coogie's zucchini bread (well, and chicken caesar salad)
• duhsies, hmmsies, brrrsies
• always cold (thus... London)
• white fingers
• "jared" and the laptop incident
• volleyball (tourney champs... and Chip?)
• stalking (example: britney spears)
• always switching into one of my classes (highlights include: adler, miguel and felipe; dr. summers and john mayer's "woo ooo ooo"; exchanging schaffer and seshan tips)
• peeps
• pi phi and big bear retreats
• CBC hangouts
• convertible top hang-ons
• the one song she can still play on the piano
• sleepovers (and Thanksgiving!) in Anaheim Hills
• Hurley and J.D. Power interviews ("so, you like cars?")
• mandy moore
• stalker-contracting
• 7th man
• formal date finding
• G-Dogg's killer brownies
• email consulting
• meri's music mixes
• "the favorite"

Most certainly incomplete, but perhaps I'll add more as they occur to me.

Happy Birthday (and anniversary) Meri!!!

MY toast acoustic

I was just sitting down to write when I heard the toaster go off. Oh, but this is no ordinary toaster: it's the MY toast acoustic by Taurus, which claims to be the only toaster on the market to visually and acoustically notify when the toast is ready! Ah, good, because the sight and sound of toast popping up never quite got through to me. Nothing like a little high-pitched beeping and blinking red lights to start the morning off right. I don't really like- or eat- toast, but I've considered setting it to "really dark" one night to see if it will serve as my morning alarm clock and thereby justify the counter space. But I don't want this to come off too negative; I'm told it actually works really well so, hey, to each her toast.

spanish-english shirts

I hesitate in posting today, knowing full-well that pressing "publish" will bump my "missing skirt" story off the front page. It's my favorite post, after all, and recounts my life's most traumatic experience to date- how can I not milk that for all its worth? I suppose I could change my settings to include more than 7 posts on the front page, but I think that's kind of cheating... and anyway I like seven. What's great is that with the missing skirt passing into archives today, I am given the chance to talk about it here! Front page! First post! and I'll probably bring it up again when it disappears off the "previous posts" sidebar and finally goes to rest in the unsuspecting "July" folder as well.

For today, I simply have to post. I just got off the metro, where I was sitting across from a girl with a shirt reading USA SPORT (and then, below) munber #23. That's right, munber, and that to complement the pound sign in case you weren't sure what it stands for. He he he. Of course, this served only to remind me of Spain's incredible amount of english-printed shirts that- in my opinion- a native English speaker would never, ever buy. If only I could remember them all. I should really be taking pictures because some of them are downright indescribable, but we'll see what I can do. To start, Zara has just introduced its fall collection, boasting an entire line screen-printed with Fairy Ladies above some flying tinkerbell-type characters. Not bad English, by any means, but fairy ladies? I don't know. Another Zara line consists of shirts each with a large, silver letter above a word and its definition. My favorite? R for release (n.) liberation (of gas, etc). Need I comment?!? An H&M example: SEE THE SEA printed in silver caps on a dark purple t-shirt. Is that an order? An invite? Where? And a final, brilliant Zara edition: Forever and never, white and silver on black. Granted, they could have done that on purpose... ? I don't want to say I've never made a mistake in Spanish (ha! understatement!); for example, I once said I was a pig instead of saying I was blind. Then again, I'm not printing t-shirts.

green tea again

I bought green tea yogurt yesterday. I guess I'm still a little frustrated with 1) Starbucks of Europe for not introducing the new Green Tea Frappucino, and 2) my subsequent inability to cast a deciding vote on the matter: "refreshing" (Meri) or "crap-frap" (Dan). But back to the yogurt. Yesterday I didn't even know they made green tea yogurt, and today I was having it for breakfast. It was... interesting. Interesting, but not life-changing. Not life-changing, but still good. Good, but I probably won't buy it again. I know, I know, I can't go around judging a Starbucks Frap by a Dannon yogurt, but it's as close as I can get for now. In the end, I'm back to where I started- neutral- and have resigned myself to awaiting the real deal. Vote?

P.S. PICTURES ARE UPDATED! PICTURES ARE UPDATED!

grand theft

"STOP! THIEF!" I screamed. Well, or at least I would have, had I realized I was getting pick-pocketed. Pick-pursed, actually.

It had to have happened as I was going down the steps from the Reina Sofia. Broad daylight. No crowds. Embarassing. No excuse for it, really. Three of my friends had been pick-pocketed since February, and you'd think that just one of those events would have served to provide me a decent warning. But no, I walked down those steps as nonchalantly as ever, my easy-zip purse on the backside. In the end, I must count myself lucky; it appears as if my pilfering pal had time enough to take only 40 euros and my green-striped Post-it book, thankfully leaving my credit cards, licenses, digi-cam, cellphone, and even my metro pass in peace. That said, the open-zipper realization --> sinking heart sensation made me feel quite violated. It's sad to be reminded that yes, this is the world we live in, but I do remain grateful for the limited loss and hope that my friend needed the money more than I. He/she probably just had to buy a nice shirt for a job interview to finally get back on his/her feet, right?

Didn't need to take my green-striped Post-it book though.

on holiday

All stories aside, I thought it high time I return to my webpage's original objective and provide a mini update of what (in the world) I've been up to lately.

I wrapped up the last of my program's classes and projects about three weeks ago, and have therefore been on so-called vacation ever since. Unfortunately, those three weeks were filled primarily by internship research, applications, and interviews. On Monday, I finally got the offer I was waiting for: an internship in the Investment Banking department of BBVA for the (incredible) sum of E450/month. It's a six-month post, but since the entirety of Spain seems to take the entirety of August off, I start at 9am on Monday, the 5th of September. In other words, I'm back on vacation, and this time for real. That said, the majority of my friends (including all of my apartment mates) were a little more timely in the job search and can now be counted among the five-odd percent of Spain that doesn't get August off. That means vacation solo.

A typical day would consist of going to sleep at 2:30, getting up at 10:30, and then strategically choosing among the following activities:

• read (emails, articles, books (Harry Potter, El Alquimista, The Buddha of Suburbia))
• write (emails, journal, blog)
• think (life plan, Spain reflection, travel ideas)
• shower
• cook (breakfast, lunch, dinner, Thursday desserts)
• research (companies, jobs, mass-email prep)
• look up train/plane times and prices to assorted destinations
• take a walk
• clean the apartment
• go downtown/to a museum/people watching
• listen to music
• watch a movie
• paint fingernails
• paint toenails
• go to the park
• shop (you know, groceries)
• organize (room, computer (iTunes, photos), clothes, closet)
• do laundry
• relax
  

That's all that occurs to me right now. Time for option #5.

the aspirations of a foot model

It was early fall of my sophomore year of high school and we were standing around, talking, and generally waiting for the end-of-lunch-bell when one of my friends suddenly pointed down and said to me, "you have cute feet." Looking down at my open-toed, Jesus-style-sandaled toes and then performing a quick-scan of my friends' similarly-clad feet, I realized she was right. So right, in fact, that I insisted on wearing my open-toed, Jesus-style-sandals until it snowed.

Okay, not quite, but it did get me to thinking... foot modeling. I mean, that's got to be pretty easy money. I could do nail polishes, acrylics, toe jewelry, and would know I'd hit it big if ever chosen to be the "after" model in the warts or athletes foot commercials. Not a lot of time, not a lot of labor, minimal risk from celebrity-stalkers, why not?!

It's been almost eight years since my sophomore-year realization, and I've not a single photo shoot to speak of. It's my own fault. I always figured that the nail places would be where the scouts hang out (or at least where they receive tips from), and yet I've barely ventured in for a pedicure twice- and both for weddings, where all the bridesmaids are running around and creating an atmosphere far from the ideal negotiating conditions. I must also admit that my pepp friends were not nearly as supportive of my ambition as were my hometown friends, although perhaps my little toes do curl in slightly. In any case, since then I've suffered from the loss of two toenails (left, fourth toe from a good stub last year and right, big toe from raquetball last fall) and only TODAY have I declared the second of the two completely, 100% recovered! I am back on the market! Now if I can just straighten out those little toes...

the day has come

I always knew it would. My worst fear in creating my so-called "blog" has come to pass: I have nothing to say. Come on. I haven't even gotten past my secret testing stage yet, and I'm already at a loss. Guess that's what happens when Meri and Dan call an apparent truce and stop fighting about Green Tea Frappucinos. In any case, it's times like these that a person has three (fairly obvious) options: 1) don't write anything, and bare the risk of subsequent reader shrinkage (unthinkable!), 2) force-write something (not recommended), or 3) address the matter and then ramble on about it in hopes of a sudden, brilliant idea (also not recommended). I've obviously chosen option 3, but must admit I'd rather hoped that the sudden, brilliant idea would have come to me by now, whereupon I would delete the above paragraph with no one the wiser.

But, this being an honest and historically-accurate web page, I will leave it at that and go fold my laundry. Now that's a brilliant idea.

duffel vs duffle

As the Spanish gets better, the English gets worse. You might not notice from my proof-read posts, but I'm struggling here. Yesterday I caught myself using the wrong form of "your," and the other day I typed "they're" instead of "there." What a nightmare. It's times like these, therefore, that I am grateful for words like "duffel." First, its got a great connotation- sports, travel, adventure!- but, above all, it has flexible spelling! Who knew?! On my second read-through of the skirt story, I found that I'd spelled it "duffel" the first time, and "duffle" a few paragraphs down. "Odd," I thought, but not surprising given my recent record. Not one to feel comfortable publishing spelling errors, however, I took to the books- answers.com, that is- and what to my wondering eyes should appear but

duf·fel or duf·fle (dŭf'el) n.
1. a large cylindrical bag of heavy cloth; for carrying personal belongings
2. a coarse heavy woolen fabric

Incredible! You can't go wrong! For consistency's sake I chose one for both accounts, finally going with "duffel" because a) it was the original instinct, b) it is, after all, listed first of the two [alphabetical? ...I think not], and c) the original word is Dutch, after Duffel, a town of northern Belgium.

Even better? The synonym for "duffel" is "duffle." thanks.

the case of the missing skirt

I received an email from Dan this morning, wondering if "the long skirt story is real" and, if so, could he please have the whole story. Of course it's real, Dan, and of course you can have the whole story. I've also decided to respond via the world wide web so as to benefit all (ahem, both) my readers. It's a pretty good story, if I do say so myself.

It was a blustery, winter day in Idaho, cerca 1995. Eighth grade. I had a basketball game that afternoon, and while I generally hated dressing up per team tradition, I had no hesitation in selecting my wardrobe that fateful morning. My closet boasted a new outfit bought specifically for my Christmas piano recital but not yet worn to school: a dark green silk, long-sleeve shirt; black knit vest; and dark green, long crinkle skirt. I completed the outfit with black boots, twisted my hair into my 8th-grade trademark bun (another story for another day), and felt myself to be the epitomy of junior high (Idaho) fashion.

After a quick breakfast of my dad's scrambled eggs and toast [I hate toast], I grabbed my coat, backpack, and duffelbag and went outside to take my place in the Honda Accord. The morning seats were strategically assigned since Katie and Nick were dumped off at the elementary school while I continued with Wayne to where the Vallivue Junior and Senior High schools were located side-by-side. I therefore sat back-left, directly behind the driver, and Katie and Nick were right-siders so as to bail as quickly as possible when we came to a near-stop at West Canyon.

The Honda had studded snow tires, but the roads weren't slick that morning and- after dropping Katie and Nick- we pulled into the Vallivue parking lot in pretty good time as the Smashing Pumpkins blared from the radio. As Wayne directed the car toward his normal spot, however, I was suddenly yanked to the door. Before I could scream, my dark green, long crinkle skirt had ripped down the side, around the waist, and out the door. "Stop! STOP!" I cried, but it was too late. "What?" said Wayne. "MY SKIRT RIPPED OFF ME! MY SKIRT RIPPED OF ME!" Near tears. Wayne, the Accord, and I were in our normal parking spot by then, but I was sitting back-left in my underpants. Official tears. Wayne got out, walked back 20 yards, and came back with some dark green silk remains, which he tossed back to me. "What're you gonna do?" "Call Mom, I guess." sniff. "Alright."

I had apparently shut a sizable amount of my skirt in the car door back at the house, an amount that got caught on the tire's snow studs as we went over a speed bump there in the VHS parking lot. Pulling myself together, I grabbed my yellow basketball shorts out of my duffel bag, put them on, and walked to the Junior High where I proceded to leave a shaky, most-likely confusing message on my mom's answering machine before going to first period. By second period, I was able to relay what happened to friends questioning my green-silk/yellow-shorts/black-boots combo, and by third period I had borrowed a pair of black warm-ups which went nicely with my knit vest. Throughout the day, people came up to me having heard that I was "hit by a car," "fell off the bus," or "caught on fire." At lunch, when I went to the bathroom, I discovered my dark green, silk waistband still sitting pretty around my waist.

Luckily, I get to relive the moment at most holidays and family get-togethers, as well as any time I dare put on a longer skirt. "Get it ALL in the door, Wendy. teee." Thanks, guys.

what relief

The past 48 hours may very well have been the most embarassing of my life. [Anyway it's up there with the time I shut my long skirt in the car door and the thing ripped off me when it got caught on my brother's studded snow tire as we went over a speed bump.] As for the defective blog- and to this minute I'm not sure how I did it- I managed to delete some semi-essential tags. I wrote my friends at Blogger, but (them being too slow for my taste) I finally took matters into my own hands, created a second blog, and copy and pasted its default tags into my precious page. All of my previously-customized stuff is unaffected, and I'm back in business. I'd have done it sooner, but I had two interviews today, wanted to prep, and knew that I'm not (yet) being read world-wide anyway. Actually I just wanted to see you guys writhe in your addiction to my daily thoughts. Writhe no more.

ruby tuesday

I never thought I'd be writing on here daily, but I'm enjoying the "crap frap" discussion way too much. Long term, I figure once a week should more than suffice. You can see that I've changed the official title to Wendy's World; sorry you were greeted by "Wendy's blog" for so long. That was never my intention. I had a difficult time deciding between Wendy's World and The Batt Cave, but in the end it came down to my template. I figure the "world" goes well with the blue, green, and orange balls I have lined up there at the top. Anyway, I can always return to The Batt Cave at the request of my readers. My readers ha ha, that's a joke. I am beginning to pass the link on to a few more friends, though. Well, to Moose at least (hi?), so we'll see if we can get her to comment. I'm working on my links section tonight. Next large effort: pics.

In search of the Green Tea Frappucino...

Failure. I hate to start off a paragraph like that, but failure. Friday morning I set off for my local Starbucks, hoping against hope that their menu would boast the controversial Green Tea Frappucino. Keep in mind that- unlike Meri's down-the-stairs deal- my "local" Starbucks happens to be 2 metro-stops- or 25-minutes walking- away. I might move. Anyway, I went with the 25-minute walk on Friday morning, given my recent neglect of the word "exercise." Arriving at Starbucks, Calle Orense #6, I wiped my feet on the doormat as the automatic doors slid open to welcome me with the scent of arabica coffee grounds. My eyes darted to the menu board and quickly scanned the options, but I knew I was in trouble when there was no mini-cardboard "NEW!" sign on the cash register. My heart sank as my eyes found and rested on the "Other Frappucinos and Tea" section, an extensive menu of two: Mango or Black Tea with Raspberry. I stared at the menu boards a few minutes more, somehow hoping to find the elusive Green Tea tucked away between mochas and syrups, but I finally ordered a Caramel Macchiato and walked away.

It doesn't stop there. Discouraged, I took the metro back (2 stops) to my apartment and finished packing my bags for Heidelberg. I arrived at 7 that night, but the next morning we hit up the Hauptstrasse for an attempt at the Green Tea Frappucino, Germany. I entered the store, my eyes scanned the board, the tears lined my face. Strike Two.

In a last, valiant effort, I went to Paris, France. Okay, I was actually going there anyway, but I made a pointed effort to visit the Starbucks at Opera... to no avail. Strike Three.

And so it seems that Europe is on a standard no-green-tea plan. I'm pretty upset about not being able to cast the deciding vote but, to be honest, I feel like I would like it...

The "no-post" post

Hey Meri and Dano, just a quick note to say that (obviously) I haven't made any changes today, nor do I intend to. I'm going to check out my (semi) local Starbucks tomorrow for the deciding vote on the Green Tea (crap?) frap issue, and then take off shortly thereafter for noneother than Heidelberg, Germany. I'm mostly excited to get out of Madrid's 100+ degree weather. Toasty.

Thanks again for all the input... and unnecessary comments, ha ha. More soon! (probably Monday)

possible poems

It's really against my better judgment to post twice in one day (look at me with the blogging jargon- "post," ha ha), but Meri's comment inspired me. cough. Unfortunately, she failed to vote for my personal favorite, "Wendy's World," which has been the basis for the majority of my poem drafts. No worries though, because they are, after all, drafts! Again, your votes, please, and again, in no particular order:

I.
Wendy's World
Her photos and links,
Ideas and dreams,
And whatever she thinks.

II.
Wendy's World
A page just begun
For writings and ramblings,
Photos and fun!

III.
Some rambling words
Some photos to share
From Caldwell... Espana...
Or any old where.

IV.
To keep in touch
Though I'm far away,
Some photos to post
A few words to say.

V.
Malibu, Monterrey, right now Madrid
Via the Idaho sticks,
Check in for updates, reflections, and thoughts
Occurrences, weblinks, and pics.

Number five might be a little long, and I fear it might not fit in my sidebar. Room for improvement in all options, and of course it all comes down to the actual, chosen title. Oooo but it's dinner time. Paella!

Title options

Today I went to starbucks, whipped out my Post-It booklet, and began brainstorming potential weblog titles. I appreciate your opinions (Dan, this is your cue to comment). In no particular order:

-Wendy's Blog
-Wendy's World
-Wendy's Webpage
-Wendy's Words
-Wendy's Word
-The Batt Cave
-Words of Wendy
-Words by Wendy
-Words from Wendy
-A Word from Wendy
-Webdy Batt

Obviously, my caramel macchiato was running low there toward the end. Ooo, and don't hesitate to throw in some new suggestions... I have apparently hit a block. Capitalization is flexible. As for now, I must get some food before the grocery store closes its doors in my face. "To market, to market, to buy a fat hog... home again, home again, jiggity-jog."

Road block

Drat. Just as I'd finished putting together a fine collection of photos, I discovered that- much to my dismay- Fotoflix allows me a whopping 10MB. That's nice, since the 5 "random pics" I already have on there amount to 4MB, or 40%, of my allotted space. I must admit this is quite the blow, but am bound and determined to overcome the obstacle without paying $65/year to get 1GB. Brainstorming... in the meantime, I will continue organizing my potential collections and work up an appropriate poem description. All in good time.

Problem solved

Knocking out the issues, one at a tiny time. "View my profile," bothersome issue #1, is successfully on one line, and I managed to squeeze in an "about me" profile paragraph to top. Thanks to a little work with profile tags, I'm back in business. I guess if I go back to black I will have done all of this for nothing. Well, all in the name of education. Meri, are you reading this? Saluuuuu. I think I'll enable comments for you. Temporarily at least. Ah, and I think I'll turn my picture from orange to blue so as to blend in with the dotties.

Questions/Issues

1. Decide title, work up clever poem description.
2. Keep "dark blue dots" background, or go to black?
3. If keep dark blue dots, change profile pic to blue? green? normal colors? stay orange?
4. What pictures to include and how to organize them.
5. How much to include in profile? (hate automatic astrological crap)
6. Sidebar summary paragraph? Or include in profile.
7. Allow comments or no?

HTML lessons

Figured out a few things.
- my photo links are blue instead of orange like other links because i'd clicked on them. idiot.
- semi-centered the "happiness is like jam"... not perfect, but think it depends on different computer screens/display size settings, etc.
- "view my complete profile" on two lines is KILLING ME but there's nothing I can do about it. Automatic blog stuff.

Still giving the whole website deal some serious thought. Seems like a lot of work, especially when I'm so picky with formatting yet don't know how to fix it. More pics would be nice, but the writing is where it really comes down to the line.

- will now test out some more sidebar stuff.

Improvement

Definitely wish I knew more HTML. Blogger does a pretty good job of making it easy for non-programmers, but not easy enough for formatting freaks like myself. Bothering me right now:

-"view my complete profile" doesn't appear on a single line
- I don't know how to center my "happiness is like jam..." quote on the footer
- My photo links are blue instead of orange like the other links
- I couldn't figure out how to add the sidebar paragraph supposedly there in HTML

Not bad, though. Just hope no one is reading this in its testing state. Also still deciding about the template, the name, some sort of clever description, etc. I like the Batt Cave idea, but that almost requires I use the black template... a commitment I'm not sure I'm ready to make. Could always go with the dark blue spots and the Batt Cave name anyway, although it does detract... would just have to tie it all together. Anyway, more soon.

Today

Today I'm just experimenting a bit more with Blogspot. I've been pretty impressed, overall, but I have been a little disappointed with the profile options. Profile's huge, you know. I think I'll mess around with pics for a bit, hang on.

My First Blog

It's a girl! just testing.