This is Goodbye.

Dear Reader,

With 2015 comes a new life.
I'm retiring this blog, because the person who it belonged to before has to evolve.

Part of that process means leaving this blog as an artifact.
Something that can be revisited, but that should not be fixated on.

It's time to grow.
It's time to heal.

I can't do that in a den full of the things that I have to grow beyond and heal from.

You will find me in another blogosphere soon enough,

Nikki. 

Of Mice and Men.

I've been thinking a lot about death, and about kindness. About loss, and about our role in other peoples lives.

A few days ago, I lost a family member. We weren't super close, I didn't know him extremely well. He was my mom's cousin, older than me and in another country.

We spoke a few times a year, shared some laughs, but that was it.

He killed himself.

There is a shame associated with this, and people don't want to talk about it. They want to change the facts. But, as I've mentioned in previous posts:

They say “suicide is the coward’s choice.” I disagree. It is the “cornered’s” choice. It is the oppressed’s choice, the abused’s choice, the last choice. I use to believe it was a selfish choice, and now I believe it’s a selfless – albeit warped – choice. No one walks into the gallows unaccompanied.

Someone is always there, with the knife to their back.

He killed himself because the weight of who he wasn't was bearing down on him. His failures as perceived by others crept into the back of his mind.

Or maybe they were hammered in, and often, by the people he was most in contact with.

So I'm writing this for you, Phil, because you deserve to be remembered for who you were - not for what you lacked, and because I am not ashamed. 

Phil was a father. A Marine. He was a proud American - seriously, he really really loved the US - but loved his Japanese wife even more. So much, that he moved there to be with her, and raise their family. He was a husband.

An adoring, proud father.

He was a hard worker, and sometimes he drank a little too much. But I think he did that because he had a really big heart, and he internalized everything. It softened the blows.

Phil was the kind of guy who'd listen to you, empathize, cheer you up, share a song or two, and then check in on you the next day.

He genuinely cared.

He was an open book. Anything you wanted to know, he'd tell you.
He was a not just a storyteller, but a story itself.

So here comes the call to action, the part where you come in: evaluate yourself for a moment. What role are you playing in the lives of others?

Isn't it easier to be kind than to be judgmental and harsh?
Isn't it easier to recognize the hard work people are doing, instead of pointing out what they have yet to do?
Isn't it easier to forgive, and move forward?
And at the very least, what business is it of yours to interfere in the autonomous decisions of another?

So stop. Think.
Who are you judging?
Who are you criticizing?
Who are you trying to change?
If they haven't asked for this specifically, then just stop.

Be the kind person.
Be the supportive person.
Be the open ear.
Be the keeper of secrets.

See people for who they are, not for what you want them to be.
And be okay with that.

---

Que descanses, Phil.

The Flea.

Okay. So maybe ''The Flea'' isn't the proper name for this post, since it's actually about parasites.
Yes. You read correctly.

Parasites.

Here's the thing: apparently, it's really common in this part of the world to take a pill that kills the parasites in your body....every 6 months.

I kid you not. There are commercials of Asian families speaking Spanish, singing a jingle about taking their anti-parasitic.

When I first heard this, I thought it was a joke.
"No way." Those are the exact words I spoke.

Jethro proceeded to explain to me that in these parts, parasites live in everything. Your food. Your water. The air in the markets.

Then he told me about one parasite that lays eggs in your body, sometimes in your brain, and if the eggs hatch you die.  Or become a vegetable. Or lose your speech.

....and that is why people take anti-parasite pills.

So it's been about 2 weeks since this terrible news was broken to me, and all I can think about is how never, not a single time in my entire 26 years of existence, have I ever taken a pill to kill parasites in my body.

I'm convinced that my insides are crawling with microscopic, and not so microscopic, blood sucking, intestine biting creatures that are taking my life force and starting families in my guts.

Seriously. Could this be the reason for the dark circles under my eyes? The strange abdominal pains that awake me in the night?

Are parasites nocturnal?

I think I've accidentally waited this long because I'm afraid. I don't think I need to explain why or what it is I'm afraid of.

And here's a question: why don't we do this in the USA? Are we the only country that doesn't do this? Do we think we're just immune to parasites? Doesn't anyone know that a good portion of our produce comes form Mexico?

Or, is everyone in on this? Has everyone always been taking measures against parasites?
Am I the only one who didn't know about this?

A Beautiful Life.

So this is the truth of the situation, my living situation.
You have seen the snapshots and read the snippets I share on Facebook, and have likely come to your conclusions about what life is like down here.

But while I was reading an email from a cousin of mine, who shared a little bit about the culture of where she's living in Argentina, I realized I haven't really explained anything.

So here it is. The truth:

México is not a poor country. The government is incredibly wealthy...however the majority of that money sits in political pockets, and doesn't find its way to where it belongs. You know. With the people.

So México is not poor. But there are a lot of poor Mexicans. Unfortunately, the further you live away from México City, the poorer it gets. It's very Hunger-Gamesy. Those in the Federal District have more money. Those furthest away have the least.

I am living in the 2nd poorest state in México, a place called Oaxaca (pronounced wah-ha-kah). While there may not be a ton of money flowing through the state (it's so poor the government has special prices on everything. Gym memberships are 1/3rd the cost that they are just 3 hours north in Puebla. Tortillas are 7 pesos for half a kilo so that people can afford them), the area is very rich in culture. There is a heavy indigenous presence here, and this translates into everything. Walking down the street you hear the various dialects of indigenous languages (such as zapoteco or triqui) being spoken. The pueblos where they live are about 30 minutes outside the city, and there you can encounter generational crafters making weaved goods, alebrijes (one of the most amazing things I've ever encountered in my life), and barro verde/negro - which is pottery specific to this region.

These things can also be encountered in the city, but you get a deeper understanding of the process when you get into the villages.

Many people equate poverty with danger. I am here to confirm that Oaxaca is not a dangerous state. Many of you are aware of what is happening in Guerrero, Michoacan, and on the border. These areas do not represent the majority of México. Yes, what is happening there is very dangerous, and very sad. But, just like Detroit and the south side of Chicago, or the east side of Los Angeles do not speak for the majority of the USA, these rogue regions of México do not represent the entire country.

Like in any city in any country in the world, crime does occur here...but it's not very unlike what you experience in your own town. In fact, Oaxaca is a safer place than Minneapolis...and the weather is much more agreeable.

Speaking of weather, etc., let me paint you a picture of a normal day in the city (for me):

I leave my house at 830am, and I am greeted by the sound of metal security doors being released as businesses begin to open for the day. Traffic is just starting to pick up, and there is a faint smell of exhaust in the air. The sun hits me and instantly warms me up; this time of year it's in the 60s at night and near 80 in the afternoons. Layered clothing is a must.

I check 6 ways before I cross the street, as pedestrians do not have the right of way and cars and bikes come flying out of nowhere all the time. As I cross out of the sun over to a shadier part of the street, I have to pick up my pace to bustle my way ahead of 3 people blocking the sidewalk, and walking very, very slowly. As I get to the next street, a taxi slows down to see if I want to get in, but all they do is impede my path and make me yell ''muevete!!" (move it!). I pass a really old lady with a witches voice, begging for food or money.

"Señora" she croaks at me. "Me regalas comiiiiida? Por favor!?"
Her voice is desperate but I carry on ahead. There will be another hungry woman on the next corner, and a family begging on the next. There is nothing I can do to remedy the situation.

I pass a man playing an accordion. His son asks for monedas, and I give him a handful of suckers. They both seem satisfied.

I look up and get a chance to take in my surroundings. The teachers are still on strike in the Zocalo, making it impossible to walk through. Vendors have taken up the remaining space. It's best to avoid that area, despite how much I love it. It's a mess and beginning to smell.

I go north, and smile as I remember for the 100th time how much I love the colors on the buildings, and the way the clouds sit always stuck in the mountains. The elevation isn't that high, but for whatever reason those clouds always hover there. I'm not paying attention and I almost get hit by a taxi. Neither of us gets angry.

I pass a man selling tamale tortas on the corner (at this time of day, there is a tamale cart on every corner). School kids huddle around him. It's an easy and convenient breakfast (but an awful lot of carbs!). I walk half a block further and buy fruit and juice from a lady with a post in the doorway. $2.50 for breakfast. She sells the best stuff in the city.

A block ahead is Santo Domingo. I decide if I want to go straight, and greet the jewelry vendors, or take a right and go around the backside of the botanical garden. Either way I end up walking through the modestly size Conzatti park, where one group is meeting for a bike ride, and another is having bible study. There's also a tai chi group by the fountain. I say hello to the shoe shiners and nod at the doctors eating breakfast in Cafe Arabia.

I pass a school as I get close to the place where I work. Parents say goodbye to their kids. One mom is wearing sweats, a tshirt, and 4 inch stilettos. I have to stifle a laugh, and then I almost trip over the tree stump of the tree with a face painted on it.

By this time, 5 people have called me güerita, 3 people have said something crass, several have exchange with me polite hellos, and 1 or 2 stray dogs have attempted to follow me to my final destination.

I arrive at work to be greeted by a chorus of ''buenos días! muy buenos días!'' and run to the bathroom (by this time I've been walking for 30 minutes). The septic system in Mexico cannot handle waste paper; everything goes into the waste basket. I wonder to myself if I will get confused when I get back to the states....

After work, I decide to take a shower. I heat my gas water heater with a lighter, and wait 15 minutes for the water to heat up. In the shower, I wash my socks and underwear because the laundromat doesn't do it for you. I am no longer careful to avoid getting the water in my mouth. I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth with it. I'm still alive. I have to remember to turn off the water heater. My house smells like camping for a while afterward...

I like it.

The kitchen does not have hot water, but if I wait to wash my dishes until the afternoon, the sun will have been heating the water tanks on the roof, and I will get hot water for the dishes. Tricky.

I open my windows and a burst of hibiscus flowers is just on the other side. I listen to the traffic, and wonder if tomorrow I'll eat a tlayuda (google it) or settle for pasta in my apartment.

There is always more to share. I could keep writing about food (Oaxaca has a lot to offer. It's best that I just take pictures and do a photo essay to explain it), or people to be encountered throughout the city. I could tell you about the independent art museums, or the atmosphere of the city at night.

But there is time for that in the future.
The point is that there is so much to love and appreciate about this city, and not to share as much as I can would be an utter waste and shame.

It really is a beautiful life. 

Why Oaxaca, and...Don't I Miss My Family?

So, occasionally Jethro and I play the "you ask me a question, and then I ask you a question" game. Yesterday, he asked me the following questions:

1.) Why Oaxaca? 

2.) Don't you miss your family?

A veces, Jethro y yo jugamos el "pregúntame algo" juego. 

Ayer, me preguntó dos preguntas:

1.) ¿Por qué Oaxaca?

2.) ¿Extrañas a tu familia?

I get these questions from other people as well, and figured they'd make for an interesting blog post. If you end up super bored, I apologize. 

Otras personas me han preguntado esto también, y pienso que están buenos temas para un nuevo ''blog post.''

Si mueras de aburrimiento, te ofrezco mis disculpas. 

Actually, I don't. 

Ok, maybe a little. 

...o tal vez no. 

Okay. Quizá un poco. 

Anyway - let's start with #1: Why Oaxaca?

-- When I decided to have the immersion Spanish experience, I asked around. I asked friends who had done Spanish immersion programs all over the place, and they said 1.) do it, it'll work wonders on your Spanish and 2.) go to Oaxaca. 

People who studied in Puebla, Chiapas, Guatemala, Mexico City, and Guadalajara had all come, at some point, to Oaxaca...and it made a big enough impression that all of them said "go there." It didn't hurt that the price was also ridiculously reasonable...and that a lifelong dream of mine to experience a genuine Day of the Dead could be attained in Oaxaca. 

Okay. Vamos a empezar con #1: ¿Por qué Oaxaca?

-- Cuando decidí tener la experiencia de inmersión de español, pregunté a unos amigos que ya habían estudiado en programas en lugares diferentes (en México y otros países) y me dijeron dos cosas... 1.) hazlo! va a ayudar a tu español! y 2.) vete a Oaxaca! 

Gente que había estudiado en Puebla, Chiapas, Guatemala, el DF, y Guadalajara habían visitado a Oaxaca y la ciudad les hizo una impresión fuerte...tan fuerte que todas mis dijeron venir aquí. Y también el precio estaba muy reasonable...y tuve el sueño de tener la experience del Día de los Muertos...y sabía que podría actualizar este sueño aquí. 

So I bought the tickets...and within days was in love. 

Here's the thing...I was born an outsider. I was born in Germany to American parents, I was raised in Japan with blonde hair and blue eyes and an intermediate grasp of the language. I lived overseas longer than I lived in my legal country. I have always been a foreigner everywhere I go, including the US...and if I have to be a gaijin, foreigner, extranjera... I might as well be allowed to choose a place where that doesn't bother me. 

And it doesn't bother me here. 

I finally feel like I have a home, and I refuse to walk away from that feeling. 

Compré mis boletos y me enamoré en unos días. 

Fíjate que siempre he estado una "extranjera." Nací una extranjera. Nací en Alemania a papás de los EEUU, crecí en Japón con cabello rubio y ojos claros y con una comprensión intermedia del idioma. Viví afuera de los EEUU más años que viví en el país. Siempre he estado una extranjera en todas partes, incluso mi ''propio''país...y si tengo que ser un ''gaijin'' o ''foreigner'' or ''extranjera''...¿por qué no elijo el lugar por mi misma? 

Y aquí no me molesta que soy diferente, que soy extranjera, güera, gaijin... porque finalmente me siento como si tuviera un hogar, y me niego rechazar este sentimiento.  

So here comes question #2: Don't you miss your family?

The quick and easy answer is: yes, of course. 

But in the time I've lived overseas, or on the opposite side of the country, I've learned that my family is only ever 12 - 15 hours away (with flights and layover times...25ish hours by vehicle). I grew up understanding that families can love each other without living next door to one another. 

Llegamos a pregunta #2: ¿Extrañas a tu familia?

La respuesta corta es: claro que sí....

...pero en el tiempo que he vivido ''afuera'' o lejos, pero en el mismo país, he aprendido que mi familia siempre está cerca... 12 - 15 horas por avión, o 25 horas por coche. Crecí con el entendimiento de que families pueden querer y apoyar uno a otro sin estar vecinos.  

I do occasionally lament that I can't attend every school function my siblings have, but at the same time they know - without a doubt - that there is no one in this world who loves them more than I do...and that I will easily shake the sun out of the sky to make the important things happen. 

A veces me lamento el hecho de que no había podido asistir cada evento de las vidas de mis hermanitos, pero al mismo tiempo saben que - sin duda - no hay nadie en este mundo que los quiere más que yo, y que fácilmente quitaría al sol del cielo para hacer posible las cosas importantes.  

Plus, living overseas gives my family the opportunity to travel somewhere new and do something exciting. :) 

Además, vivir en otro país presenta a mi familia con la oportunidad para viajar a un lugar nuevo, y hacer algo diferente. 

The hard and dirty truth is this: I'm really happy. 

Oaxaca makes me happy. 

My life here is a happy one. 

My family is happy that I am happy. 

So I suppose, now, I turn the tables and ask you the same questions...

1.) Why are you where you are?

2.)  How does your family factor in the equation?

La verdad - simple y clara es: Estoy muy feliz. 

Estar en Oaxaca me hace feliz. 

Mi vida aquí en una vida feliz. 

Mi familia está feliz porque estoy feliz. 

Ahora, te pregunto las mismas cosas....

1.) ¿Por qué estás donde estás?

2.) ¿Como afecta esto tu familia? 

Hundred. Dollah. Bills.

Picture this:

You are in Billings, Montana. You have a $50 bill in your wallet, and you want some Mountain Dew. That Mountain Dew costs $2.50 (because you're buying it in a bottle, not in a super sized cup). You drive your unnecessarily large truck to the nearest gas station, pick out your bottle, and walk up to the cash register.

The cashier says, "That'll be $2.50." You open your wallet, and hand him a $50 bill.
He gives you $47.50 in change. You say, "Hey, thanks. Have a good one." He nods, and smiles, and says, "See ya around."

And you continue with your life.

Imagínate esto:

Estás en Billings, Montana. Tienes sed, y quieres un Mountain Dew. También tienes USD$50.00 en tu bolsillo. Un Mountain Dew tiene un precio de US$2.50 (porque vas a comprar una botella, no una copa super grande como normal). Manejas tu camioneta enorme al estación de gas, eliges tu botella, y estás lista para pagar. 

El cajero te dice, "Va a costar US$2.50." Abres tu cartera, y le das US$50.00 en efectivo. 
Te da US$47.50 de cambio, se sonríe y te dice, "Gracias. Nos vemos."

Sigues viviendo tu vida. 

Now picture this:

You are in Oaxaca, Oaxaca. You have a 500 peso bill in your pocket (about US$45.00), and you want to eat lunch at your favorite restaurant, with a fixed price menu of 100 pesos. You walk to the restaurant, sit down, eat the delicious food, and then ask for the bill.

You pull a 500 bill out of your pocket, and put it in the check holder. The waiter takes it.
Then he brings it back and asks if you have change. Two things can happen at this point:

1.) You dig through all of your pockets and bags looking for change. You come upon a 200 peso bill. The waiter asks again if you're sure you don't have exact change. You say you're sure. He takes your 200 pesos, but everyone knows he's slightly annoyed.

2.) You don't have change. You begin to apologize profusely. You thought you had 100 pesos. You were sure. The waiter goes to the kitchen, they don't have change. The waiter asks people in the restaurant if they can break 500 pesos. You hang your head in a shame. They say no (because change for 500 pesos does not exist). Finally, the waiter leaves the restaurant and goes to a neighboring store where someone breaks the 500 peso bill.

Ahora, imagínate esto:

Estás en Oaxaca. Tienes 500 pesos en tu cartera y quieres comer en tu restaurante favorito, con un menú diario de 100 pesos. Caminas al restaurent, te sientas, y comes bien. Le pides al mesero la cuenta, y cuando llegue, pongas 500 de efectivo adentro. El mesero lo lleva....y regresa para preguntarte si tienes cambio. 

Ahora, 2 cosas pueden pasar:

1.) Empiezas buscar frenéticamente en todos tus bolsillos, tu mochila, etc. Encuentres 200 pesos. El mesero te pregunta otra vez si no tienes cambio exacto. Le dices que no, estás seguro que no tienes cambio exacto y el mesero se va con un poco de frustración en su cara. 

2.) No tienes cambio. No sabes cómo pasó esto. Estabas seguro que tenía cambio contigo, pensaste que había 100 pesos en tu cartera. Tienes vergüenza y no puedes mirar a nadie en la cara. El mesero empieza a preguntar a la gente en el restaurante si tienen cambio. Por supuesto, nadie lo tiene. Finalmente, el mesero se va a otra empresa y regresa con tu cambio. 

I have discovered that there are really only 3 ways you can change out 500 pesos:
1.) Have a really good relationship with someone who owns a high traffic business, and be careful not to abuse the 500 peso bill breaking more than 2x a month.
2.) Have a local bank account, and stand in the epically long lines at the bank in hopes that the cashier will break your money.
3.) Buy something that costs more than 300 pesos (but then you're spending a lot of money...to get change...)

Every time I see people running between businesses with bills in their hands, I laugh.
I get it.
It is the game of the 500 peso bill.
A dance. A puzzle. A joke.

He descubierto que realmente solo hay 3 maneras en que puedes recibir cambio de 500 pesos:

1.) Tienes que tener un buen amigo que tiene una empresa con muchos clientes. 
2.) Tienes que tener una cuenta de banco aquí, y tener paciencia con las filas, y también suerte de que el cajero vaya a cambiar tu dinero. 
3.) Tienes que comprar algo que cuesta más que 300 pesos (pero vas a perder 300 pesos, y solo vas a tener ~200 de cambio). 

Cada vez que veo a una persona correr entre negocios, con la esperanza de cambiar dinero, tengo que reírme. 
De repente, lo entiendo. 
Es el juego de los 500.
Es un baile. Un rompecabeza. Una broma. 

And I find that there are no words that describe, in full detail, the look on someones face when you pull out a 500 bill...or when someone walks into a room and asks if someone has change for 500.

It is a pained and exasperated expression which translates roughly to: sorry, I can't help...but boy, do I feel your pain.

If it were up to me, the 500 peso bill would be an ancient artifact.
It is not needed.
It is unwanted.
It has no admirers.

And now, for a musical accompaniment...

Y no hay palabras para explicar la mirada en la cara de alguien cuando otra persona entra el cuarto y pregunta, "alguien tiene cambio de 500?"

Es una mirada que dice algo entre, "Claro que no, pero entiendo muy bien tu posición."

Si podría eliminar el billete de 500, lo haría. 
No es querido. 
No es necesario. 
No tiene ningún amigo ni admirador. 

y ahora...para una canción del tema... 

Put A Smile On Your Face.

Growing up (and even now) my dad would always tell us that happiness is a choice.
He would say that when you wake up, you get to decide: Am I going to be happy today? Or am I going to be (insert unhappy emotion here).

Now, he'd typically say this when one of us kids was in a particularly bad mood, and hearing that we were choosing to be in a bad mood often just made us (more) mad.

And maybe at that age it wasn't totally a choice; a lot of it was hormonal.
But, there was still some choice involved.

Now that I'm a rational, grown human being I can easily understand where he was coming from with that little bit of insight.

He's right.
He's always been right.

Every day, I wake up and I get to choose the path my day will take; it's always easier to take the positive path.

Even on a bad day, or when things get rough...it's still easier to be positive, to choose to be happy in spite of the issues.

Life was never made easier by frowning or wallowing.
So, yes. Sometimes life gets weird and hard. Sometimes a miserable day is absolutely necessary.
Sometimes life throws curveballs.

But life is too short to waste it feeling sorry for ourselves...for wallowing, for worrying, for anger.
Instead, we should look ahead towards the things we know we enjoy, and move through our struggles with a positive attitude.

Way more can be done to address what's bothering you if you carry a clear head on your shoulders, and a smile on your face.

And now for a list of 10 things that make me happy:
1.) butterflies
2.) snuggling with babies
3.) the trike (a motorcycle)
4.) good friends
5.) fresh pressed juices
6.) avocados
7.) sunshine
8.) learning new things
9.) daisies
10.) running

All The World's A Stage.

Let's start with the positives.
Actually, I'm not so sure it's a "positive" but it's not the angry rant that I have brewing in the depths of my soul.

So let's start with something lighter.

Street kids.

They are literally on every street in Oaxaca. Hungry, dirty, hilarious, vivacious, little kids who typically spend their days begging for money.

And occasionally food.

Because I am almost 100% certain they don't get to keep the money they collect, I will not give them any. But food? Always.

If a child asks me for food, I will never say no. Starving or not.
And so today, when Lisa and I were walking to the little park to sit and eat lunch, and this little chico came up alongside us asking for some of our peanuts, we happily obliged.

And I gave him a sucker.
And then a woman passed by, selling alegría and I bought those and gave him that, too.

The look on his face was pure shock. He had only asked for peanuts.
He walked back towards his accordion-playing dad with his hands full, and a spring in his step, and I felt a little better knowing that they'd have something extra to eat today.

- - - - -

Now about that angry rant.

As much as I love Oaxaca - and I really, really love it here - there is one thing that I just can't figure out how to approach: the bounty of unwanted attention.

I can handle the annoying noises.
I just pretend I don't hear them. I keep my head down. I don't make eye contact. I don't say hello.
Well, 88% of the time.

But despite trying to make myself invisible, the fact of the matter is simply that I'm not. And I'm different.

And I'm not sure why, but for some reason my differentness seems to be synonymous with "Hey, complete stranger! Yeah, you! I don't know you but why don't you come talk to me? I'd really love to answer all your really personal questions!"

At least once a day, but usually 2 or 3 times, I am approached by a complete stranger (of the male variety). Sometimes, these conversations are innocent: why are you here, what do you think about Oaxaca?

But more often than not, they go like this:
Them: (catching pace with me) "Hola."
Me: - Looking at them without saying anything. -
Them: Are you here for vacations?
Me: No. I live here.
Them: What do you do?
Me: I have a job. That's why I live here.
Them: Where did you learn Spanish?
Me: Good question.
Them: Where do you live?
Me: Here.
Them: - laughing because I'm being difficult. -
Me: - still walking -
Them: You're really a beautiful woman.

This typically ends in a proposition of some sort. Am I interested in going to a hotel? Do I want to hook up somewhere? Do I live alone?

What I want...is to walk down the street...in peace.

I realize this sounds like a silly thing to continue to be angry about. But, unless you have to deal with it on a regular basis, you don't really get it. A lot of people here don't get it. I was recently walking down the street with a male friend, local to the area, and out of seemingly nowhere he exasperatedly said, "Is this what it's like for you every time you leave the house?"

And all he was witnessing were the stares. I was walking with him, so no one was going to say anything to me.

Before I could answer his question, he answered it himself saying that it's probably 10x worse when I'm by myself, and that he'd never realized it was so bad.

- - - - -

This is the last I'll complain about it for a while. But sometimes it destroys your confidence. It shakes you. It makes you question everything about yourself. The way you're dressed, the way you walk, the way you hold your head up. It makes you hyper aware of everything.

You always have an audience.

But I have found that if you make a really ridiculous face at people when they say something crass, they often don't know what to do with themselves, or how to interact with you.

And it's hilarious.

A No Good, Very Bad Day. / El Día Horrible y Molesto

I woke up on the right side of the bed.
Me desperté de buen humor.

I had some water, got some work done, put my clothes on and decided to check out a little "natural" foods store by my house in the hopes that I would encounter rice flour and buckwheat groats (to make myself some pancakes, obviously).

Tomé agua, trabajé unas horas, me puse la ropa, y decidí caminar a una tienda cerca de mi casa (trigo verde) de "cosas naturales" con la esperanza de que encontraría harina de arroz y buckwheat (para cocinar pancakes sin gluten).

I wasn't holding my breath about the rice flour and buckwheat, so it wasn't a huge surprised that the store didn't carry it.

Entendí que la probabilidad de encontrar estas cosas no fue probable y por eso no estaba sorprendida que la tiendo no las tenía. 

But, everything else that happened next was kind of annoying.

Pero todo lo que ocurrió después me hizo agravada.

1.) I bought my soy milk, soy sauce, and alegría with 500 pesos. I realize this is a bitch move, but the bank gives you these large, annoying bills...and you have to break them somewhere...

1.) Compré leche de soya, salsa de soya, y alegría con 500 pesos. Lo sé. Entiendo que no hay nadie en todo el país que quiere cambiar 500 pesos. Pero que voy a hacer cuando el banco me los da? Tengo que usar los de alguna manera...

2.) The cashier tried to shortchange me by $200 pesos. Then she acted mad when I requested the rest of my change.  How many extranjeros has she short changed? And seriously, doesn't she understand that "math is a universal language?"

2.) La cajera trató de robar $200 pesos de mi cambio. Y fue ella que se puso enojada cuando le dije que quería mi cambio en completo. Eso me hizo pensar en cuantas personas la mujer ha engañado...y ¿no puede entender que los números son universales? 

That really, really bothered me. But I tried to just shake it off, and headed to el mercado.

Eso realmente me molestó, pero recuperé, y me fui al mercado.

3.) Every vendor in the market was in a bad mood (save the one woman who I buy bananas from. She's always in a good mood). They were all upset about something (maybe it's the influx of 5 million foreigners, half of them being demanding, rude, English speaking snobs). Or maybe the traffic because of the Guelagetza had them all bothered...because there were quite a number of vendors setting up pretty late for a Saturday morning.

3.) Cada vendedor en el mercado era de mal humor (con una excepción: la mujer que me vende los plátanos. Siempre está de buen humor). Todos eran molestos por algo (probablemente los 5 millones de extranjeros en la ciudad, la mayoría sin las capacidades de hablar Español). O...tal vez por el tráfico (debido a La Guelagetza). 

Anyway, that was annoying too...because they're typically all so happy. I didn't like that they had been having bad mornings, too.

Eso me molestó también porque típicamente todos los vendedores están felices! No me gustaba que estuvieran teniendo problemas también. 

4.) On my way home, I was taunted by these two young men. As I am a "tall" white girl living in Oaxaca, I am no stranger to being whistled, "chutched," and called at (or chased down, spoken to, etc.). But because I had already had an annoying morning, these two guys really got under my skin. They followed me down the street, trying to think of things to say about me.

4.) Mientras estaba caminando a mi casa, 2 jóvenes decidieron molestarme con tonterías. Ya que estoy una mujer "alta" y viviendo en Oaxaca, estoy acostumbrada de escuchar chiflas, "ch-ch", y otras cosas (o tener alguien perseguirme, o hablar conmigo, etc.). Pero, como había estado teniendo una mañana molesta, estos jóvenes me hicieron muy enojado. Me estaban persiguiendo y diciendo cosas groseras. 

"Oh, she thinks she's sooooo cool."
"Hey, aren't you going to turn around and flirt with us?"
"Oye, let me just touch one of them (referring to my chest)."

"Oye, ella piensa que ella es súper genial."
"Chica, no vas a coquetear con nosotros?"
"Oye, solo quiero tocar una! (en referencia a mi pecho)." 

So I gave them the finger.
And they laughed.
And that made me mad that they were laughing.

Y los "dí el dedo."
Y se me burlaron.
Y eso me hizo enojada que estaban riéndome. 

5.) When I got home, I realized I forgot to buy tostadas. I had to go back out, despite wanting to crawl into a cave and die.

5.) Cuando llegué a casa, recordé que había olvidado de comprar tostados. Tenía que salir otra ves, a pesar de querer esconderme en una cueva y morirme. 

6.) I got cat called by no less than 10 different men ON ONE BLOCK.

6.) 10+ hombres me dijeron cosas molestas, todos en la misma cuadra. 

7.) A man cut me off in line at the store, and then apologized profusely when he heard me speaking Spanish with the cashier. What the heck?! So, now because I speak Spanish I deserve my place in line?!

7.) Un hombre le tomó mi lugar en la fila en la tienda, pero después de escucharme hablar en Español con el cajero, decidió ofrecer disculpas. ¿Cómo crees? ¿Ahora sabes que puedo hablar español y por eso me vas a ofrecer disculpas?

That bothered me.
And I haven't gone out since (well, I did go running...but my house is attached to the gym). Speaking of which...

Eso me molestó.
Y no he salido de la casa desde la mañana (pues, corrí en el gimnasio, pero es adjuntado a mi casa)...Ah, eso me recuerda... 

8.) The dueño of my depa (apartment) spent 10 minutes lecturing me about how I need to eat more, especially as a vegan, especially because he never sees me eating, especially because I run. He asked me why I don't eat that much, and I said "I haven't been that hungry."

8.) El dueño de mi depa me habló durante 10 minutes, y me estaba diciendo que necesito comer más porque nunca me ve con comida, y especialmente porque me gusta correr. Me preguntó por qué no como mucho, y le dije que no he tenido mucho hambre. 

He looked at me skeptically.
That bothered me.

No me creyó.
Eso me molestó.

9.) When I decided to cook, my chickpeas had gone slightly sour. That wasn't a huge deal, as I had ample other things to prepare myself. But I love chickpeas, and so it made me sad.

9.) Decidí cocinar y descubrí que mis chickpeas se estropearon. Eso no fue algo muy grande ya que tenía muchas otras cosas que cocinar...pero me gustan los chickpeas, y por eso me puso triste. 

So there you have it, the story of my no good, very bad day (so far). Perhaps it will get better, perhaps it will get worse.

Bueno, aquí tienes mi historia del día horrible y molesto. Quizá vaya a mejorar. Quizá vaya a empeorar. 

Either way, it is what it is. Writing about it is cathartic, and reading it to myself makes me chuckle a little. So I suppose everything is fine, if I've ended up here with a smile on my face.

De cualquier manera, es lo que es. Escribir sobre estas cosas es catártico...y leerlo a mí misma me hacer reír un poco. Supongo que cosas no son tan malas si estoy sonriendo. 

The end.

A Love Letter

I love Oaxaca.

I realize that this isn't a huge secret. But it is the truth. I just love it here.
I've been sick since before I got here...but do I care?

No.
How can I?
I'm in love with Oaxaca, and who can be sick when they are in love?

There's enough out there for me to enjoy that I find a way to conquer whatever it is that ails me, and put myself in the sun. On the terrace. In the streets.

I've been here a week, but it feels like forever....in the best way. Like the pieces finally fit. Like somehow, I was always here.

TCKs will understand this. For example, I was walking down the street thinking today about normal things: groceries, my plans for holidays, doctors appointments, hanging out with friends..

...and at no point did I stop to think, "In the next place I live, I'll...."

Nope. That door is closed for now. There is no next place I'd rather live. Not yet. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next April.

I suppose I never stopped to think about what beautiful feels like.
But it feels like this.

And I hope someday, you find it too.

The Angry Girl Rant.

I am not a cautionary tale.

I am your neighbor, your cousin, your daughter, friend, niece, sister, aunt... and I am an independent thinker, and I'm living my life as authentically as I can.

Unfortunately, there are those who exist in my life who find my way of thinking and living to be less than what they would imagine is acceptable.

Well, I'm just going to take off my filter and say one thing to you (*you* being a general, multiple bodied *you*):

I don't care what you think. The fact that you are putting my life under your microscope only tells me one thing: you want out of your own, and into mine. Otherwise, you wouldn't be meddling. You wouldn't have things to say.

Your disappointing behavior is bleeding jealousy everywhere.

My honest thoughts are...if you can't support me and/or at least try to understand the decisions I have made, am making, and will make...then you're just looking for one more thing to distract you from your own unfulfilling lot; I refuse to be that person for you.

And now, here's my unsolicited advice from me to you: wake up tomorrow, and do something different. Ask the questions you've been too afraid to ask. Do the thing you've been too afraid to do. Change the life you're tired of living.

But stay the hell away from mine until you've come to an adult understanding of what it means to live and let live.

Vignettes.

Enjoy these interesting, weird moments from the last two days:

Yesterday, at approximately 9:45 AM, I was sitting in the Organic Market - enjoying some pomegranate. A man in his 60s sat right next to me, and then proceeded to say, "You are a beautiful woman." Then, he looked me up and down and as serious as can be he added: "Are you a vegetarian? You look like a vegetarian."

Say what? I mean, I am a vegan so...there's that.
But I guess I look like a vegetable eater.

I'll take it.

--

Yesterday, Lisa and I spent more time than is probably natural trying to figure out the difference between lemons & limes in Spanish (like, the word for them). After surveying multiple people, it turns out...they are the same. Lemons and limes are both "limón."

--

This afternoon, around 2:00 pm, I was in the very busy mercado. Someone tried to pick-pocket out of my beautiful orange bag, but it has velcro AND straps...so he got caught. Didn't he know I designed this bag specifically with him in mind? Anyway, it really freaked him out when I turned and looked him straight in the face. Then he hurried away.

--

Yesterday evening, I was out with some people for a little while...and ended up unfortunately situated amongst a group of drunk men who got in a beer fight, which almost turned into a real fight, which I was able to diffuse with my sober, rational, friendly words. Unfortunately, I still have to deal with my beer soaked sweater and jeans.

Jerks!

--

Yesterday morning, I was walking with Ryo & Lisa to the ICO when we came upon some little street dogs. I looked at one and she made eye contact with me...and proceeded to follow us almost the entire time. Poor little chica. She was so friendly, and just wanted a snack.

I named her Gomi. My other dog, from last year, lived in the Zocalo and her name was Basura. As you can see, I have a trend going. (Gomi: garbage - Basura: trash --- I name them this because it is 1.) how they are often treated, and 2.) what they eat).

--

The end.

The Day The Girl Came Home

Here I am, at 7:12 in the morning on the 4th of July - a Friday, propped up against the wall with my laptop balancing delicately over the tops of my thighs.

Outside my window, I can hear dogs barking, traffic beginning to stir...church bells, and kitchen utensils. Oaxaca has decided to wake up gently this morning.

The sun is up and out, but the morning rain clouds are preventing it from shining through my window. I should probably be sitting out on the amazing terrace overlooking the Guelagetza stadium on one side, and Santo Domingo on the other, but that would require a series of dressing, bug-repellent-applying, and possibly early morning socializing - none of which I'm quite ready for.

I'm sick.
I have been sick for several days.
Today, it seems to be less in my stomach and more in my chest/sinuses. But, if I have to be sick...I'd rather be it here.

I live in an apartment right in the heart of town. It's close to everything you could ever think of, and equally as equipped. I don't want for anything (except a rice cooker, which I will promptly purchase). José - the rad fellow who owns this place, and deserves a blog post devoted to him - has said I can have some plants if I want.

He laughed when I asked.
"Who asks a question like that?" He said.
"Well what if I bought them and you didn't like them?" I said.
"That's ridiculous." He replied...going on to tell me the best ways to tie up some tomato plants, if I get them, so that they grow just right.

The apartment I live in is more than just an apartment. It's not like what you're thinking, as far as in the USA. I do not have my own little isolation cage adorned with all the things everyone keeps in their isolation cages.  Nope. I have a private bedroom and bathroom, which opens up into communal spaces. The communal bar and living room. The communal terrace and dining area. The communal, and very well stocked, kitchen.

Last night, José, Margot, los franceses, and I passed a few hours on the terrace, chatting, making little plans and laughing while getting pumped for the futbol game -  sharing words, and time.

There are multiple studies that show that communal living makes for happier people. I believe it. What's the point of living if you're not sharing that experience with others?

So, here I am. I'm sick, underslept, and I'm still partially in bed.
But I'm happy.
How could I not be?

640 Things to Write About: Sniveling Jenny

Go to the Merriam-Webster Word of the Day website and write a story based on that word. 

Snivel: verb

1

: to run at the nose

2

: to snuff mucus up the nose audibly : snuffle

3

: to cry or whine with snuffling

4

: to speak or act in a whining, sniffling, tearful, or weakly emotional manner

Jenny, Fiona, and their boss, Elaine, had spent the entire morning in the office, slaving over their next big design project. Elaine had grandiose plans to roll out their plans for production at the end of the week, and because of this she was relying heavily on the editing eyes of Jenny and Fiona. 

Jenny, while the most traditionally education, also happened to be the least creative. Additionally, she suffered from an irrationally large ego, and above everything - including proving her worth in the workforce - she wanted to be acknowledged.

In hopes of winning kudos from her boss, Jenny never shared her actual feelings regarding any of Elaine's designs. It was always a simple, "I like it." or a "I wouldn't change a thing." or even a "It's very pretty."

Elaine would smile at these comments of affirmation, and then turn to Fiona, who would jump in a offer up changes in color or style (to which Elaine would offer more praise than Jenny had ever received). 

Things were no different that morning. Elaine showed a sketch, Jenny affirmed it, Fiona offered feedback, Elaine praised Fiona. Jenny received nothing.

Jenny had had enough. With an annoyed sigh, but without a single word, she stood up, left the office, and drove straight to her mother's house.

"I'm tired of living in Fiona's shadow. It's Fiona this and Fiona that, and oooh look at the ideas Fiona has!" she whined.

Her mom shot her an exasperated look. She was all too familiar with Jenny's antics.

"You want all of the credit, but you're too afraid to put yourself out there. I don't know what you think will come of you leaving the office to vent to me about it. Stop sniveling about how mistreated you are, and go back to work." her mother offered.

Jenny opened her mouth to complain once more, but her mother silenced her with a single, raised hand.

On that, Jenny turned around, and headed back towards the office. 

To Fern: 641 Things To Write About

A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.

Dear Fern,

Please do not give up.
I need you to live so that you can filter the putrid air in my home into fine, clean oxygen for my breathing pleasure.

I know what you're thinking - where's the justice?
I can tell in the way you shiver your fronds when I steal your babies for the same calling.

Is it unfair for me to say...this is what you were made for?
So please, open your little fronds to the sunlight, have some water and
just breathe...

Nikki

642 Things To Write About

So, I bought this funny book a year ago. It's full of writing prompts (because I'm a huge nerd and would buy something like that). I've only done...like...7 since I bought it...and now I've made it a goal to do every.single.one.

And here is the first:
What can happen in a second?

In the second you've just spent reading this,
someone has wrecked their car,                    
someone has just taken their last breath,
or had their last thought,
and
someone has just given birth,
and someone has just taken their first breath -
life and death are happening simultaneously
right this
second.

In the second it took me to write the this letter,
someone has sent a text (which unfortunately they can't un-send),
and someone else has told a joke, which has just taken
a terrible turn,
and has ended up as and unintended insult.
Ouch.

In a single second you can:
choke,
push the button on a microwave,
smack your bubblegum,
trip,
make eye contact with someone,
burn yourself,
find a dollar,
burp,
say yes
or no...
and in one second, with just the click of a mouse -
or the enter key -
you can spend all the money in your bank account.

So I'm fairly convinced that not just anything can happen in a second,
but everything.

Dictators.

It was a new day; it was a sun-rise over mountains, car fumes in the lungs, and a dirty blonde street dog.
Era un nuevo día; era un amanecer sobre las montañas, el humo de los coches en los pulmones, y una perrita rubia y sucia. 

I was told to walk with purpose, to cross at the corner with as many people as possible. To avoid the small park at night, and not to eat anything spicy or too rich for at least 5 more days.
Me dijeron que caminar con un propósito, y cruzar en la esquina con la otra gente...evitar el parque más pequeño en la noche, y no comer algo picante o rico por lo menos 5 días más.  

Give yourself time to adjust.
Necesitas tiempo para ajustar.

Adjustments. It seems that adjusting just what we do, isn’t it? We adjust to new climates, new cultures, new people, new jobs. All the time we’re just shifting in our own skins, trying to find the most comfortable position.

Los ajustes. Parece que el ajuste es lo que hacemos, no? Ajustamos a nuevos climas, nuevas culturas, nueva gente, nuevos trabajos. Todo el tiempo estamos moviendo debajo de nuestros propios pieles, buscando la posición más confortable. 

It was a new week; it was another language, a bitter drink, and dancing until the early hours of the morning. We represented – at some points – 8 different nations. We spoke of jobs and journeys and one by one, and in various ways, we slowly admitted we were running. Running from oppressive things and closed minded thinking, towards being alive but being afraid. If you don’t adjust in the expected ways, then you really don’t know what is supposed to happen next.

Era una nueva semana; era otro idioma, una bebida amarga, y bailando hasta la madrugada. Representábamos (a veces) 8 países distintos. Hablábamos de trabajos y aventuras y uno por uno admitimos que corríamos...de cosas opresivas, de mentes cerradas, hacia la esperanza de vivir vidas completas...pero con miedo. Si no ajustas a la vida como la mayoría de la gente del mundo, no puedes saber lo que va a seguir. 

And so we created our own realities, we chose the next chapter in the book.
We lived by the dictates of our own consciousness.
Por eso, estábamos construyendo nuestras propias realidades. Elegimos el proximo capitulo del libro. Estábamos viviendo por los dictados de nuestras propias conciencias.

Sometimes, a collective conscious. Other times, we were 8 nations living individually side-by-side. In camionetas. In the streets. On beaches.
A veces con una conciencia colectiva. Otras veces, estábamos 8 naciones viviendo vidas individuales pero lado a lado. En las playas. En las camionetas. En las calles. 
 
It was a new perspective; it was remembering how – who – I was before I forgot.
It was a regeneration.
It was a right decision.
It was all smiles, human contact, and summer skin.

I was told to walk with purpose – and I found one.

Era una nueva perspectiva; era la memoria de cómo - quién - era antes de que se me olvidó.
Era una regeneración.
Era la decisión correcta.
Era sonrisas, contacto humano, y piel de verano.
Me dijeron que caminar con un propósito...y lo encontré. 

What Not to Say to Military Brats.

So there are about a million lists on the internet of things not to say to military spouses or families, but there aren't really any lists of things not to say specifically related to military children. People often forget that the children are really in it as much as the rest of them. Military "brats" are uprooted often, and forced to undergo dramatic changes and adapt to new environments quickly. That process is hard enough. Military kids - even as adults - often find it's hard to connect to people who haven't had similar experiences because of the complete lack of understanding surrounding this type of upbringing. It's just as foreign as they are (insert hearty military brat chuckle here).

So next time you're talking to a military brat - young or old....try taking a few pointers from this list:

Things not to say to a very young military brat:
- Don't you miss your mommy/daddy? (Ya think?)
- Did your mommy/daddy bring you back something cool? (Yes. They came home alive. Isn't that cool?)
- S/he'll be back before you know s/he was gone. (Hmmm, I'm pretty sure that's a lie.)

Things not to say to a young military brat:
- Doesn't it make you sad that s/he's missed all your birthdays? (and most Thanksgivings, school performances, first words/steps/dates....of course.)
- Why can't you go visit him? (Because he's in a war-zone.).
- Does s/he call you often? (Actually, no, and sometimes I don't know where s/he is. And sometimes, neither does my other parent).
- My kids know how you feel; I left for a week once and.... (and stop talking now).
- Aren't you worried about making new friends after you move? (Yes. I'm terrified. But I don't really have a choice in the matter and if I'm lucky I'll move to a military base full of people willing to be my friend from day 1).

Things not to say to an pre-teen to teenaged military brat (actually, just...don't say any of these things ever...at any age...):
- Do you think s/he's killed anybody? (Maybe. Do you want to be next to find out?)
- I bet it's really hard having to take on the extra responsibility of a missing parent. (Yes. It is hard to juggle school, jobs, dating, growing up, and supporting my seemingly-single parent. Thanks for pointing that out.)
- Has your younger sister/brother even spent any time with your mom/dad? (Rude.)
- It's kind of like your parents are divorced, except they aren't; your parent's paycheck is kind of like child support, since they're never home. (Really rude.)
- Do you think your younger brother/sister would have less emotional/psychological/behavioral problems at home/school if your parents wasn't gone all the time? (Did you really just go there?)
- So you were born in Germany? (Yes). Are you adopted? (Yes/No). Do you speak the language? (No.) So you're not really German? (No. Unless I was adopted. And then yes, but I still don't speak the language. Your ancestry is Finnish...do you speak Finnish?)
- Aren't you worried your parent is going to get killed? (What if I say no?)
- I bet you get away with a lot of stuff because you only have one parent. (I have two.)
- I bet you get away with a lot of stuff because your parents feel guilty. (Uhm, no. And have you ever met a military parent? I can't get away with anything, because somehow the parent on deployment still knows. My room is probably bugged.)
- Aren't you glad your mom/dad is back from deployment? (Of course I am. Now let me talk you through the complex social and structural changes that occur when a parent who has been deployed 3 - 18 months returns.)

Things not to say to upper teenaged - adult military brats:
- Do you think s/he's had an affair, since s/he is gone so much? (Do I even know you?).
- Hasn't all that time at war made your parent really angry/violent/depressed/withdrawn/aggressive? (Possibly. In what way are you benefited by knowing this information?)
- Wow, I'm sure that really damaged your family dynamic. (We're as functional as the rest of them).
- Wow, I bet your relationship with him/her is really complicated. (Not any more complicated than yours is with your parents).
- Military members shouldn't be allowed to have kids, it just seems too hard. (Thank you?)
- Is your parent disappointed you're not joining/in the service? (Is yours disappointed that you're so dense?)
- It must have been awesome having free dental and health care. (Manic laughter border-lining on tears here).
- Aren't you sad you didn't get to have a normal childhood? (Well, that was my only childhood, so...it was normal to me. And was it hard? Sure. But am I sorry that I got to see more of the world in the first 7 years of my life alone than most people see ever? Not really.)
- I'm sorry. That must have been a terrible way to grow up. (Actually, not really).
- Why do you still have an ID, you weren't in the military...
- Why are you sad you don't have your ID anymore, it's not like you were in the military... (You're right. I made 0 sacrifices and deserve 0 benefits. By the way...are you still on your parent's healthcare plan? Right. Shut up.)

So remember, next time you meet someone and you ask where they're from...and they make a painful expression and say, "Well, I'm a military brat..." that they are expecting all of ^^^ that to follow. End the vicious cycle of idiocy by offering more supportive or affirmative statements (like, "Wow, I bet it was fun to travel a lot!" or "Did you meet many interesting people, living in that many places?")

I'm sure there are more "what not to say"phrases, but these are just the ones I could remember hearing or being asked. If you have others to add, throw them in the comments and I'll add them.

Over and out.

Old Dog, New Tricks

Things Rosa didn't use to do, but now she does:

1. Follow me everywhere

2. Bark (when she's really, really excited)

3. Get excited 

4. Lick my hands, legs, and elbows...

5. Growl at Matt

6. Walk on a leash for about 10 steps 

7. "Walk" on a busy street without jumping into the snow out of fear 

8. Play...alllll....day....lonnnnng....

9. Eat more than just one type of food 

10. Chase Iggy (and Iggy alone). 

11. Beg for whatever food I'm eating (by staring at me)

12. Take things from the coffee table to her dragon's horde

13. Try to eat the cat food 

14. Run around with her tongue out while forcedly panting (it's like she saw a dog on TV do it, and she's copying)

15. Sleep on her back, on her side, sprawled out, on the blanket, on her toys, under the heater...

You Like Me.

Hey Again - Rosa here (escribí en español, también),

So the last few days have been pretty exciting. I've discovered my newfound love of all-things-fabric. Cloths, towels, blankets, pet beds, old slippers...if you let me have it, I will carry it around and chew on it.

I really like carrying things around. Bags of banana grams, toys, my piddle pad...I have no purpose for doing it other than that it is fun to take it from one side of the room to the other, and watch my foster mom put everything back (and then I do it again, it's awesome).

I've started eating more than just kibble pancakes. Today, I ate an organic chicken and rice meal. Sure, it came from a can, but lots of tasty things come in cans: refried beans, pasta sauce, corn...in fact, I didn't even want my kibble pancake. I suppose you could say my palate is expanding.

I have also honed a new skill: begging. If my foster parents decide to eat in the living room...I just sit there and stare at them. And I keep staring. And then I try to smell whatever it is they're eating. I give them the saddest, longest look...and they just won't budge. They will not share with me. They are hardened to my fuzzy stares.

Soulless humans.

Speaking of truly soulless humans, I think the person in charge of keeping me locked up in a cage and having puppies all the time probably looks a lot like my foster dad...because whenever he comes near me, I get really scared. I don't like him to pet me or be near me. I am starting to figure out that he's not actually the same person who did all those terrible things to me, but I think it's going to take me a while to warm up to him.

I love my foster mom, though. I follow her everywhere...and have even started letting her pet my head. I just walk right up when she puts her hand out (which I didn't do before yesterday). I like being scratched behind the ears, and under the chin. Sometimes we even play on the floor together.

Otherwise, things are good. The whole family has had a cold - and my foster brother, Iggy, caught a mouse (a live one!!) in the duplex upstairs! He let it go though. I personally don't think he knew what he was doing. Silly cats...

- Rosa.

--- 

Hola! Rosa aquí.

He tenido algunas aventuras en los últimos días. He descubierto mi preferencia para jugar con cosas hechas de tela: las toallas, mantas, y servilletas...si me das algo de tela, la llevaré desde cuarto a cuarto y masticarla.

Me gusta llevar cosas. Bolsas, juguetes, mis papeles de entrenamiento...
Los llevo a través del cuarto y después - miro mientras mi mamá limpia y arregla el cuarto otra vez.
Después de mi mamá limpiar, hago otro desastre. Es muy divertido.

He empezado comer más que kibble pancakes. Hoy, comí pollo y arroz...sí, estuvo en una lata, pero muchas cosas deliciosas están en latas: frijoles, salsa de tomate, sopa... de verdad, no quería mi pancake, ni un poco. Pienso que estoy ampliando mi paladar.

Además, he aprendido algo nuevo: pedir la comida. Si mi familia come en lo mismo cuarto que yo...me siento y miro fijamente (y continuo a mirar fijamente). Me pongo una cara muy triste y patética, pero nunca - nunca - comparten conmigo.

Gente sin alma!

Mientras estoy pensando en gente sin alma...la persona que me guardó en una jaula desde hace 6 años probablemente pareció a mi papá adoptivo; esta la digo porque cada vez mi papá quiere acariciarme o jugar conmigo, me pone muy asustada. Estoy aprendiendo que Matt no es lo mismo hombre, pero va a tomar más tiempo hasta puedo confiar en él....

Al otro lado...mi mamá es mi mejor amiga! La sigo en todas partes...y la he dado permisión para acariciarme detrás de las orejas. Cuando dice mi nombre, camino a ella (no hice esta hasta ayer). A veces, jugamos en el piso.

Cosas aquí están muy bien. Bueno...toda la familia está enferma pero no es serio. Y mi hermano - el gato - Iggy agarró un ratón. Nunca antes había agarrado nada. Pensamos que Iggy no tenía ninguna idea sobre lo que hizo. Gato tonto...

XoXo
Rosa

Wonder Pet

Rosa, Iggy, and me cuddling on the couch.

Rosa, Iggy, y yo estamos apapachando! 

Rosa cooking her own breakfast.
Rosa cocina su propia comida. 

I'm tired, so I want to keep this post brief, especially because I really suck at Spanish when I'm tired and I'm blogging in both languages.
I mean, I kind of suck at it all the time, but that's beside the point.

Estoy cansada por lo tanto quiero que sea breve, especialmente porque tengo que escribir en español y tengo problemas pensar en español si mi cerebro esta durmiendo...
Bueno, nunca escribo/hablo español muy bien, pero no es el tema de mi blog.

We've officially had Rosa here for just over a week. It's amazing to see how much she's blossomed in such a short amount of time. For the first 3 days, she was terrified to leave her kennel. Now, she's out and about, running around, throwing her toys...she'd almost have you fooled into thinking she spent her whole life in this house.

Hemos tenido Rosa aquí casi 10 días. Esta perrita ha crecido mucho en un poco de tiempo. Durante los primeros 3 día, Rosita estaba muy preocupado - no quería dejar de su perrera. Ahora, le gusta correr en la casa, tirar sus juguetes. A veces, casi parece una perrita que ha vivido con nuestro familia toda su vida. 

Almost.
Casi. 

She still won't wander further than the living room, she still won't approach you completely (she'll come really close, though). She still runs away if you look at her, and she won't eat if you watch. She sometimes cries when she sleeps, and today she had her stuffed animals pulled up to her side like they were going to nurse.

Todavía no explorará toda la casa. También no se acercará a mi completamente. Si la miras, correrá a su cama. No comerá con gente en el cuarto. Tiene pesadillas y llora en su sueño...y piensa que sus juguetes son bebés y intenta amamantarlos.

Heartbreaking, beautiful little champion. She's the poster-child for resilience.
She's also the poster child for stubbornness; last night I made her kibble-cakes a slightly different way and she wouldn't eat them. This morning I made them the normal way and she was fine again.

Rompe mi corazón, mi hermosa y pequeña campeona; el ejemplo perfecto de fuerza.
Y resistencia - anoche cociné sus pancakes en una manera diferente y Rosa no los comió. Esta mañana los hice "normalmente" y no tiene problemas...

Little princess.
Princesita.

I am continuously surprised and inspired by how much this little dog can teach me - about the world, and about myself. Sometimes we think we're the ones doing the rescuing, but I know all to well that it works the other way around.

Estoy sorprendida y inspirado por las cosas que Rosa me ha enseñado - sobre el mundo, sobre mí misma. A veces, pensamos que estamos rescatando los animales....pero en este caso...estoy segura que Rosa me esta rescatando.

Quieres Comer?

English Way Below!
Hola otra vez!

Esta semana, no he querido comer nada. Mi mamá me ha dado 2 mil tipos de comida, pero ultimamente no me he gustado ninguna. Pero esta mañana, la gente estaba cocinando pancakes y olieron muy bien. Mi mamá me vio y me dijo "quieres algo para comer? te gustaría pancakes?"

Yo estaba muy emocionada y quería decir, "sí, por favor!" Por suerte, mi mamá puede leer mi mente, y a pesar de no decir nada, ella me dio un pancake. Fue lo mejor del mundo. Más tarde, ella me preparó otras pancakes de comida para perros. En serio! Puso los kibbles en la licuadora hasta convirtieron a un tipo de harina.

Pienso que mi mamá me quiere mucho. Y, la familia que quiere adoptarme le dijo a mamá que no tiene problemas con cocinarme pancakes :) Perfecto. Cuando sea grande, quiero ser gorda.

Hoy, recibí otro baño. No me gustaba el agua, pero disfruté el masaje con jabón. Después de bañar, corrí como loca alrededor la casa...comí otra vez, tiré mis juguetes, y ladré por primera vez (quería jugar con mis gatos...).

Mi juego favorito el día de hoy ha sido seguir a mi mamá en la casa, y cuando ella me da cuenta....corro a mi cama rápidamente. Pienso que este juego es muy divertido. Oh! Y a veces, mi mamá se esconde y me voy para encontrarla...y cuando la veo, corro a mi cama. Me gusta mucho correr a mi cama.

Todavía no he hecho mis cosas en el patio...ayer, el hombre de mi mamá quería dar(me) un paseo...
Discúlpame, pero...no voy a caminar a ninguna parte. Especialmente en la nieve. Y hoy, estaba muy distraída por las ardillas y los pájaros. Mi mamá ha construido otro plan, pero no va a funcionar. Nunca voy a usar el baño en la nieve.

Nunca. Me oyes? Bueno.

Le envié una foto a Bali. Mis padres no quieren que tenga novio pero...ya he tenido 30 perritos. Puedo hacer lo que quiera.

Hasta mañana,
Rosi, Rosa, Rosalia, Rosalina, Rosalinda, Linda Rosa, Rosa Chica, Chiquiturri, Chiquinina, Chiquilina.

Hey Again, 

In the week that I've been here, I've put my parents through a food saga. I basically hate everything they give me. I'll like something for about 3 minutes, but then I never want that food again. I have most enjoyed the kibbles they have here, but I have no teeth and it's hard to eat them. But this morning, my people were making pancakes and they smelled soooo good. I just wanted one so badly! So, my mom gave me a little bit of pancake and I loved it.

She knows that people food isn't really good for me, so she must really love me because she used the food processor to blend up my kibbles in a flour, which she then turned into a pancake. I ate it so fast! I could get used to a lifetime of pancakes (although I have a feeling they're going to try and ween me into some more natural form of dog food)...but really, my life's goal is to grow up and be fat.

Pancakes would be great for that.

Oh, today...I got another bath. I smell like peppermint...
I don't really like bathing, the water hose they use - despite being nice, warm water - makes me a little nervous. However, I am a big fan of being lathered up in soap. After my bath was over, I ran around the house super happy and crazy, and then threw all my toys, ate a little bit, tried to play with my cats and then .....

I barked for the first time (and only time).

My people are taking this to mean that I'm comfortable here...but I don't want them to think I'm too comfortable...then they might stop spoiling me. I can't take any chances, which is why I do super cute things like playing games with my mama.

Today's favorite game has been following her wherever she goes, and then when she turns around I run really really fast back to my bed. Also, she wanted to play hide and seek with me today...and so I'd come find her, and then when I did I'd get scared and run really, really fast back to my bed. I think the game I actually like to play is "run back to the bed as fast as I can."

I still haven't managed to use the bathroom outside. They keep trying, but I keep refusing. They've concocted a new plan...and I'm afraid it might work. But can you blame me for resisting? I never, ever want to use the bathroom in the snow. Ever. Would you?

Also, today...I sent a photo of myself to my Oaxacan boyfriend, Bali.

Until tomorrow, 
Rosa. 

She Speaks, Again!

Rosa insists on keeping her own diary. I told her I'd be happy to write updates for her, but she reminded me that she'd been without a voice for long enough, and would really like to say things herself. (Hay español más abajo - las palabras de Rosa).

Good Evening!

So, this is my second blog entry. Call me the blog dog or something...I'm on a roll! Speaking of rolls, I watched Iggy roll off the couch a few times today. It was epic. He's really fat for a cat, and that really messes with his center of gravity.

A couple of interesting things happened today...

First, I got to try a new canned food which I really liked. It's Hawaiian BBQ and has inspired me to get a part time job waitressing so I can save up for a trip sometime. Unfortunately, when I told my parents of this plan they shot me down...telling me to calm down and be content where I am.

Have they been outside?
Oh...speaking of outside...my foster mom keeps taking me out there with a piddle pad, putting me on it, and saying "go peepee! go potty!" Seriously? I haven't seen her drop trow yet! I just sit there and look at her like "on your life." Eventually she gets cold and gives up.

Then, I run as fast as I can to the piddle pad and go pee. It's hilarious.

When I'm not faking my folks out into thinking I might actually pee outside (in your dreams), I'm either snoring in my bed...watching Vampire Diaries, or playing with my toys. Every day, I love my toys more and more. Seriously. I never knew I could have so much fun! I can play with my toys for a long time before I get tired.

I got caught doing something embarrassing today. You know how I was talking yesterday about how dogs who stick their tongues out are ugly? Well, I totally got caught by Matt with my tongue out. I was just thinking; it was my thinking face!

Also, I ran too fast and couldn't stop myself and I slipped all around and fell on my face and everyone laughed. Mom scooped me up and coddled me right away, but I was in shock at what had happened and hated being seen like that. She sat with me and we watched Vampire Diaries. I really hate Katherine and I continue to love Damon. He's so captivating and I can watch him all day.

Or at least for as long as he's on screen. But I'm not interested in anyone else....although dog-like sounds really grab my attention.

Other things I did today include licking Mom's fingers and sniffing the cats. I also watched as a homeless man tried to kidnap them. He smelled worse than I did, and I was really comfortable in my bed. He didn't seem that interested in me, and I wanted to see whether he would really try and share his sandwich.

By the way, I discovered the mirror. I love looking at myself in it...and sniffing it...
I'm so beautiful.

- Over and out.
Rosa

(Oh!, hablo español)

Buenas noches!!

Ayer, escribí solamente en inglés porque estaba muy cansada. Pero esta noche, voy a escribir en español!! Hoy ha sido un día muy peculiar. Tengo un gato gordo aquí y pasé mucho tiempo mirar a él. El pobre gato quiere tener agilidad pero...no la tiene. Me da mucho placer para verle.

En otras noticias...podía probar comida nueva esta tarde. Me gustaba mucho esta comida. El sabor es de Hawaii y me gustaría viajar por allá algún día. Quería trabajar en un restaurante pero mis padres me dijeron "no... no necesitas un trabajo! necesitas quedarte aquí."

Pero..por qué? No han visto en donde vivimos? Hace frío! No me gusta el invierno para nada!! Y mi mamá continua a llevarme al patio y me dice "haga pipi!" En serio? Ella no está haciendo la misma cosa...

Entonces, me gusta mucho sentarme y mirar a mi mamá hasta ella tiene frío. Después de entrar a la casa, corro muy rápido a mi papeles de entrenamiento y hacer mis cosas. Pienso que es muy gracioso.

Si no estoy jugando con mi gente, estoy jugando con mis juguetes. Me encanta mis juguetes. Cada día los me gustan más. Y también me gusta ver los Vampire Diaries. Estoy enamorada de Damon. No me importa alguien más. Sólo pago atención a la tele si Damon está hablando.

Otras cosas hice hoy:
- corrí demasiado rápido y me caí (pero mi mamá me ayudó).
- lamí los dedos de mi mamá
- olí a los gatos
- miraba mientras un hombre trató de robar los gatos a la casa...su olor estaba muy fuerte, más que yo, y pensé que compartiría su comida...pero mis padres lo pararon.
- me di cuenta al espejo por primera vez... me encanta el espejo, me gusta admirarme...

Soy linda. Soy hermosa.
Y ahora, me voy.

Besos xoxo
Rosa.