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.