what constitutes a good day of work?

One. Kids are finding insects at home and then bringing them to school. Said insect for today was a grasshopper on steroids. Jersey Shore watchers, he was the Ronnie of grasshoppes, vale? The grasshopper then performed an escape worthy of Prison Break and all hell broke loose. Utter awesomeness. 

Two. Sang a little song called "Sk8r Boi". Kids learned words like "baggy" (referring to pants), punk, and of course learned to properly spell Skater. I never got a chance to tell them Avril is from Canada, but I really wanted to. 

Three. Still working on the New Year's Resolutions. One girl said, "In 2010, I am not going to kill anyone." Can't wait to see what 2011 brings to the table. 

Four: I switched two of my classes, so I did not have English with one of my favorite groups. Later, I had biology. They were legitimately heated that I was not in class with them. One of the girls came running up to me, pulling on my arm, "Jacqui, Jacqui, where WERE you this morning?" This is called being the most popular teacher at school. 

Five. This was yesterday, but I still thoroughly enjoyed it. I worked with the bachillerato for the first time (there are four years of ESO, not sure what that stands for, then two years of bachillerato. I think bachillerato are like the kids who are going to college. Confusing). So these kids are like 17-18 years old and are reasonably intelligent. 

Student: How old are you?

Me: 22. How old are you?

Student: For you... 25. 

Kid's got game. 

una mapa? el programa? Alternate title: Why I Hate Pronouns

So Spain, (maybe the rest of the romance languages, I don't remember much from Mrs. Palm, like the Palm of your hand- yes, we had a teacher who introduced herself as such) believes in taking a noun and assigning it a masculine or feminine identity. Thus, before every noun, you have to say "el" for man nouns and "la" for woman nouns. Its usually pretty easy, cause most male nouns (masculine and feminine are long words) end in "o" and girl nouns end in "a". So facil, no? Por ejemplo, el barco means boat, and that's a masculine noun. La cocina is a feminine noun. It means the kitchen. What asshole was in charge of assigning gender roles to words anyways? Thanks guy, you established the glass ceiling at the same time that you invented a language. 


But anyways, it would be way too easy if that was that and all words ending in "a" were for the chicas and whatnot. Then of course, you have words like el coche - a car - and that of course has to be a man's word. Or, EL mapa. Why does the map have to be a dude too? Velazquez, Columbus, okay there might be a trend. But what about Pocahontas???


I digress. The point of this post is that Spanish people are well versed in pronouns. They use them all day in every sentence that comes out of their bocas (female, no wonder we talk so much. It's destiny.). Yet, they constantly confuse his and her, she and he. 


Now, normally, this wouldn't bother me in the least... But I am having this one problem in particular. I teach one specific group three times per week- for English, physics and math. And there is this ONE, ambiguous, androgynous, generally confusing girl/boy in my class. The facts:
Name: Layla (not sure of spelling, but I believe that is phonetically correct). 
Hair: ?????! A little too short for a girl, a little too long for a boy. 
Clothes: Leaning towards male.
Shoes: Totally male, in a Tony Hawk kind of way. 


EVERYTIME, one of the three teachers that I co-teach with calls out the name "Layla," my ears perk up. Not an exaggeration, friends, I swear. And, I have not literally counted, but I think I have heard "she" and "he," an equal number of times. As well as "him" and "her". A mistake? Or carefully thought out so as not to offend? Is this a Lady GaGa kind of situation?

trip planning

I have always loved to travel. I love getting on a plane. I love takeoff. I don't even mind turbulence. I do hate waiting, but I guess I am allowed to have a single flaw.

The best part about living in Europe is the flights. I have recently discovered the normal price for a trip to Barcelona is 19 Euro (one way). Seriously the hardest part for me is to figure out where I want to go (and saving enough money, but I mean.... its January. In Spain. Hellloooooooo rebajas y ofertas! aka sales, you neanderthals who can't speak Spanish.)

I can't believe how much history and geography are failing me here though. One time, my kids had to memorize the capitals and countries of all the members of the European Union. Of course, I had to be the one to read them off the map- and no lie, I had no idea how to say them in English, 'cause I don't think I have ever seen or heard of them before.

Here, friends... learn with me everything that Green Meadows, North Street School, Tewksbury Memorial High School and a bachelor's degree at U. of Rhode Island failed to teach me.

Hey, did you know that Prague is not a country? It's located in some place called Czech Republic. I know that approximately 87% of the things I say are sarcastic... but this was, sadly, news to me. But flights are only 130 Euro round trip! To a recently discovered country!!!!!

Yo tengo un sueño...

"Rabies causes fear of water.... SOLIDARITY!"

In the spirit of Michael Scott (because I just watched the Fun Run episode) and in the honor of Martin Luther King, I have decided to take today off. 


Oh wait, I never work Mondays. Suckers.

pictorial of the family visit

Possibly one of my favorite pictures ever... walk up to the Castillo de Gibralfaro

"Take a picture of me in front of the bullring!"

Mitch, we can photoshop you in later.

Alhambra in Granada. Attention to detail- A+.

Apparently Generalife (Gardens of the Alhambra) is not best viewed in a snowstorm in January.

Bunk beds where my parents slept... and king bed where my sister and I slept. HAHA.

know how your mom said tv would rot your brain?

Well my Spanish estudiantes certainly take that phrase and live it to the absolute T.


Today, we wrote New Year's Resolutions which was fun all by itself. This is my absolute favorite class, I am just waiting for the end of the year when I tell them I am going home to America and they burst into tears. Anyways, some highlights, then back to my subject title. (Incidentally, this is EXACTAMENTE how I was taught to write papers in escuela. Introduce your thesis. Veer off topic in all directions, haphazardly and with little to no concern to your audience. Get back to point. Witty conclusion.)


Anyway, these are like 95% verdad, you decide which comments I kept in my head.


Chico: In 2010, I want to win a football match.
Me: No, idiot, its called a SOCCER GAME. You haven't won one yet? How many have you played?
Chico: (tries to do mental math) Eleven???
Me: So.... you're 0-11. Good luck! I think this is your year!


Chico 2: In 2010, I want to be a better football player.
Me: What position? Quarterback? Wait, are you on his team? So you haven't won a game either?
Chico 2: Yes.....
Me: Well, yeah, definitely practice.. with some teamwork you can both accomplish your goals for 2010.


Chica: In 2010 (she insists on saying "twenty-ten," says it sounds totally cooler... más chulo), I want to have a real boyfriend.
Me: NO! NO BOYFRIENDS! You're too young! WHYYYYYY?
Chica: Well, a real boyfriend but only for a month.
Me: Oh.... so you want 12 boyfriends?
Chica: NO! (Absolutely horrified.) I need to take a break between them.
I accept this statement as logical and well thought out.


Chico 3: I want a firm relationship.
Help of Profesor: He means he wants a STABLE relationship.
Just.... awesome.


And finally, my favorite/most appalling resolution, which leads to a general pandemonium in the class:
Chica 2: I want to go to the Bronx and Brooklyn and listen to the n****s make rap music in the streets.


First off, it took me a good 5 minutes to understand what the hell she was saying. Then I had to explain that it was inappropriate in ANY circumstances to use that word, but probably walking through the calles of the Bronx especially. Then, I told them that I had visited the Bronx before and didn't need Kevlar, though I only went to the zoo, so it wasn't THAT dangerous. The most dangerous thing I saw was probably some tigers and those guys were locked up.


Well, this statement really shocked the niños. I WENT TO THE BRONX AND SURVIVED???? DIOS MIO. The general uproar included questions such as: "Did you see anyone get shot?" "Were people dealing drugs in the streets?" "Is it all black people there?" "Was 50 cent there?"


My favorite conversation went something like this:


Chico 4: Did you see any bandas?
Me: Bandas? Bands? What are you talking about?
Chico 4: No... bandas... like Latin Kings
Me: NO!! Where are you getting these ideas?
Chico 4: I want to be in a gang when I grow up.
Me: Well.... that's not a good life choice.
Granted, this was my student who told me that he wanted to give up smoking. He is 15. Started when he was 12, but "only a little then".


Oh yeah, totally my favorite class. They certainly are.... spirited. Though perhaps they shouldn't believe everything they see on TV.

the most reckless decision i've ever made

I know. I know. You read the title and think to yourself, "Why Jacqui, you recently moved to a country where you don't speak the language, to take on the task of teaching young impressionable minds English, EVEN THOUGH YOU DON'T LIKE KIDS... now what could possibly be more reckless than that?!"


Oh, well, I don't know, maybe getting a haircut there. And, because if I'm going to do something stupid, why half-ass it? Quiero cambiar el color, tambien. 


Yep, that's right. I had one of my serious existential, identity crises today, and had to change it up. Sure, I know people who have bungee jumped off bridges naked (hola chica sueca!) and who are about to embark on journeys throughout Asia, where they will be mowing down on puppies and kittens and more mystery meat than a high school cafeteria (annyong, Ray!) but hey... going to a hairdresser in Spain? This was MY moment of daring. 


And WOW. What an adrenaline rush. I originally was going to go to a place where a few friends had gone for bikini waxes- hey, if they don't screw that up, I'll trust 'em. Naturally, I needed to make a reservation, but I know myself well enough to know that if I didn't do this today, it wasn't gonna happen. Thus, I walked into the next peluquería on the Alameda Principal. Clearly this was a classy establishment, judging from the absence of customers and neon pink lighting. Whatev, I'm in Spain- am I ALLOWED to be choosy? Plus I was already in the door and chatting up the little old lady, I guess I was committed. So first off, I apologize for my Spanish, then try to get across that I want a little bit of hair chopped off, but I want layers, and that I want to change the hair color. Okay. Got it. I think. 


So then I choose my hair color from a carta (remember that word, mis padres? Probablemente, no.) and have that slathered on my head. At that point, I am left alone for the requisite 30 minutes, although it felt like 4 hours, for the color to set or whatever. Naturally, at this point, as I am listening to the Spanish equivalent of Oldies 103.3, all kinds of terrible thoughts are coursing through my mind: "Oh no, she definitely hates Americans, she is dying my hair orange, she entirely forgot about me.. is this burning more than usual? HOW DO I SAY MY SCALP IS ON FIRE IN SPANISH?" 


Clearly, nothing was wrong. Except perhaps for something in my brain. 


Then I have to try to convey what I want to do with my hair. I basically just kept saying "un poquito, un poquito, un poquito" with escalating fear in my voice.  At one point, we almost had to tag-team in a different hairdresser 'cause my chica couldn't figure out what I was saying, and who can blame her???


But in the end, the hair turned out okay. And I think me and my hairdresser really formed a bond, as she kept asking me to turn my head "arriba, hija" (hija = daughter, general term of endearment). Now that I've conquered this first hurdle, let's see how frequently I change my hair in the next five months.

home sweet málaga

Well, two weeks plus of traveling have come to a close and I'm back in the barrio.

Naturally, I come home from staying in a family room in a hotel in Sevilla (just picture it- one king size bed, a couch, and two bunk beds. Luckily, I have taught my parents well, and standard shotgun rules apply even while in Spain. Thus, the hermana y yo got to sleep on the king size bed.) to the piso. Of course, because its the way life goes, we have no hot water in the apartment.

Not sure if I have ever described the practice of obtaining hot water in Spain, but essentially, a truck drives through the streets (theoretically, there are assigned streets for specific days, but try giving these people a SCHEDULE) and they stop along the streets, and bang sticks against the butane tanks in the back of their flatbed trucks, yelling "BOMBONA." Then, those who are so unfortunate as to not have heat yell out the windows.

Ahh, Spain. So civilized.

Now, lucky for me, I was given a heads up on the dire water sitch and I definitely took an extra long shower in the giant whirlpool bath at said family room in Sevilla.

And now, I wait for that sweet sound of sticks banging against metal gas tanks.

mi familia esta aqui!

Well the parents and younger sister have safely arrived in Málaga. In an attempt to get those internal clocks ticking to the tiempo de España, I walked them, fed them and put them to bed. Then, I walked them, fed them and put them to bed. Now remind me, por favor. Why exactly hasn't this siesta trend caught on in the States? 


Just in case you were wondering, if you are traveling to Spain without taking a single, formal class and being essentially tone-deaf to other languages... but have read DEMASIADO guidebooks and "Learn Spanish in 3 Seconds Books"and think that you are fluent. Well, you aren't. If you've read 'em backwards, forwards and upside-down, you still are not ready for spoken Spanish. And if you've only tried to cram while in the Boston and Madrid airports... hmmmm..


Some gems thus far:


Mi Padre: "Well I really like to ask where something is... 'donde...donde... donde.' Like 'Donde estacion?"
Yo: "Where station? Yeah, you're picking it right up."


Mi Padre: "Okay, how do I ask where the bathrooms are? Hombre room?"
Yo: (very, very, VERY despacio) "Donde..... están...... los....... aseos? Donde están los aseos?"
Mi Padre: "No, that's too complicated."
In this sequence, I ultimately just asked the waiter myself. It hurt too much to hear it.


My mom is really understanding the key to being an extranjera (foreigner). She lets me do the talking.


If only she knew what I was REALLY saying...

magic fountains

Here's a video I took of the Magic Fountains in Monjuic. Sadly this doesn't do it justice to how cool it looked or how horrifically cold it was. But try using your imagination. For once.

Merry Epiphany

So what's weirder than having a fat man in a red suit creep down your chimney to eat all your cookies and steal some carrots for his eight tiny, flying reindeer?

Having the three wise men (hey, what the hell do they know to make them so smart anyway?) commit a little B&E to stick some presents in your shoes.

Because having just one stranger in your home sometimes just doesn't cut it.

¡Feliz día de los Reyes, España!

una pregunta

Question: Why do I have 201 views since I've added an application to stalk y'all, but no one comments? Hi, I don't do this for my own entertainment (actually I totally do)... let me know what you think.

travel advice

Pros and cons of going directly from a discoteca to an airport:


PRO: Get to party for one last night. Don't need to set an alarm for an absurd time like 3:38 am. I've always said I will only ever wake up before dawn for two things, skiing and traveling. Have figured out how to effectively circumvent this rule.


CON: Will smell like ashtray. And vodka. And beer. And sangria. If in Spain, multiply the ashtray part by one hundred.


PRO: Probably will not be too concerned with appearance when arriving at the airport.


CON: This is because you are still in last night's clothes. Will get strange looks when passing through security.


PRO: Know that travel anxiety that you get when trying to get through security, find your gate, etc etc? Probably will be severely reduced if you had a good enough time at the discoteca.


CON: This is only until you realize you are drunk at an airport. And don't know what terminal you should be at.


PRO: Anything will taste good. Doesn't matter if the bocadillo (sandwich) is 100 euro and subpar to say the least... it will be delicious.


CON: If you have a ride to the airport, must convince others that flight is as important to them as it is to you. Doesn't matter if the remix to this song comes on or not:

PRO: No one is sitting in the middle seat. This may be an example particular to my situation, not sure. But if you saw the size of the seats on Vueling's flights, you would tell everyone and anyone. Spanish airlines refuse to believe that there are people over the height of 5'5" (5"5'????).

CON: The other person in your row is a strange guy.

CON: He speaks Spanish and would like to speak Spanish with you.

CON: This is impossible at 7am when you have not gone to sleep.

CON: You may be scared to fall asleep on the plane because it might only be for about 1hr 30 min and if you fall asleep, you will never wake up.

CON: But, you might be able to fall asleep for only a half hour and wake up with your contacts glued to your eyelids and your friend next to you ready to chat.

CON: At the baggage claim, you might not be cognizant of the fact that you need to read which claim you are at.

CON: You might even think your luggage is lost and freak out. Then you might find where you are supposed to be and calm down.

CONclusion: In this totally hypothetical scenario, it seems that there MIGHT be more cons than pros. However, in my opinion going to sleep and being able to speak Spanish with the rando next to me would not be worth missing a phenomenal night out with new friends.

PS: Really, I just added the "Colgando en tus Manos" clip because its been stuck in my head for days. But I only know one line. I need to improve my Spanish.

oh the places you'll go...

...oh, the people you'll meet.

So I just returned from my travels in Rome, Florence and Barcelona. Or should I say, Roma, Firenze y Barcelona (why do we call Barcelona Barcelona if most other ciudades are different?). I really don't know how to go about blogging about said adventures because most of my family appears to read this and my parents just asked me why I feel the need to tell them things like, "No, I didn't sleep, I went straight from the discoteca to the airport and I was still drunk from the flight." The answer, "It just doesn't matter anymore," doesn't appear to satisfy.

But I think that, as usual, the people I meet are 100x more interesting than Roman ruins or a catedral, so let's talk about that instead. I think I've said before, there's something about traveling that lets people strike up conversation with just about anyone. (Case in point: We were in Barcelona, waiting for the fountain show to start and I saw a Sox hat. And a Yankees hat. I went down, asked where they were from, what the hell they were doing standing next to each other, and chatted for a little while. Give me a break, I haven't seen a Sox hat in LITERALLY 4 months. I ended it with, "Go Sox, Yankees Suck." Sidenote: the fountains were cool. Pictures to come.)

So here's my summary of the coolest characters we met. And also the lamest.

Enzo: We arrive at our hostel in Roma and there are 3 girls and we discover that we have a 4th roommate. This turns out to be this absolute character of a 30 year old ish Italian man who owns a hostel in Venice. There were many, many highlights of our time spent with Enzo, but I particularly enjoyed when we told him we weren't going out that night and he said that he would get us a present... and re-enters the room saying "I am Santa Clause! I bring presents!" in his Italian accent. Natch, the present was champagne. Needless to say, there's a solid chance we will be heading to Venice for a stay at his hostel.

LaToya y Conrad: Us tres chicas americanas were staring at the subway map in Roma in complete confusion (who told us Spanish and Italian were similar? Mentirosos!) trying to find out how to get to the Vatican. We end up striking up conversation with this couple from Texas, heading to lunch with them and then touring the Vatican. This was also the BEST pizza of our trip during the most miserable weather. Win some, lose some, gain a new facebook friend.

Characters of the Colosseum Pub Crawl: I mean it was a pub crawl. Met some cool asians from California and we totaaaally bonded. To the point where I was dubbed "Japanese Jacqui" for the remainder of the night. Or the Russians... Alina naturally gravitated towards them (I swear, she can smell the vodka coursing through their veins or something) and I stood there as they made noises they call a language (tía.... ¡una broma!) One hombre spoke some English so we talked, but the other one didn't speak a single word of English. That's to say that "Hello" was beyond his capabilities. Naturally, I went to my failsafe European mode of communication and smiled a lot and told his friend to tell him I was sorry I never learned to speak Russian. And that we won the Cold War. Now, I'm not sure what kind of impression this made - okay, didn't refer to the Iron Curtain, whatevs - but at some point in the night, he came over and handed me a rose. Hilarious. Or my favorite, the Portuguese guy and we would just yell each others names when we saw each other; ¡Pedro! ¡Jacqui! ... Plus I tried to learn swears in Portuguese but now I forget them all.

Randoms Waiting In Line Behind Us At the Vatican Museum: Names aren't important, plus we never exchanged them, but there were some nice Americans behind us in the massive line for the museu. So during the course of conversation (also, when did I become a real enough person that I am actually interesting enough for people above the age of 40 to speak to? I don't like it. Maybe I'll start to regress.) we found out that they are fellow ex-pats, living in Germany, from Maine, NJ, etc. and that they had lunch with a girl who was doing a similar program as us just the day before... Lindsey, was that you? hahaha, I thought it was Brittany pero estoy equivocada.

Cabrón Who Stole Alina's Purse: Yep, that's right, sorry Mom and Dad. We had a little bit of mala suerte- standing in the doorway to our hostel, waiting to be buzzed in and some guy comes up and starts harassing us. Por supuesto. But he keeps coming closer and closer and we are just yelling at him, "que te jodan! vete! go away!" and anything else that came to mind. Well, he ripped her wristlet off her arm- actually broke it and took off. Luckily, he only got 5 euro, but her camera as well. Seriously, enjoy looking at someone else's memories. And get a job.

New Friends in Barcelona: A friend had friends in Barcelona, and these guys went above and beyond to make sure we had a phenomenal time there. First off, they were hilarious, second, they were determined to show us a fabulous time. We had unbelievable tapas, were taught salsa (????? Kidding, we danced like Americans and maybe embarrassed them a little. Next time we'll lay off on the fist pumps and sprinkler moves. Wish I was kidding.) and introduced to so many new friends. I also spoke more Spanish in four days in Barcelona than I have spoken in my entire stay in Spain. Chicos necesitan practicar inglés muchooooo. Plus, I got to learn some more slang, a single word in Catalan, and lots of palabras malas! ¡Me las encanta!

These are just some stories off the top of my head. So many other people made our stay more enjoyable or just made it more interesting. Por ejemplo, the Brit on the double decker bus tour we took who warned us not to drink the water... 'cause he learned the hard way.

¡Gracias a todos para un buen viaje!