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We went to Alex's aunt and uncle's house today. It is Alex's father's oldest sister and he is 5th of 13, so there is quite a large age gap between the cousins in the family. I met tía Tina's oldest daughter, Alex's cousin, who was showing us pictures of her grandchildren. On the other end, Alex also has first cousins that are around five!

Alex goes to his aunt and uncle's house every Saturday to talk about Big Important Issues and How They Will Change The World. It's a very lofty ambition and I quite enjoyed it, because the language used for talking about Changing The World with your uncle is quite a bit more formal and easy to understand than the language used for talking about That Thing We Did Five Years Ago with an old friend.

Also, there was pie. If you are an American, have you ever been abroad and noticed that people make you a lot of apple pie? Four years ago, when I stayed with a host family for a few days during our freshman seminar trip to France, they made me a "traditional American apple pie", which was actually a tarte aux pommes. Tía Tina didn't mention any such American stereotype, but somehow it seems like I am always offered apple pie and get to taste the world's varieties thereof. This one had gouda (GOW-dah in Chile, GOO-dah in the US, but I always pronounce it [k]HOW-da, like everyone's favorite Flamande) on top, as I remember. Mmm.

We went home for lunch, where we had locos, bought at the seaside the day before on our otherwise fruitless voyage to Pan de Azucar. Apparently, locos are a variation of or a cousin to the abalone. Mmmkay. And apparently they have a texture similar to that of pulpo, octopus. Mmmkay. Not too familiar with either of those, sorry. It was very ugly to look at, but rather tasty with a bit of mayonnaise on it.

After lunch, Alex went digging through the videos and scrounged up some old home videos, including one with an early birthday (8th?) and the 11-year-old Alex singing in the school choir and acting in plays. My favorite part was when someone had accidentally taped a soccer game over every part in the play where Alex was about to speak. It was like Amélie's revenge, except backwards. Every time Alex came upstage, it would cut into the soccer game, play that for a few minutes, and go back to the play. Hee hee.

In the evening, we decided that we were homebodies and we should go out and do something. So we went to a "pub", as Alex referred to it, called La Tabla. We took a rather frightening collectivo there - I was concerned that it was going to fall apart before we made it. When we got there, we found that they served drinks, but also a lot of things to nibble on, and it looked more like a restaurant than a pub. I had a piña colada (something recognizable on the menu!), Alex had something Chilean-sounding, and we shared some shish kebabs and empanaditas. Ho hum, srah and alcohol. Alex was a bit tipsy, but I was just fine because, as usual, I couldn't drink the whole thing. I gave it a shot, but after a while I was tired and my taste buds, which hadn't really noticed it at first, became revolted by the alcohol.

Just before lunchtime, we had a small tremor that shook some of the furniture. Later in the day there was a rather bigger one and I, stupid Michigander that I am, thought everyone was going to the door to see if the garden wall was going to fall down. I know I'd heard something about standing in doorways during earthquakes, but I hadn't considered the possibility of the ceiling collapsing, so I thought an interior doorway would do just as well. Anyway, the tremors didn't get any worse, the garden wall didn't fall down, and everyone was fine.

At lunchtime, we started playing the Alphabet Game, where we would go around in a circle and name animals that started with A. If you couldn't come up with one when your turn came around, you were out. Then when no one else could come up with more As, everyone was back in for B. It was tough for me in Spanish, so I usually got out pretty early, but I did do quite well in the Ds, with things like dingo and degu.

In the late afternoon, tía Amada, Rubet, Alex and I went on a trip to Pan de Azucar National Park. There are many Chilean animals living in the park and we hoped to see things like llamas and pudus. You can also take boat rides there to go and see penguins.

As we drove north to Pan de Azucar, we racing against the sun, as we had done on our trip to Bahía Cisne and Bahía Inglesa. I was very interested by the terrain. The desert changed as we drove through it - in some places full of cacti and in other places full of rocks. In some places, it looked like the surface of Mars.

By the time we reached Pan de Azucar, the sun was setting, but I managed to snap a few pictures of the pelicans there. They weren't very shy of humans and I was afraid the huge birds would come and attack me. We talked to some of the fishermen there and learned that while we could return on Saturday for the penguin-viewing boat ride, it might not be worth it because it was penguin mating season and they weren't likely to be very visible on the tour. So... that's a sight for the next trip to Chile.

We had planned to visit Pato's aunt and uncle, but he couldn't find his wallet so we couldn't go anywhere. Finally, we discovered that it had been left in the car we'd borrowed on Monday, but it was too late to go anywhere.

Instead I typed my blog and we watched TV and played video games. I played a truly bad game of Super Mario 64, where during Every Single Level, I would throw the controller at Pato and let him take over after I gave myself two tries not to walk off the edge of a cliff.

For tea, we had a triangular bread called dobladas and I had mine with blackberry marmalade. Mmmmmm.

Sorry, wasn't near a computer over the weekend, so I've gotten a bit behind on my blog. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up this week. Nice to know you're concerned about me, denz! No banditos, just oceans and casinos and deserts and things to see. More coming soon! Enjoy Days 9 through 11 in the meantime...

We had soup for lunch, which was very nice for me, with my little cold. The best part was taking some ají, a spicy mixture of diced tomatoes and onions, on my spoon and mixing it with the broth. I had a lot of sinus pressure and the best cure for that is something spicy that makes your nose run. Ew. Probably more information than you needed. Anyway, I love soup. It ranks up there with french fries and empanadas.

Soup helped to clear me up, but I wanted to kill the cold for once and for all, so we set off in the afternoon to find something to cure it. I don't like to take medicine if I can avoid it, so we just got some Vitamin C tablets. They are melon, orange, cherry, lemon and grape flavored and we have been eating them since we bought them. Grape is bad. You can have them if you want.

After buying the Vitamin C, we were hungry but it was still a while till tea. So we went to the mall's food court and got a basket of sausages and french fries to share. From where we sat, we could look out over the plaza but instead we sat there trying to quote Office Space. Sigh. That's us, ever the romantics.

After that, we went browsing around some of the nearby stores. While staring at globes, we ran into Pato's friend Froilan and a friend of his, a Mormon who was shopping for his upcoming mission trip to Colombia. It was suggested that rather than looking for a camera, he should be looking for a bulletproof vest. The most amusing thing about the Mormon friend was that I was introduced to him, we walked around for a while, and then when Froi asked me a question I didn't understand, he looked surprised and asked if I was a gringa. That was pretty impressive, because at dinner the other night, we had been talking about how Grace and I are always instantly recognized as gringas.

In the evening, we came home and watched Neon Genesis Evangelion. Drat. I am hooked.

After going to sleep late, we slept in. I woke up around 8am with my sore throat worse, went back to sleep, and it was much better by the time I reawoke and ate Chocapic.

Today was the day for a big driving trip. We borrowed a car from a friend of the family, picked up Pato's maternal grandmother, and took her with us on our adventure. The trip from our house to Pato's grandma's was the most exciting leg, because it was Pato's first driving experience in 9 months. That's always exciting... lots of engine revving and sudden bursts forward. :)

We drove north along Route 5. One of our first stops was Piedra Colgata, Hanging Rock. It is a big chunk of rock hanging very perilously above the road. You would think that with all of the seismic activity around, it would have fallen on somebody by now. We got out and took pictures, then drove by it. I ducked.

Piedra Colgata reminds me of a story that Pato's dad told a few days ago. He joked that he'd told Pato's nanny to "buy Pepsodent toothpaste at the store and if they don't have that, then Colgate", then he came home and found her dangling from the ceiling. Colgate in Spanish means "hang yourself". It reminds me of all of those stories about product names meaning obscene things in other languages, or the Gerber company having to change the picture of the smiling baby on their products because in some countries where large portions of the population are illiterate, products are identified by what is pictured on the outside. So mashed carrots ended up being mistaken for mashed baby. Heh heh.

After passing Piedra Colgata, there were a lot of vineyards and green areas. We passed into an area that was green on either side of the road but had sandy mountains in the background. I leaned over onto Pato's shoulder and when I lifted my head again a few minutes later, the green was gone and there were only occasional bushes. A while farther down the road, even those had disappeared.

We passed the future home of the Atacama international airport. So far, it's only a fenced-off area but in a few years will be Chile's second international airport, only about 30 minutes from Pato's house instead of 10 hours.

Our destination was the Caldera area, with visits to the beaches of Bahía Cisne (Swan Bay), a quiet little place, and Bahía Inglesa (English Bay), a popular tourist destination in the summer. We went down and touched the sea at Bahía Cisne and Pato got scared by a big wave coming after him. We got out of the car to take pictures at Bahía Inglesa and a dog started following us around. He followed us back to the car and we think he would have driven us home if we'd let him.

We put in a John Williams CD at one point, which only made the journey more interesting. As we arrived at Bahía Inglesa, the theme from Star Wars was playing, making it feel like a bigger adventure. As we drove near the sea at Rodillo Beach, we were listening to the theme from Jaws. Later we drove through Caldera to Darth Vader's theme and felt evil and strong. Because it's winter, we were in a race against the sunset to get pictures of the bays. But later, after we'd visited them and taken pictures, the moon came out and shone very brightly over us, to the tune of the theme from E.T.

At one point, we drove past a sign saying Ruta 5 (Route 5) was 14 miles away. Someone had painted over part of the sign so that instead, it said Puta 5 (Whore 5) was 14 miles away. Well, I giggled. Shut up.

We drove past the church of Padre Negro (The Black Priest) in Caldera. Legend has it that if the church bells ring three times, there will be an enormous earthquake. For this reason, there are no bells in the church. But before the big earthquake in Copiapó earlier this year, many people reported hearing the bells ring twice.

Pato says that Copiapó's own superstition is that there will someday be a tidal wave that will fill the valley that Copiapó is in, until all that is visible is the cross on top of one of the mountains. I told him that if I were Copiapó, I'd move the cross to the town's lowest point. He said that unfortunately, Copiapó is not a person. Hmph.

We arrived at La Serena between one and two in the morning. I could hear the ocean, but I couldn't see it. We took a taxi to where we were staying, a place with vacation cabins (which were not very much in demand during the winter!) where the family always stays in La Serena. To get in, you had to go up the stairs, onto the deck (which was on stilts above the ground) and in through the second floor. Pato remarked that he hoped we didn't have an earthquake that knocked the deck down. We dropped our stuff off, then went back to the taxi, which was waiting for us.

Serena and its twin city, Coquimbo, are popular for their beaches, but they're also popular in the winter for the casino. So around 2am, we went to the casino. It was quite full for being the off-season, but there was room for little tiny us.

Pato had warned me to bring ID, because I look so young and might not otherwise be allowed to enter. But I was never asked for ID. Clearly my cold, steely gaze as I entered the casino told them that I was not someone to be bothered with ID checks. I was a winner and I was here to play.

Yeah, or something like that. Over the two and a half hours I played, I spent a total of $9,000 between the slot machines and the roulette table, but I won $29,000, leaving me with a tidy $20,000 profit. Sigh. It is very distracting and saddening that the Chileans use the $ sign for pesos. US$20,000 would be a lot more satisfying than about US$30, but I was still very happy to be a winner and gloated to Pato about it all evening long.

We went back to the cabin and went to sleep. Sometime during the night, there were some tremors, just as predicted by Pato. It was nothing serious enough to knock down the deck or to even wake us up, but it was still funny that he'd called it.

When I woke up in the morning, I had a sore throat to go with my earache. Yuck. A cold. I was to suffer from it for several days hence. Or thence. If "thence" isn't a word, it should be.

We went to the beach, touched the Pacific Ocean, and walked down the way to the faro or lighthouse, which is the most famous one in Chile. After taking lots of pictures, we took a taxi downtown to the market area. They had a lot of crafty-type things for sale so I was able to pick up some souvenirs and see a lot of Chilean crafts. We went to lunch at another cafeteria, with a lot of wooden ducks as decoration.

After visiting downtown, we went to the mall and the three of us wandered around the stores for a while. Paris Almacen was full of signs that said "Super Wiken" which I couldn't figure out until Pato pronounced "wiken" for me not as "wye-ken", as I'd read it, but as "weekend". Then tía Amada went back to the casino and Pato and I stayed at the mall and went to see The Sum of All Fears at the mall's movie theater. Pato was duped by the concessions staff into buying the large pop and popcorn because they were only a little bit more than the medium. Silly. Guess who got stuck eating all that popcorn?

After the movie, we all met up again and had dinner. I was full from the popcorn and sick-cranky from my sore ears and throat, but they were trying to convince me to eat something because we were going to be on the bus for such a long time. So finally I gave in and had chicken nuggets and tea. I don't think the people at the fast-food place were used to making tea, because I'm pretty sure they made it with carbonated water. It was pretty bubbly, anyway...

We got onto the bus to go back to Copiapó. Vendors kept coming on the bus when we stopped and tried to sell us papaya candy, a specialty of the area. I almost gave in, but it was time for the bus to move on and they had to get off. Our movie for the trip was The Fast and the Furious, which we made a lot of fun of. Later we looked out the window and saw a truck on fire on the side of the road. We wondered if he'd been illegally drag racing.

Pato was thirsty and grumpy because they didn't give us anything to drink in the bus, whereas going to Copiapó we had been given pop with dinner and tea with breakfast. Booo. I myself was having problems with ear pressure, which I figured had something to do with the bus. I hoped it would go away...

When we arrived at the bus station in Santiago, we went to the public restroom. Tía Amada paid the attendant and he gave us three tokens. We had to put the tokens into turnstiles to get into the restroom. This wasn't at all strange to me, but I realized as I was doing it that although I've done it every time I've been to France, I've never had to pay to use an American restroom. I think sometimes I take things like that for granted and forget to mention things that are different from the US but not completely new to me.

We put our bags into storage at the bus station and took the metro to La Moneda, the presidential office. It's like the Chilean version of the White House, but the president doesn't live there. We talked to a guard at what we later discovered was the back door. He was interested to learn that I was an American and was excited to try out his English on me. It was quite good but he told us he'd only been studying for about a year. He got practical experience talking to tourists from all over the world and watching CNN and BBC. It was cool. He told us that if we waited half an hour, we would be able to see the ceremony of the changing of the guard at 10am. So we stuck around and watched the guards as they came from somewhere across the street, some on horseback, some playing instruments, and everyone marching.

They came around to the front of the building where the ceremony continued with music and pageantry for about a half an hour. Stray dogs walked by and drank out of the fountain and some strange guy behind us kept shouting out remarks through the whole thing.

When it was over, the collection of tourists and visitors (much smaller than the group at the changing of the guard in London - more like 20 or 30 people) stood outside. We weren't allowed to enter the building at first, because the guards were waiting for someone to enter or exit. Finally a car pulled up and a bunch of people got out. Among them was the president of Chile, Ricardo Lagos, who walked right by us. Since he was showing up at work at 10:30, we naturally assumed that he had been out late the night before, dancing to Axé Bahía music. Naturally. Unfortunately, this put that stupid "onda onda onda" song in our heads not only for that entire day, but for several days afterwards. Curses.

Once he had gone in, the carabineros let us into La Moneda. The part that is open to the public is a series of very pretty courtyards with fountains, cannons, and orange trees. We threw 10 peso coins into the fountain (my wish to become instantly fluent in Chilensis has not, so far, come true) and tía Amada made some phone calls, trying to get ahold of some people she knew who worked in La Moneda. Unfortunately, we'd all forgotten that it was Saturday so there weren't too many staff members there.

We left La Moneda and decided that rather than going to the zoo, we would go to Rancagua to pick up the car, then come back to go to the zoo. So we went back to the bus station and took a regular bus to Rancagua.

When we arrived in Rancagua, tío Teddy and tía Soledad picked us up at the bus station and we walked over to the mechanic's. For some reason, the car wasn't finished yet, but we were told that it would be done in an hour. We went to Teddy and Soledad's house and took a nap. Two hours later, we woke up to find that the car would not be finished any time soon and we were going to have to take a bus to La Serena that evening.

We had empanadas for lunch or tea or whatever that meal was, for the first time since I'd arrived in Chile. One of my missions was to see the Pacific Ocean and the other was to eat a Chilean empanada (a meat pie similar to a pastie, with beef, hard boiled egg, raisins, and onions) in Chile. My best friend from high school's mom, who is Chilean, made them for us and I was excited to eat one again because I love them so much. I think somehow I had imagined Chileans eating empanadas all day long, like it was one of the major food groups, so I was rather surprised that I didn't get one until the 13th day of the trip. Anyway, the empanadas were lovely and delicious and we also had roasted chicken and french fries, all of which belong to the major srah food groups.

Now we had to get to La Serena and to do so, we had to take a bus from Santiago. To get from Rancagua to Santiago, rather than take a bus again, we took the Metro Train, a train owned by the subway company which serves commuters. Pato pointed out that I had now traveled on just about every form of transportation that Chile had to offer - plane, bus, train, car, taxi, collectivo, subway, etc.

As we drove by, I saw a car stopped at the railroad crossing where a back window was rolled down and the guy in the back seat was reaching out and petting a stray dog who was sticking his head in. Meanwhile, one of our fellow passengers, a school-aged kid, was being teased by his friends because he had to pee. They kept making whooshing noises and talking about water until he couldn't stand it anymore. He ran off the train into the bushes and we all wondered if he'd make it back on before the train had to leave. When he came back on, everyone in our car of the train was watching for him and laughing.

The last note I have written for this day seems to say "nouthivus org". So make of that what you will. Hmmm. Hope it wasn't important.

We started off the day with heaping bowls of Chocapic, just the way a day should begin. Mine were plain, in cold milk, like a normal Unitedstatesian. Pato's were in warm milk with sugar poured over the top, like Calvin from Calvin & Hobbes. Gotta find that cartoon...

Pato, tía Amada and I would be going south that evening, to pick up the car. Apparently it was a problem with the clutch and not the brakes, as I had previously believed. Anyway, the car was in Rancagua and it was time to go pick it up. The idea was that we would take the bus to Santiago, see the sights (sites?) and then go to Rancagua to pick up the car. We would drive back north, stopping at La Serena for the night, exploring Serena and then going back to Copiapó. But we wouldn't leave until the evening bus, so first we went on a trip downtown.

We went to the bank where Andrés works, so that Pato could change some dollars to pesos. He doesn't have an account there, but he got Andrés to vouch for him. Heh heh. Connections.

We went to the regional museum, which was all about Copiapó and the Atacama region - especially about the history of the indigenous people of the region. The museum is in a house that was owned by an important copiapino family. One brother was a misogynistic politician who, the guide said, almost got Chile into a war with the US in the 19th century. Another brother started the first female high school in Chile. The museum looked at mining and at ancient artifacts that had been uncovered. Pato said it used to be better because there used to be mummies, but then people came to demand their ancestors back. Ah, sounds like Pato.

We were a bit hungry after the museum and it was a while until tea, so we stopped in the place that Pato said had the best french fries in Copiapó. They were made fresh for us when we ordered them and we covered them with mustard and devoured them. French fries may very well be my favorite food. Aw, I have so many.

We came home, had tea, packed, and set off for the bus station in a collectivo. We arrived and bought our tickets for a semi-cama, since there were no salon camas left. Our bus didn't take off for a while, so we went upstairs to the little restaurant. Tía Amada and I had tea and Pato had a hot dog with avocado and mustard on it. A traditional Chilean hot dog apparently has avocado, mustard, diced tomatoes and sauerkraut. Wow. I had a taste of his just for the experience. It was... interesting.

At one point, they made an announcement over the PA system. I wasn't sure if anyone else had been listening to it and I wondered if it was important. Pato had decided he would only listen to me if I spoke Spanish. "What it says?" I asked. "What does what say?" he asked. "What says... the voices?" Like David Sedaris, I wasn't sure if voices were masculine or feminine so I just made them plural. By this time, I think Pato knew what I was talking about but was playing dumb to get me to sound stupid. "Voices? What voices?" "In the sky," I explained, pointing up. "What says the voices in the sky?" Pato and tía Amada giggled their heads off because I was hearing voices in the sky, especially because this came just a day after watching the Joan of Arc movie. Finally it was revealed that they were just paging someone. Grrr. So much for all of that.

We got onto the bus and found that it was a more modern model than the one we'd taken from Santiago the first time and that semi-camas were actually quite comfortable, as long as you were as short as the three of us. I managed to drift off for a big chunk of the night and we awoke the next morning in Santiago.

We did nothing all day. We were flojos, lazy. Heh heh, good for us. I did get some blog-typing in, which is always productive, because we have to keep the folks back home apprised of our situation. We are talking like Queen Victoria now, which always worries our boyfriend. Ha ha.

We also watched The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc which confused me because I wasn't sure what I was supposed to think of Joan or what I did think of her by the end. I've always thought she was supposed to be a hero or at least very faithful to her religious beliefs, but this movie painted her as doubting her voices and being somewhere between stupid and insane. I'm not sure what I think of it. I suppose it doesn't matter.

Chileans eat a lot of beef. I can't remember now exactly what caused me to write it down in my wee notebook. I carry the notebook around to jot down notes about experiences and things I see in Chile so that I can remember to blog about them, and I have written down "lots of beef". Which is true. For a while, it seemed like we were eating beef at every single meal. Now it's not quite so much, but it's certainly more than I've been used to in the US or France. Must be the bad Argentinian economy - meat and leather and things are cheap, I suppose.

It was a warm sunny day. I can't tell you how warm, because then I'd have to kill you. No, sorry, I can't tell you how warm because even if someone told me, it would be in Celsius and I would be confused. But it was warm. Light jacket warm, two days before the beginning of winter.

We went to visit Pato's friend Rodrigo. Pato compared Rodrigo to pizza, because you can only be around him a couple times a week and then you get sick of him, apparently. He is going to college in Canada next year to study media arts, and thus a) speaks English and b) was able to furnish us with videos they made in high school, with a long-haired Pato playing the wise sage Yoga in their version of Star Wars and levitating very convincingly.

After it got dark, we went to the mineralogical museum, which is connected with the Universidad de Atacama. Through his dad, everyone there knew Pato and even though the lights had been turned out for the evening, they turned everything back on and let us go through the museum. It was interesting to see all of the minerals and photographs of Chilean mining operations and try to remember things from Intro to Earth History so that I could translate the Spanish names of the minerals into something I recognized.

In the evening, Pato's cousin Andrés came to pick us up and take us out to dinner. We went to his house and saw tía Myriam again, then he went and picked up a few friends of his. One of them was Grace, a high school exchange student from Ohio, somewhere near the border with Pennsylvania. Andrés asked Grace if I had an accent to her and I said "I don't have a heavy Michigan accent," to which she replied, "Oh yes you do!". Grrrrr. I pride myself on not having a midwestern accent, but apparently it's all relative.

We went to the Chinese restaurant and got a meal for 5, so we all shared several dishes. It was a big complicated mess of languages with Andrés, who doesn't speak English, Grace's Chilean best friend, who spoke quite a bit, Grace and Pato who were pretty bilingual, and me at the other end of the scale with my very little bit of castellano. But we all got by and switched from one language to another through the evening.

My Chilensis vocabulary word of the day, taught to me by the rest of the table, was fome, meaning boring. It was one of Grace's favorite words to learn in Chile.

After Andrés dropped us off, Pato and I got to talking about La Gringa (I had temporarily given up my title) and decided that we liked her. Although she could be loud and blatantly American, she was really making an effort with the language and wanted to learn about Chile and make the best of her stay. So we, the Culture Police, gave her our stamp of approval.

So says the main character in Ghost in the Shell. I like to think that that's what Liberal Arts is all about. End rant.

I woke up a little before ten in the morning and lazed around for a bit. After a while, I realized a soft vibration and couldn't figure out why the bed was jiggling. Then I heard something else rattling in the house. Voices called from the other end of the house. "Do you feel that?" Pato asked. Then I realized that it was one of the seismic tremors Pato had told me about. They happen quite often in Chile - the earth is never completely still, but a few times a month you can actually feel the movement. When it settled down and we turned on the TV, we found out that it had been a 6.3 earthquake in Region IV.

We went out into downtown Copiapó and I admonished Pato for succumbing to what we call "The Martin Effect". It comes from Me Talk Pretty One Day, when David is on the Paris Metro with a couple of Americans who mistake him for a Frenchman. One of them, Martin, talks loudly about David, assuming that David can't understand him. In the book, David points out something along the lines that it's not like English is a language spoken only by anthropologists and small groups of cannibals. We keep finding ourselves walking down the street, talking loudly about things we wouldn't normally say so loudly in the US, just like Martin. Ah, Sedaris. You are so useful in everyday life.

I also remarked upon the school uniforms. All public and private schools here have their own distinct uniforms. I think that would be quite fun in the US, but I'm not sure it would fly. If anything would make it work, I think it would be the connection to Harry Potter, because every time I see a Chilean schoolkid with a little crest on their sweater, I want to look and see if it says Gryffindor.

We went to Pato's friend Froilan's house. They did a lot of talking and reminiscing, and I wandered off in my mind. I often do that when the topic strays from What I Know How To Say. I went somewhere else in my mind and let them catch up. This is a fine system, until someone addresses you and you have to admit that you weren't following anything.

We came home and I started working on typing things up for the blog. When I typed about the toilet water in Chicago, we realized that we were nine days into the trip and hadn't checked it out in Chile yet. So we went and flushed it and realized that Chilean toilets don't really go in a circle. It's more of an in-out kind of thing, with less spinning. So we plugged up the sink and tried that and discovered that the water went clockwise, opposite of the Chicago toilet. So there you go, Bart. You were right.

More to come in the coming days! In the meantime, please keep signing my GuestMap! I am amazed and impressed!

We woke up and met Pato's nanny, Rubet, who made us breakfast. We took showers, got dressed, and left the house. Pato hailed a collectivo which is an interesting system of taxis. They're more like a bus, in that they have a fixed rate for all rides (about 35 cents) and a route to follow. But you can hail them as they drive by, like you would a taxi, and they are just regular cars with a sign on top showing which line they belong to. We took the collectivo downtown where we tried to find Pato's friend Rodrigo. It turned out he had gone to Santiago to get his visa for next year, when he would be studying media arts in a Canadian university.

We went to mail the postcards I had bought in Chicago at the post office. Our efforts to find postcards in Chile had, thus far, been fruitless, but it turned out that they sold them in the post office. I picked out a million of them, with various places I had seen or that Pato told me I would see. I took a picture of him in the central plaza, against his will. So far, I don't have many pictures, because it seems like Pato's always telling me that it's not a good place to take pictures. Sigh.

We went across the way to the bank where Pato's cousin Andrés (Ismael and Myriam's son, if you're keeping track) works and talked to him there. He invited us out to dinner for a few days later.

We went back to the house for lunch, where tío Alex and tía Amada coached me on Chilensis. My phrase of the day was sacar la chucha, meaning to punch. Hee hee hee.

Pato took me on a tour of the campus of the Universidad de Atacama, where his father is the director of the Institute of Technology. I took many pictures of the campus and the surrounding mountains. I love mountains. Even though they don't look anything like the Alps, they remind me of Grenoble.

In the evening, we went on another trip to a supermarket. We tried to come up with English translations for all of the fruits and vegetables and ice cream flavors, but I couldn't quite identify quince, custard apple, or prickly pear. We had to come home and consult the Spanish-English dictionary to finally figure those three out.

My Engrish discoveries of the day were the toilet bowl cleaners Lord and Poett (buy one or the other depending on which you identify with, I suppose) and the fact that the Spanish word for thong is colaless, which is pretty amusing because cola is tail and less is completely stolen from English. The other toilet bowl cleaner available was Pato Purific, or Toilet Duck. I had never connected Toilet Duck with my boyfriend before, but I spent the rest of the evening calling him Pato Purific.

I was amused to find that there was also a television broadcasting soccer games in the supermarket. You can't escape it, I suppose.

On the way home, we drove by the esquina católica, Copiapó's corner for transvestite prostitutes. Why Pato knows its exact location, I'm not sure, but I was quite amused to hear about it and the fact that it's located right next to the Catholic high school.

We dropped off some groceries at Pato's grandma's house, so I got to see pictures of tía Amada and tío Ismael as kids and baby pictures of Pato. His grandma also gave me a homemade neck-warmer collar-thing. I'm sure there's a better name for that, but it's not springing to mind.

We also stopped, ice cream melting, at the home of a family friend. Pato made a beeline for his video cabinet, since Jorge records almost every movie available on the cable movie channels and saves it for later. We came home, piled down with groceries and videos, unpacked everything, and had a splendid, overwhelming (because of all of the stuff we'd bought) evening tea.

Some time during the night, I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. I crawled over the sleeping Pato and made my way to the back of the bus. I couldn't get the door open and assumed someone was in there, so I came back to my seat and woke Pato up in the process. I told him and he came back with me and opened the door easily. Brat. It was rather scary and I had to go get a pack of tissues because there was no toilet paper. But... I've seen worse.

I went back to sleep and when I woke up, there was desert out the window. I'd never seen the desert before and was mystified. I was even more impressed as we got closer to Copiapó, as there was both desert and mountains. Pato seemed bored by it (a la Luc in French Kiss - "Bah, I was born here."), but it was all very interesting for a first-timer like me.

We were picked up by tío Ismael (they have a house in Copiapó as well as the apartment in Santiago) and dropped off at home. There were more welcoming signs and pictures of me that Pato had sent to his parents. There were also millions of pictures of The Only Child Himself. Sitting here at the computer, I can immediately spot 29 of them. This is one of their biggest Pato-shrines.

We moved our stuff in and I got to have a much-needed shower, after a lesson on the hot-water heater. It has to be lit before a shower, to heat the shower-water. It involves much turning of knobs and lighting of pilot lights and turning on of showers and I'm not sure I'm ever going to get it right. Sigh. But someone did it for me on the first day, and it was looooovely.

After I was clean and dressed, I watched TV with tía Amada while the Alexes moved furniture around. There was some incredibly fascinating Sigourney Weaver movie on, where she was a school nurse wrongly imprisoned for child molestation. I got to practice my greatest skill, Pointing Out Things In Pictures. Eliza Doolittle's remarks were restricted to The Weather and Everybody's Health. My speech is restricted to What I Know How To Say. Pointing out things in pictures usually fits into this domain, so I do okay. It goes the same for understanding. When Pato is telling people what he's doing in school these days I can understand, but when he starts talking about Big Issues In Mineralogy or That Thing We Did Five Years Ago, I get lost and my eyes glaze over. So anyway, tía Amada and I looked through Pato's pictures and I pointed things out.

Later, Pato and I watched The Empire Strikes Back dubbed into castellano (which is what Chileans call Spanish, rather than español), which was rather amusing. It's always interesting to see how characters' voices change from one language to another. Yoda was cute as usual.

I have to take a nap, shower, and teach myself to type on this funny foreign keyboard first... but soon I will have news and amusing stories galore. Stay tuned... and in the meantime, click on my GuestMap thingy and show me where you are!

Having been up until 4am the night before, we naturally spent the morning lazing around in bed again. When we finally got up, there wasn't really time for showers, because we had to get our things together for the trip to Copiapó. Apparently the brake problem couldn't be fixed in time, so we would be going north by salon cama bus. Pato very kindly remarked, at some point, that with my dirty, smoke-filled, scraggly hair, I looked like el Rey León, the Lion King. I scraped my hair up into a ponytail and continued with the day.

Pato had his Chocapic for breakfast and put sugar on top of it, reminding me of a Calvin & Hobbes cartoon. I understand a bit more his obsession with sugar, as it seems like I've had Coke with almost every meal, and Chileans sweeten their juice even more than Americans do.

Pato had promised to take Tamara to the movies during his stay in Rancagua, so he fulfilled the promise that afternoon, when we all went to see El Hombre Araña. It didn't occur to us, until we'd already sat down in the theatre, to wonder whether this was a dubbed or subtitled version of the movie. It turned out to be dubbed, but that was fine with me, because I'd already seen the movie twice and knew the dialogue pretty well. It was interesting to hear the way they translated things - I was very disappointed when the Chess Club said "whisky!" (the Spanish/French alternative for "cheese!") rather than whatever is Spanish for "checkmate".

After the movie, we returned home for tea and sandwiches (I had gouda and homemade plum jam - don't knock it till you've tried it) and to get our stuff together. We packed it into one of the family's cars and Angie drove us to the bus station in Santiago. On the way, I saw a sign for a street named after a Chilean bishop and learned that the Spanish word for bishop is "obispo", which I figured Katie might get a kick out of. We said our goodbyes and got onto the bus for our 12-hour ride.

Salon camas are a lot like airplanes, except with more leg room and more turbulence. And no wings, obviously. Hmm. There is a conductor-type-person who brings blankets, puts in the video for the trip (ours was Broken Arrow, starring the lovely and talented John Revolta), and brings meals (dinner and breakfast). I read a chapter of the book I brought along for the trip, David Sedaris' Naked, to Pato, then fell quickly asleep, even before they'd dimmed the lights. I think a 12-hour bus journey is much more conducive to sleep than is an 8-hour flight - both for the reclining seats and the fact that an 8-hour flight, including meals and movies and the air-pressure on your bladder that keeps waking you up, really doesn't give you much time to nod off.

I shared a bed with Pato and Tamara that night and when we woke up in the morning, we huddled together, refusing to leave the bed. Most Chilean houses, at least those north of Region X, don't have central heating. Instead they have a collection of estufas (space heaters), which they move around the house wherever the family goes. The lack of central heating may be the reason that most Chileans have televisions in the bedrooms rather than in a communal family room. This way, they can spend their cold winter evenings curled up in bed, watching TV.

Rancagua, although only 1.5 hours south of Santiago, seemed infinitely colder. This was probably only because of the big house and lack of central heating, but we spent most of the day blanketed up and cuddling together. At one point, we stepped outside and realized that it was noticeably warmer there.

Finally, someone encouraged the dogs to jump on us, so we had to get up and shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast. At breakfast we huddled around the estufa, fighting for its attention. I took a short shower, since no one wants to be wet for long in that cold.

I bundled up, then we went into downtown Rancagua. The car was having brake problems, so we left it at the mechanic's and walked around town, shopping. Pato tried to get me to buy a jacket with what looked like squirrel fur trim, we heard a dance-remix of "Old McDonald Had a Farm" playing in one of the shops, and I found a lovely enormous scarf/shawl thing, which was very helpful for wrapping up in back at the house.

As we walked around downtown, I was amazed by the numbers of stray dogs wandering around. It made me wonder if we didn't have that problem because of Bob Barker. That would be odd. They don't really seem to bother anyone, but because of them, many Chileans have a metal basket on a pole on their lawn extension. Rather than putting their garbage bags on the ground, where the dogs can get at them, they put them up above the dogs' reach.

After shopping, we went back to the house and met Soledad and Teddy's other daughter, Angie, who, I believe, goes to college in Santiago. We went out and rented videos and brought them back to the house. We brought the estufa into Soledad and Teddy's room, curled up in the bed, and watched 10 Things I Hate About You. I always forget how very stupid and juvenile the poem that the main character writes is. "Is the poem that the main character writes"? I can't even write English, so I don't know how I'm going to teach it. Anyway...

After Ten Things... and the beginning of The Stupidest Movie Ever (well, okay, maybe not ever, but I don't think it's the cinematic masterpiece some people seem to think it is...), the time came to "make an appearance" at the local discoteca. Tamara had gone with her friends and had gotten us tickets as well. We were rather tired, but we said we'd come for a while. On the way, the aunts decided they didn't want to make another trip, so we were going to have to stay till 4am and come home with Tamara. Yikes.

We felt a bit out of place at the club, because everyone there was either about 16 or a 30-something man. We had a few additional handicaps: me because I'm a gringa and Pato because he's been gringofied by his time spent in the US. Unbeknownst to us, a trend had swept the nation in Pato's absence: Axe Bahia. This, apparently, is some mostly-naked Brazilian-inspired dance group. Before their invasion, Chile was a perfectly normal country, with a host of original dances and dance clubs where you did what you liked. The curse that Axe Bahia brought with them: choreography. Every song at the dance club had its very own dance with its very own moves. The young chilenos and chilenas knew all of the steps and we were left trying to mimic them and failing miserably. We danced for a while, trying to ape the skilled dancers on the floor, but we kept giving up and retreating to watch everyone else. We did make another attempt later when they started playing old gringo music that hadn't yet been Bahiafied - 80s music, the Grease megamix and things like that.

We did a lot of standing around and shivering. It was amusing to see the Chilean kids out there in jackets and scarves, dancing the night away. Tamara and her friend were wearing sleeveless tops, but even dancing as much as they were, I couldn't see how they could handle it. After a bout of maniacal hopping around to "Hey Micky" (or whatever that 1980s cheerleader song is), my lungs hurt the way they do when I try to run somewhere in the cold and breathe in too much cold air. I had to retreat and sit down.

Anyway, we lasted until 4am, when we went home, had some tea and sandwiches and went to bed, reeking of cigarette smoke and very cold and tired.

Thursday morning, Pato and I got up and lazed around a bit. We had breakfast and listened to CDs, including Jillian's, so "Stain of Blue" was stuck in our head for much of the morning. Then we went out driving through Santiago and took Myriam and Ismael's daughter, María Eliana, on some errands at the Universidad de Santiago. A couple of things that struck me while we were driving around were a bus driving by with a Confederate flag in the window (sorry, no, a bus didn't literally strike me - sorry for any confusion) and the street vendors. Pato says that the street vendors aren't legal, but the police don't really bother with them. At all of the red lights, the vendors descend upon the road, walking in between the lanes, carrying candy, cigarettes, vegetables, sweets, or whatever their specialty happens to be. At one point, I also saw someone juggling fire in the street.

In the afternoon, we went to a shopping mall to change money and shop. It was a lot like American shopping malls, but the best thing about a foreign country is that just when you think you've found something comfortable and familiar, it surprises you. One of my favorite things about the mall was what I dubbed the "Husband Corral". There was a roped-off area in the middle of the store with a big screen TV showing a fútbol game. I assumed that the wives paid for a seat for their husbands to sit in so that they would be occupied while the wives were shopping. I also liked picking up little bits of Chilean Engrish, like the stores called Bubble Gummers, Dijon Kids (yum!), Zapping Book, and Jai Level (the letter J in Spanish is pronounced like an English H...).

We had lunch in a cafeteria-style restaurant called Gatsby's. Cafeteria-style restaurants are good for foreigners because you can try a lot of things you don't recognize. I had fishless sushi and 300 different kinds of salad and salmon and a wide array of desserts, including mil hojas. This is a lovely cake with layer on layer of pastry and manjar, a sort of dulce de leche/caramel spread that Chileans seem to enjoy at every time of the day. Mmmmm. After I ate the mil hojas, which was very filling, I decided that I would never need to eat anything else as long as I lived. In fact, for several days afterwards, just thinking of mil hojas made me feel full.

That evening, we set off for Rancagua, which is about 1.5 hours south of Santiago. I asked Pato about Super Pollo, a sign I kept seeing all over Santiago and on billboards between Santiago and Rancagua. I couldn't decide if it was a brand of chicken or cereal. He told me that Super Chicken was their national hero and a great symbol of Chile. After a while, he gave in and told me that it was, indeed, a brand of chicken.

We arrived in Rancagua and I met tía Soledad and tío Teddy as well as their youngest daughter, Pato's cousin Tamara. They had to make a trip to the supermarket, so Pato, tía Amada (Pato's mom) and I went along. I like to visit foreign supermarkets for the same reason I like to visit foreign shopping malls. Tamara and Pato and I wandered off and did our own thing, picking up bread and Pato's favorite cereal, Chocapic, and browsing all of the other aisles. Pato told Tamara about the Chilean hero Super Pollo, which she found quite amusing.

We went home and had some tea, then we all went to bed. It was a bit cold, but it didn't seem much colder than Santiago...

...yet.

It was originally "(val)Paraiso lluvioso" but I haven't been to Valparaiso, so we have to make do, don't we?

As we prepared to land in Santiago, the crew (who this time, thankfully, did bilingual announcements) said something about turning off "aparatos electrónicos" (electronic devices), which I heard as "zapatos electrónicos" (electronic shoes). The idea of Chileans having electronic shoes amused me no end.

We landed, I paid my American Tax and handed in all of the little customs/immigration forms I'd filled out on the plane, we found our luggage (which, as it turned out, had gone to Santiago rather than Salt Lake City, after all), and met up with Pato's mommy, daddy, and tía Myriam, who showered us with welcoming signs and gifts and hugs and kisses.

We left the airport and wandered around a while, adjusting to the winter climate and looking for the car, since everyone seemed to have a different opinion on where it had been parked. Once we found it, squashed the suitcases and ourselves in and started driving, I was told that we couldn't drive on the main roads, because the car was en restricción. To cut down on pollution, Santiago has instituted these restricciones, where cars with certain license plate numbers can drive one day, then the others on the next. It wasn't our day to be driving, so we had to avoid the carabineros.

We drove to tía Myriam and tío Ismael's apartment, where we would be staying for a few days before moving on to Rancagua to visit some other relatives. They served us tea and bread with avocado (palta in Chilensis) and scrambled eggs and tomatoes. Mmmmmmm. We got to have a nap and a long-desired shower, then we went for a walk to check out Santiago and call my family and Nancy.

I noticed Chilean flags hanging in various places, which surprised me since I'd read in a guidebook that they could only hang the flag on the 18th of September, Chilean independence day. No one around me seemed to have heard of such a rule. Ha! Take that, guidebook.

The most remarkable thing about being in Chile is that it's full of Chileans. Sometimes, in the US, it seemed like Pato was the only one who spoke that funny form of Spanish where the letters S and D seem to disappear all over the place. Here I was in a whole country full of Patos.

Pato's dad had to go back to Copiapó that evening, so we took him to the bus station. We bought his ticket, then went for a cup of tea in a little coffeeshop while waiting for the bus. I ordered (or more accurately, Pato ordered for me, since we are a bit shy with our Spanish...) a té con leche, tea with milk. The idea of drinking tea with milk is rather foreign in Chile, so what I got was hot milk with a teabag in it. Everyone was concerned that I wouldn't like it, but it was sweet and creamy and just like the 5FF cup of campus thé au lait, my favorite cup of tea in Grenoble, so I was happy as a clam.

While I was drinking my tea, I realized that I hadn't had any trouble adjusting to the weather. Everyone else around me accepted that it was winter, so it seemed perfectly normal to me. Maybe this comes from being from Michigan and expecting the weather to change drastically from one day to the next (or one hour to the next, or whatever...).

We dropped Pato's dad (have you noticed that since we landed, Alex has become Pato? That is because Pato's dad is also Alex. Confused yet?) at the bus station and Pato took me up on the bus to show me. It's a 12-hour ride from Santiago to Copiapó, so he went with the salon cama, a kind of bus with seats that recline to almost 180° and lots of legroom.

After Pato's dad left, we went back to the apartment and looked for a movie to see. We finally settled on Memento. We went out to see it in a one-screen art theatre that obviously served as a normal theatre as well, because it had a huge seating area and a stage in addition to the screen. The movie was pretty confusing but thought-provoking, and was thankfully subtitled in Spanish rather than dubbed. If it hadn't been in English at all, I think I would have been completely lost.

Somehow we got onto the subject of the Simpsons episode where Bart calls Australia to see if the toilets drain the opposite way in the southern hemisphere than in the northern. "Darn," I said, "I meant to check that before I left home." Alex very cleverly pointed out that the toilets drain the same way in Chicago as they do in Michigan. Hmph. Well, if things had gone according to schedule, we would have been in Santiago by then and it would have been too late. But, for the record, North American toilets seem to flush counter-clockwise. We'll test South America when we get there.

We had a lovely continental breakfast with crullers and bagels and tea and all kinds of lovely yummy goodies. There was even marmalade, so I took a picture of Alex holding some. My Marmalade Boy. Hee.

We had to check out at 11am, but our flight was scheduled to leave at 5:55pm. Sitting around the hotel lobby would be mighty boring, so after check-out, we took the shuttle back to the airport so we could wander and explore and entertain ourselves for more than six hours while lugging around our carry-ons.

We showed our little card to a man, who directed us to the security checkpoint, saying that we didn't have to stand in the check-in line because our luggage was being directed onto our flight. We went through security and explored. We saw a rolling, self-sanitizing toilet seat, a group of Asian nuns travelling somewhere ("Flying nuns!" exclaimed Alex), and many interesting people, who we made up stories about. There was the Chilean boy who was flying home to introduce his polola to his family and the two middle-aged American women who I decided were mail-order brides going to meet their Chilean husbands. We wandered the terminal and had some ice cream. We had to sit and rest for a while, and ended up sitting a gate full of Des Moines middle-schoolers on the way home from a trip to Washington. We were scared we were going to be mistaken for part of the group. We watched planes load and unload and finally, our gate came up on the Departures screen.

We went to our gate and checked at the desk that we were on the flight. They looked at our boarding passes from the day before and at our little re-seating tickets and looked in the computer. They told us we were just fine. We went and sat down and Alex played Spot the Chilean, picking up on the voices of various people around us. Not everyone there was Chilean, since the flight stopped in Miami, but lots of them spoke Spanish.

Finally, after the Hartford-Springfield flight before ours left, they prepared to board our flight. They announced the first-class boarding and everyone began crowding around. They asked everyone else to sit down, but everyone still crowded around. They announced the executive and first class boarding and everyone still crowded around. They announced rows 35 and up and everyone still crowded around. Alex and I had 35 A and B so we stood up and tried to get through the crowd.

As we were standing there, someone finally had the bright idea to do an announcement in Spanish. Hmmm. This is a flight to Miami, which is full of hispanophones itself, as well as being a major hub for flights to Central and South America. Perhaps there are some Spanish-speaking people on this flight...

We finally got up to the ticket-taker, who looked at our boarding passes from the day before. "We're only boarding 35 and up now. This is 21. You need to get out of line and wait." I pointed out that this was my boarding pass from the day before, that we'd been put on this flight because of the storm, and that they had given us seats 35 A and B on the little re-assignment ticket, if he would just look at it. He looked at the re-assignment ticket, said it wasn't valid, and tore it in half. He was about to throw the pieces away when Alex grabbed them. Evil Ticket Man told us to come back when he called row 21, that that was my seat and that I had to wait for that.

Alex and I got out of line and I, as could have been predicted, burst into tears. We'd already waited 24 hours and now we were going to be told that we didn't have seats on this flight. I was never going to get to Chile. I was going to have to stay in Chicago and rot for the rest of my life. Rot in prison, that is, because first I was going to have to murder Evil Ticket Man.

Row 21 was finally called and he put our boarding passes into the machine, which, as we had predicted to him, rejected them because they were for the wrong date. I guess we were pretty lucky, because he told us to go on anyway. How responsible. Hmm.

As we had predicted (again), there was someone in seat 21 G when we got there. I burst into tears again, even though Alex and the Very Nice Man in 21 G were assuring me that we would have seats and it was all a mix-up and everything was going to be alright. We called the flight attendant and he took our boarding pass stubs and re-assignment tickets and said he'd take care of it. He came back with two new seats, in row 26. We had our own seats, we were on our way to Chile (or Miami at least) and we could sit back, relax, and watch a Britney Spears movie. Heh heh. I watched I am Sam instead. I had never made the Green Eggs & Ham connection to the title before...

There was a woman on our flight who looked concerned when I burst into tears on the plane. Alex started to explain our situation and she stopped him, saying that she didn't speak English. He switched to Spanish and finished the explanation. She said that she was from Ecuador. I kept thinking about her on our flight, because no one there seemed to speak any Spanish. All of the announcements, safety demonstrations, and flight attendants' questions were in English. You would think that eventually someone would catch on that not everyone flying to Miami speaks English. Grrrrr.

The other thing I realized during that flight was that even before arriving in Miami, this had surpassed my 29-hour trip to Aberdeen as my longest (time-wise) travel experience. We arrived at Detroit Metro at 3pm on 10 June and would arrive in Santiago around 8am on the 12th.

We landed in Miami and went to the counter to make sure everything was in order for the next leg of the flight. The man checked everything and very nicely reminded me that there would be a $61 entrance tax for me in Santiago. The Chilenos charge United States, Canadian, Australian and Mexican citizens this tax to make up for the fact that Chileans need to buy visas to enter those countries. I already knew this and had the money set aside in my passport pouch, but I thought it was nice of him to point it out.

The terminal we were in seemed to be the hispanophone terminal, because all of the flights were going to Latin America and Spain. There were a few going to Brazil as well, so when I heard announcements over the loudspeakers, I listened carefully, because I hadn't really heard Portuguese spoken much before. They would make the announcements in English first, then in Spanish, then in Portuguese. I was amazed that I could pick up so many words in the Portuguese announcements and was even more amazed that the language seemed to be closer to French than Spanish in terms of vocabulary. It wasn't until the third announcement that I realized I was not hearing Portuguese, but very badly accented French. So much for my incredible skill with Portuguese. Here I thought I was a prodigy or some kind of long-lost Brazilian. Poo.

We wandered around the terminal a bit and I was disappointed to find that they had no postcards in the little newsstand. They did, however, have dulce de leche (also labeled as "caramel") M&Ms for sale. I was so amused that I bought some. Still haven't eaten them, but they're still quite amusing.

After Becky's graduation party the day before, I finally had space to myself for packing. I require an insane amount of space for packing, because everything has to be set down and sorted out in piles before it can actually go into the suitcase. But Alex helped me and I managed to get most of my stuff packed before the day of our departure.

My family took me to the airport and I insisted on carrying all of my bags myself, because I had packed all of that stuff and I was going to be strong and put up with the weight. I ran along ahead, carrying my purse and carry-on and dragging my suitcase, the biggest in the house. My stuff all fit in a smaller one, but Alex insinuated that I might want to bring a bigger one to "bring stuff back in". Hee. Presents.

I ran ahead of my family into the terminal and found Alex and Nancy (his host mom) waiting for us. We went to the check-in and the check-in lady didn't seem to like us much. She had us take our checked suitcases over to the x-ray machine and have them scanned. Then we we had to take them to another lady, who put the tags on them, indicating where the bags were going to.

"Oh, Salt Lake City," she remarked as I handed over my bag. "Wha--?!" I exclaimed, after it sunk in, "No, Santiago, Chile." She laughed and pointed out that she'd mistaken Santiago's SCL abbreviation for Salt Lake City's SLC. We understood, but we were concerned throughout the journey that someone else was going to make the same mistake and our bags were going to take a trip to Utah.

We said our goodbyes to Nancy and my family and went through the security checkpoints. I, the least suspicious-looking person in the world, was stopped and had to do a check with that electronic wand-thingy. It was actually pretty cool - much better than Becky's experience last year of being frisked in London Heathrow or Gatwick or wherever it was. The lady doing the security check was very nice to me, so it was alright.

We continued to our gate and rather soon after were allowed to board our plane. We got to our seats and thumbed through the in-flight magazines. "Ooooooooh," we remarked, "Britney Spears movie." Crossroads haunted us through all of our flights, but I did manage not to see it at all. Hooray for me.

We finished reading the in-flight magazines, the in-flight catalogue, the safety directions, the barf bags, and whatever else we could find in the seat pocket. The pilot came over the intercom saying that we couldn't take off yet because of thunderstorms in Chicago. Then she came on saying that we were next to leave. Then she came on again, saying that no, we weren't going to be able to leave for another 40 minutes or so. Then after an hour, we pulled away from the terminal and thought we were going to be the next plane allowed to go to Chicago. Then we weren't. To make a long story short, three hours after our original 5:07pm departure time, we finally took off for Chicago.

They assured us that since we weren't being allowed to go to Chicago, our flight to Miami wouldn't be leaving from Chicago without us. We weren't so sure. Three hours and 48 minutes into our waiting period, Alex was singing:

I hate Chicago in the springtime
I hate Chicago in the fall
I hate Chicago in the summer when it rains
I hate Chicago in the winter when it rains
I hate Chicago, oh why oh why do I hate Chicago?
Because my flight is there
without me on it.

After a 1.5 hour flight, the loss of an hour due to time zone changes, and an hour spent flying around in circles, waiting to land - after about 6 hours spent inside the plane for a trip that would have taken about 4 hours to drive - we arrived in Chicago. Our flight to Santiago was nowhere to be seen on the departures screen. We went to a counter and asked about it. The man looked it up in the computer and told us that it had taken off at 8:00, but that we might be able to catch the upcoming flight to Sao Paolo and get a connecting flight from there. He directed us to the customer service desk down the hall to see about how to get where we were going.

We stood in line, singing "Brazil" and talking about how missing our flight might not be a disaster after all. We got up to the front of the line and it must have been either too late to redirect us through Sao Paolo or the seats were sold out. We were told that the first flight they could put us on was the one 24 hours after hours. Oh joy. The man didn't issue us a new boarding pass, but instead gave us a little card with all of the information about our new flight. The only seats he could get us, he said, were in the last row. We didn't mind too much - we would be near the bathroom if we needed it.

We had hoped that we would at least get a free night in a hotel out of the deal, but apparently that doesn't count in cases of weather problems. We did, however, get a little voucher to ensure us a deal on local hotel rooms and an overnight toiletries bag. Our checked luggage would be spending the night in the airport, which meant that those of us who had packed toiletries and a change of clothes in our carry-on (me) were luckier than those of us who hadn't (Alex). Earlier that day he had mocked me for bringing a change of clothes with me, "If they lose my luggage, I have plenty of clothes to wear at home." Ha ha.

We found phones and called our various families, then waited forever for the hotel shuttle with a student from Texas who was originally from Korea and was travelling with her mother. It finally arrived and the people who had been waiting packed into it. I ended up on Alex's lap, I believe, because there were so many people waiting in the rain, angry about missing flights and desperate to get to the hotel and relax. We took the shuttle to the Days Inn in Addison, IL (I have no idea where that is in relation to Chicago, but it was the cheapest price the dealy-thing gave me). The most exciting part was that we ordered a pizza (no dinner service on our 5pm Detroit-Chicago flight, of course, so we were starving) and expected that they would call us from the front desk to come and get it, the way they do in Albion. Instead, there was a knock on the door of our room - the pizza was delivered directly to us! Ah, the small things impress me.

Hopefully I'll have the chance to stop in a few times while I'm in Chile, but I guess this is probably my last post before I leave. Have fun without me and I'm sure I'll be full of stories when I get back... full of me accidentally saying really stupid things in Spanish and getting lost. Bye bye for now...

Congratulations to Alfie, who graduated from high school last night and is off to a new start at Albion next year.

You're PRIDE! You like yourself, and you aren't afraid to show it. You don't like to admit when you're wrong, and you think you're better than most. You're represented by the color violet.

How Gay Are YOU? [?]

Find your emotion!

[via Sheri~SHOT]

"The data from the radar will drop off and you won't know the radar data is missing for four to 12 minutes"

I get to be a guinea pig for one of the first flights using Detroit Metropolitan Airport's new air traffic control system. Detroit Metro, North America's 10th largest airport, will be using a new system that has only been tested in Syracuse, NY and El Paso, TX. At those two airports, they had problems with planes disappearing off the radar.

Oh boy.

Where is it? Anyone else having problems getting through?

I was cursed yesterday with waitpersons who, for some reason I never identified, hated me. Or they hated everyone at our table. But mostly me.

At lunch, we went to the restaurant whose name I can never remember. Either Round Robin or Red Robin. Anyway. We sat at the same table we sat at all three times I've been there. I'm going to start calling it my "usual table". Last time, it was I who hated the waitress, because she kept calling me "hon". Different waitress this time, but equally evil. We all placed our orders and the waitress left.

A different waitress brought us our food. Becky got her burger, Mommy got her guacamole burger (but with no guacamole, so they had to get some from the kitchen and give it to her on the side!), Daddy got his turkey burger, Aunt Pat got her turkey burger. The waitress looked at me. "Did you get something?" "I thought I did," I replied. "I ordered a BLTA croissant and french onion soup..."

She went to get our waitress, who returned to our table. "I'm sorry," she said, "I forgot to turn your order in..."

Thus the slowest eater at the table was the last served. You would think they could bring my soup out first, but they waited until it was all ready to bring it out. Thankssomuch.

I ate my soup and by that time everyone was finished, so I took my sandwich home in a box and put it in the refrigerator. We got busy with other stuff and I never got around to eating it.

So then we went to Becky's graduation. About halfway through the Ls, we started to notice we were hungry. This was pretty understandable, especially for poor srah who had a cup of soup for lunch. We were a bit disappointed to find, when the graduation ended around 7:30 or 7:45, that our dinner reservations were for 9:15. But we headed over there and ended up getting seated early.

Maybe that's why he hated us. Because we, a party of 13, showed up early. Hard to tell. We had to wait a while for the last two members of our party. Maybe refilling our drinks was what drove him nuts.

He went around the table, collecting drink orders. When he got to Alex, Alex asked if he could have a hot chocolate. The waiter said he couldn't, which Alex took to mean that they were all out. So he asked for a lemonade, and the waiter said he couldn't have that either. After Alex settled for a Coke and the waiter left, we began speculating that it wasn't that they didn't have hot chocolate or lemonade, it was just that the waiter didn't want to give him any.

When he came back, he took our orders. He asked what kind of salad dressing I wanted and I asked if I could have French onion soup instead (I know, my name is srah and I'm addicted to French onion soup. Sorry). He said I couldn't. This rather surprised me, since it said on the menu that French onion soup could be substituted for soup or salad. But I didn't argue. Maybe he just didn't approve of my choice.

Once he had taken everyone's meal orders, my mom tried to order a hot chocolate for my sister. The waiter said they didn't have hot chocolate, and my mom pointed out that it was on the menu. He said that it wasn't, so we had to point it out to him. As long as we were pointing things out, I mentioned that the menu allowed the substitution of French onion soup for salad, so we changed our orders for that, too.

Perhaps he was upset about the soup and being proved wrong. Maybe he knew that I was with the hot-chocolate-lemonade boy (who did get his hot chocolate, after all). Maybe he forgot to put in my order. Or maybe duck just takes longer to cook than anything else. But once again, I was the last one served, by a long shot.

After I sat there, foodless, for a while, people started sending green beans down the table to sustain me. Finally, my food arrived. I gobbled up my yummy duck and then we had tea and coffee and dessert. I ordered a cup of tea and when he brought it, I asked if I could have some cream. I had to repeat myself several times for him to understand, and then the waiter announced, "Yes, you may." Well thank you, mommy, I thought. Thank you for allowing me to have some cream in my tea.

I'm sure the second time was my punishment for trying to convince my mom not to leave a tip for the first waitress, but I'm not sure what I did to deserve her. Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I apologize. Just don't give me any more service like this!

Which Alan Rickman Character Are You?

[via, of course, Note to Self]

I never ever get hit on, but I think the gas station attendant was trying to pick me up last night. I had really stupid pigtails sticking out of the sides of my head and I was clearly an idiot because I don't know how to flip up the little thingy before I start pumping gas, but apparently that wasn't important to him. Or maybe he liked me because I was stupid. Or maybe he was just really bored and lonely.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of our fascinating conversation, but I will tell you that I keep telling everyone about this, just because I never ever get hit on by strangers. I think I'm most flattered that he thought I was 18 rather than 12.

Onesome. Parsley - does anyone really cook with this stuff?!? what is the weirdest/funniest thing you ever did with the garnish on your plate at a restaurant.
Hid a slug under it?

Twosome. Sage - to whom do you turn for advice? This isn't limited to just one person but could be several different people for different situations.
Mummy or Alex, I suppose. Unless it's specific advice that someone else would know more about...

Threesome. Rosemary and Thyme - what does the name "Rosemary" mean to you and to what time frame does the memory belong?
I like the song that goes "Love grows where my Rosemary goes and nobody knows like me..." So that would be the 60s, I guess. Anyone know who that's by? I think it was on the Shallow Hal soundtrack.

Is it Alf, in Pog form? No, it's srah... in South Park form!

(Pardon the .bmp format... I can't seem to do anything else at this computer. Odd.)

[via plasticbag.org]

The "low" today in Santiago is 38 degrees fahrenheit. Brrrrrrr.

Here's a Babelfish translation of a story originally from Yahoo! Rhône-Alpes:

That's right. Srah blah blah: your source for badly translated French dog-raping stories.

Did you read any comic books when you were a kid? Any particular reason you liked those specific ones?
I didn't. When my sister was younger, she would buy Archie comic books and I would read those, but I was never into superhero comics.

If you could live in the world/story of any comic book series, what would it be, and how would you figure into it?
Ooooh, me in the world of Archie... wait, no, Archie sucks. Do manga count? I would like to live at Maison Ikkoku, or go to school with the gang from Marmalade Boy. I don't think I would want to be in a comic book with people fighting all the time, but that's just me being practical and realistic.

There's a new comic book series coming out, and you are the superhero. Describe yourself, including things like your superhero name, abilities, costume, method of transportation, weapons if you use any, sidekick if you don't go it alone, what can kill you, alter ego, and arch-nemesis.
I recently created a superhero called The Archivist, whose super power is that she can put on and remove those stupid white cotton gloves we have to use for handling pictures, just by thinking about it. Schwing! On! Schwing! Off! But I don't want to be an archivist, so I shan't be her. I don't want to fight anyone. But I guess if I'm a superhero, I must. We'll start out with the nemesis, because that's what drives people to become superheroes in the first place, I guess. Evil they feel they need to fight. And the evil I must fight is... cultural insensitivity. Crap, I am a really sucky superhero. Um... stupidity. Stupidity is good. I will just run around kicking the crap out of stupid people. I will be The Destupidizer. I will have super martial arts skills and kick people around a lot. I will ride in a little tiny car that goes put-put-put-put-put and wear a rabbit suit. AAAAH! I am having problems taking this question seriously, as you may have already guessed. Maybe I'll come up with a better answer after I think about it some more. Probably not.

Describe a recent dream.
Cannae remember one. Sad.

Not me, anyway. But if you're interested, for some reason, in learning Albion College lingo, look no further. I can't believe they ruined the secret of Woden. I will hate them forever. Forget my alumni money!

'LBN? Loft? Who makes up this crap?

Is there a polite way to tell people they need to work on their conversational skills?

I own a pair of shoes that I bought just because they were ugly. They were on clearance, so they cost something like $4 and I couldn't pass up such cheap, ugly shoes. They are cream-colored heeled oxfords. I don't know what I was planning to do with them. Maybe use them in a Halloween costume. I've never worn them and only thought about them this morning because I came across them whilst digging in my closet.

What have you bought and never used?

I reread the book About a Boy over Memorial Day Weekend. I really shouldn't have. About a Boy was a good movie. You should go see it and THEN you should read the book. And then you should read Bridget Jones's Diary and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. They were good movies of better books.

I was a bit spoiled for About a Boy because I'd read the book so recently and I was disappointed when they didn't follow it exactly. Of course, that would difficult. The problem is that the book uses the death of Kurt Cobain as an important plot point, which wouldn't work well with Will being "cool". If we took the movie back to 1994, Will wouldn't be cool anymore. 1994 isn't cool anymore. Nothing that happened in 1994 is cool anymore.

So I guess they had to work around that, and they did a good job. Hugh Grant was great, he was actually cute for once, and there were some things in the movie that were better than the book. I just missed Ellie. She was a character in the books, rather than just scenery.

I hit a raccoon tonight as I was driving Alex home from the movie theatre. I think it was unavoidable, but I'm having trouble distinguishing reality from the lies I've been telling myself to make me feel better. I think there was a car coming from the other direction and another one right behind me. I think he came out of nowhere. I know I tried to avoid actually running him over, hoping that the car would just pass over him, but I felt a thump.

When I drove back home, I scanned the road for him, hoping that I would see him. If he was there, that meant that I killed him. If he wasn't, that could mean that I injured him and he managed to crawl off the road and suffer a lot before he died. Or it could mean that I only stunned him and he rolled off the road and went about his raccoony business.

I didn't see him on the way home. I don't know what that means. I hope he wasn't a mommy raccoon. I hope he didn't suffer. I don't know what to do with myself right now, other than cry and cry and cry.

Which Spider-Man Character Are You?

Which car are you?

[via through twigga's eyes]

- Rob's Amazing Poem Generator

1. Laptop or desktop computer? It would be nice to have both. I have a desktop and want a nice new laptop to take to France. Unfortunately, I shan't be able to afford one. I will have to look into renting or somesuch.
2. PC or Mac? PC.
3. DVD or VHS? We have an enormous VHS collection, but the DVDs are growing. I love DVDs. Language selection and extras!
4. Cell phone or regular phone? Regular phone. I would like a cell phone, just for the entertainment value of making "Que sera sera" my ringtone, but I hate using the telephone. Maybe I will get one in France, instead of a landline.
5. Satellite or cable TV? I would like me some satellite so I could watch things like BBC America. I have neither.
6. X-Box or PlayStation? Blargh.
7. Netflix or video store? I've never used Netflix, so I guess I'll just grumble about the local video store.
8. Wide-screen or regular TV? We have regular. I think I like it. I don't mind letterboxed movies.
9. Film or digital camera? I have film. I would like to have both...
10. Dial-up or high-speed internet connection? I would rather have high-speed, but have dial-up. Slooooooooow.

which Episode II character are you?
Probably the greatest Jedi Knight of all. Like Obi Wan, you are wise and keep your feet on the ground at all times. You will not be outsmarted by anyone. You are always faithful to your friends. Be careful though, danger lurks around every corner - you could even be betrayed by those closest to you.

:: how jedi are you? ::

[via Note to Self]

Window-washers on TV and in the movies are so quiet you sometimes don't even know they're there. No such luck here... The guy is talking to somebody and banging on the glass like he's trying to get my attention. I know he's not trying to get my attention because I've been hearing him do it all along the row of offices.

I forgot to take a break today. It's lonely without my mom or Diane. I guess I just won't and I can tie it into my lunch break or something. Ho hum.

I sat in for Rachel while she went on her break and someone started trying to send a fax to our phone or something. I get either high-pitched beeps in my ear or that awful fax/modem whine. They didn't try it before her break, haven't tried it since. I am cursed.

Which Kiss Are You?

[via sheherazade]

I just answered the phone and a very loud voice asked me about some papers. I transferred it waaaaay across the room to the Reference Desk and I can still hear him and can almost make out words. Yikes.

We are getting all duded up tonight and going out to dinner. Becky is taking Alex to her prom and the whole family's going out to dinner together at Palio before the dance. Kind of an unusual arrangement. They've invited me to get dressed up as well. I can pretend I'm back in high school again. Not that anyone won't believe it... This will be quite a week! Prom on Monday, graduation on Thursday, graduation party on Sunday and srah and Alex leaving next Monday!

Hey Ann Arbor people: If you're interested, 1997 Ann Arbor Huron High School graduate Jordan Lopez is playing at Kerrytown this Thursday and Friday night. His mommy told us that we should go, so I'm telling you.

One week to Chile. One week to Chile. I have to go shopping. I hate shopping. I have to pack. Oh my god.

Happy belated birthday to two of my favorite people: Roommate and Dively.

Sorry I missed it, folks!

1. Who or where do you go to when you need help for web-related problems?
I don't usually have a lot of web-related problems. I do what I can and if I can't do something, I don't. Or I find a site where it's been done and peek at the code. I don't really know anyone in person who's at my level. Does that sound immodest? My Computer Science teacher told my parents that when we got to the web page part of the course, he just stood back and let me do my thing because I knew more than he did in that area. I used to go to my dad for help and I bet he still has a few tricks up his sleeve that I don't know about.

2. There is a big mess of gossip going on in Blogland due to revelations about a very popular Blogger. I got very caught up in reading all the links to links about it until I stopped myself realizing it was none of my buisiness. Do you ever get caught up in gossip, either speading it or listening to it? How does it make you feel? Or have you ever been the subject of gossip?
Now I'm upset and curious because I don't know about this gossip. Grrr. I don't think I've ever really been the subject of gossip or really been involved in any horrible gossip.

3. In a relationship, when your other takes a dig at you (read: a fight), do you go for the jugular and get "in their face" or try to peacefully smooth things out and have a calm discussion?
I usually cry. Oh wait, that's my solution to everything. Between the two of those... depends on the situation.

4. A friend once told me "You can tell when someone is bored with what you are saying to them when they reply with 'That's interesting.'" And I have found this to be pretty dang true. How do you know when someone has lost interest in what you are saying?
Lost interest? In what I am saying? Doesn't happen. Ha ha! Um... loss of eye contact? Or really heavy eye contact, like they're trying to force themselves to pay attention. I don't usually talk a lot or talk much for a long period of time. I try not to give people the opportunity to get bored, I guess.

5. Ever get jealous of the popularity other Blogs?
Sort of, but once I think about it, I wouldn't want to be too popular. I like to see new comments, but some people have posts with more than 100 comments. I don't think I could deal with that. Being small-scale, I have a relationship with my visitors and a healthy balance between people I know in real life and people who are exclusively Internet friends.

6. What is your favorite dirty word? (those who don't curse can pick your favorite happy word)
B*****d. Hee hee hee. I also like to incorporate words from other countries, but I do that with everything - not just dirty words.

7. (the continuing story...) OK, we are definitely doing that again. But seeing as it is nearly 6am now, how about breakfast? Anywhere you'd like to go or should we fix our own? What do you like? Or is there something else we need to do first?
We are going out. I'm not fixing you anything. We are either going to have a traditional English breakfast or we are going to go to a place with a cafeteria-style breakfast bar, where we can choose from a wide array of breakfast foods. Yum!

BONUS: What have I done to deserve this?
I believe you kicked Alf.

I have just realized that I have little or no patience with stupid people, or people who don't apply themselves. Well, I didn't just realize that... I've always known that, but I just realized how it will pertain to my life. What kind of an assistante am I going to be? Those kids had better try to learn some English. Patience, srah, patience.

There is a reason that stores exist. Stores have not disappeared just because online shopping is available. Many people like to see a product before they buy it. They like to ask questions, look at the manual, and hold the product in their hands. They like to test it out and compare it to other similar products.

I went to Best Buy this weekend to buy a camera. I found the perfect one, but they didn't have it in stock. In fact, they barely had anything in stock.

Seems to me that back in the "good old days", they would have phoned around to nearby stores to see if anyone else had one. Instead, the guy told me I would have to buy it at BestBuy.com.

I came to the store so I wouldn't have to shop at BestBuy.com. So that I could use the $100 in stupid Best Buy gift cards I have - that are not redeemable at BestBuy.com - towards my camera. So that I would not have to pay shipping and handling and "order charges".

I ended up settling for a similar camera at Meijers. Sending people online - with no terrestrial alternative - is no way to do business.

1. Muppets
What do I love because they, like most of my favorite kinds of humour, manage to layer kid-humour and adult-humour so that everyone can enjoy them together?

Just the other day my family was watching Sesame Street (we were about to watch a video and turned on the TV while we were waiting for Becky) and Baby Bear was talking to Zoe about sharing. He wanted to take a ride in her toy car and offered her the chance to play with his little miniature car, which had a "wich Cowinthian weather" interior. We all had a giggle about that.

2. Pajamas
What did I seem to be the only person wearing to class this year?

My freshman year, everyone seemed to roll out of bed and go to class in pajamas every once in a while. This year, I felt incredibly alone when I did it. Not that it stopped me, slovenly student that I was. Now I'm a grown-up and I have to get dressed in the morning. And shower too!

3. Science Fiction
What is science fiction, anyway?

I've been trying to answer this question, but I keep coming up with things like Star Wars. Star Wars, for all its reputation, isn't really Science Fiction. There isn't much science in it. It's more along the lines of fantasy and adventure and happens to be set in space. So what are some examples of Science Fiction? I don't know if I've ever read/seen any.

We finally got around to picking up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on DVD. I think I liked the movie better than I did before - after a while to think about it - but there's still a lot missing. I would much rather have Book 5 out than the Chamber of Secrets in theaters.

The extras on the DVD are odd. The box says there are deleted scenes somewhere, but the extras are such a complicated tangle that it's impossible to find anything. Instead they make you play their little games. I WANT DELETED SCENES!

1) As I look back upon my life, it's always with a sense of... pride. I've done some rather silly things in the past but overall, I think I've done a good job of living.
2) What are you no-no-notorious for? Hmmm. Knowing how to do things on the Internet, having nice handwriting, knowing random facts about John Hannah, and talking funny.
3) Have you found what you're looking for? I've found a lot of things I wasn't looking for. And I suppose I've found some I was looking for, too. I wouldn't say I've found everything I'm looking for. You have to have goals and dreams or you'll just stop existing.
4) Who can that be knocking at your door? Not Alex! He doesn't have a car and it would be quite a walk. Must be some Mormons or Jehovah's Witnesses or something. Don't let Mommy answer it or she'll invite them in for tea and cookies.
5) Are you a family wo/man? I am, in that I like being a kid. I'm not sure that I would like being a mom.
6) Girls just want to have... lunch, according to Weird Al.
7) Some guys have all the... charm. Like Alex. And others don't have any at all. Strange, that.
8) (thanks Karen!) I'm once, twice, three times a... Hmmm. I'm four times a traveller to France... I'm four times a traveller to England. Two times a traveller to Scotland. I am three times a traveller in continental Europe, if you're counting countries (France, Switzerland and Belgium) and not trips from the US (four/five, depending on how you count my Christmas break trip home). There. Three. That was grueling.

My family and I went to the graduation party of a family friend today. Our families are friends because our mothers were in the same Mothers' Group before Nathan and I were born, then both Nathan and I and Becky and Galen (the graduate) went to nursery school together. We saw each other at Halloween every year for quite a while, but drifted apart as we got older. We still exchange Christmas cards and get updates on what they're doing, and invite each other to graduation parties.

I'm not sure if he had any say in the decision, but about 18 or 19 years ago, Nathan and I were going to get married. The fact that he's my ex-fiancé only makes our conversation more interesting.

He came over to our table to say hi, my mom asked him what he was doing, and he talked about his life in NYC for a while. Then he turned to me.

"So what are you doing now, Jill?"

"I'm-" Suddenly I realized the name tacked onto the end of the previous question. Should I correct him? Did he think I was someone else or had he just forgotten my name? Had I misheard?

Instead of being cool (I had been feeling cool, anyway) and giving him the well-thought-out repetitive answer I've been giving to everyone, Nathan got a specialized, individual answer:

"What? Sarah. What? I graduated. I just graduated. I'm Fr-I'm going to teach French. Next year. I'm going to teach English in France. Assistant teach. What?"

I don't think he caught on that he'd called me by the wrong name. I spent the rest of the evening trying to avoid having to talk to him. Excellent.

I don't know why I was embarassed, since he was the one who forgot my name. Maybe it's the embarassment of being forgettable...

I was at my middle school, looking desperately for a tissue and I ran into Becky's old French teacher. She made me ask for it in French and I was like "Essuie... essuie-nez... essuie... argh, mouchoir" so she gave it to me, but then she told me to follow her and she drove away into the countryside. It was a strange countryside where everyone except me was wearing big frou-frou dresses and bonnets and driving buggies.

Then, and more disturbingly, I dreamt I was dating Jerry Seinfeld, but I couldn't stop flirting with everyone around me, including a high school boy and George from "Seinfeld".

Yesterday when we arrived at work, there was a bunny sitting on the lawn.
"Bunny!" I exclaimed.
The bunny hopped.
"Bunny!" I pointed out to my father.
The bunny hopped.
"Bunny! Come here so I can hug you and love you forever!" I cried.
The bunny took off like a shot across the lawn. Smart bunny.