Yay for First Days

Downtime - I can't decide whether I like it or not. I don't have anyone's cell (because most people don't have them yet) so I can't make plans or DO anything (hey. HEY! I know I wouldn’t be doing anything anyway because it’s 50 people I don’t know and I am scared of them. BUT WE’RE BEING POSITIVE HERE. Jump on the happy train). Bah.

This is the post I wrote last night (with some edits, maybe, because it is impossible for me to read my own writing without quivering in shame)(on that note, what is this with this Faultline linkage? You mean smart people will be reading this? Does that mean I have to write up to them? Because I can't imagine that I will. Stupid self-image-related standards. Grumble grumble).

Holy crap I am actually here.

However, before we reach Spain/Europe-related topics, I have a riddle for you - a conundrum, if you will:
What's worse than being stuck in a gigantic tube of fuel with 200 people for 6 hours on a redeye with a seat that doesn't recline and recirculated air and Garfield: The Movie and a pinched nerve in your left leg?
All of the above, except with 200 people who've had Mexican Chicken with Beans and Rice for dinner.

I hope I just spoiled all of your appetites.

A story that predates the riddle:

So I'm sitting in JFK reading my book, because in a typical fit of paranoia I left myself 5 hours between my Buffalo-NYC flight and my NYC-Madrid flight. *Sidenote: How much do I love the world for deciding to release Elizabeth George's newest paperback at the same time as this trip? Answer: You can't possibly imagine.* I'm pretty much alone at the gate because I'm so early, but all of a sudden I hear the tiniest little sneeze to my right...which is odd because I'm on the right endseat. So I turn around and look - nothing. Look down and (wait for it)

a pigeon walks out from under my chair.

I don't think it was expecting to see me, either, since it went into hunted-prey mode and just stared at me intently. Needless to say, this is an Only In New York story that I dare you to top.

Seriously: Airport/Animal stories - lay them on me.

In a combination of clairvoyance and common sense, I predicted I'd be flying over with the lovely Erin Conter. And I was! It was good to see her, since it's been a while. Actually, DIM this year is like a little Bassett reunion - between Erin, Mark Dunlap, Alex Clavero, second-floor Will, and myself, we could have a party. I like it. It means THERE ARE PEOPLE HERE I KNOW. Thank god for that.

My host mom/señora/the nice lady who feeds me is named Pilar. She's very cool. I have my own room (insert gigantic sigh of relief here) - another girl apparently lives in the next room over, but it's been two days and I haven't seen her yet. She's bumming around Madrid with her boyfriend for the next two weeks, Pilar says. Pilar also says this girl (named Kate) knows no Spanish. Or about as much Spanish as you can learn from watching The Simpsons. ¡Ay, caramba!

Pilar reminds me the tiniest bit of Grandma Clarke in the most superficial ways possible - namely, there is a ceramic rooster atop the fridge and a pretty crocheted white thing-in-progress in the living room. However, instead of Georgie or the other cockatiel who hated my guts, there is a black cocker spaniel named Nube. Nube and I would get along well enough were it not for two factors:

1. I wear sandals pretty much exclusively.
2. Nube has a toe fetish.

I have become a gigantic and expensive squeaky toy.

I haven't been anywhere in Madrid yet (but I haven't BEEN here for that long!) except for my own neighborhood, around which I've been taking leisurely and circuitous walks. It's a quiet area, and it's easier for me to get to school here than it is to take the East-West bus. I was wandering around one of the larger streets yesterday and managed to find (surprise, surprise) The American Store.

They have Wheat Thins.

I'm resisting the urge, because it would be obscene.

Speaking of obscene, I tried an ATM today just to see if my (expired yesterday) bank card would work. ATM think plastic tasty. Yum, yum. I don't have a bank card anymore. Should I be worried? Because I'm not. That's the obscene part.

For the sake of decency and not frittering my time away on the internet (though I'm not sure what else there is to do besides homework, which consists of three pages of reading), I'm'a go now. Stupid everyone else, who all know each other. Stupid me, for being shy. Stupid free time. Stupid stupid.