tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29775204948892120002024-02-19T03:22:22.382-08:00Oh hey, I'm (not) in Morocco.The contents of this Web site are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-73055754737825795902011-10-24T17:57:00.001-07:002011-10-24T17:57:55.552-07:00trying something outPlease <a href="http://littlemissallison.blogspot.com/">click</a>.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-3877718821716968712011-10-05T09:44:00.001-07:002011-10-05T10:06:39.369-07:00Strategic DefenseFirst, I want to mention that my sister wrote a really great post on <a href="http://committedbyamanda.blogspot.com/2011/10/october-october.html">her blog</a> recently. You can skip through the first 10 paragraphs and just watch this youtube clip instead:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpC-dZpD7eI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpC-dZpD7eI</a><br /><br />Around paragraph 11, though, Mandy writes a really touching and well-written bit about our dear friend Jeri Roberts, who we lost recently (and quite suddenly). It's worth taking a few minutes.<br /><br />Moving on: After reading <a href="http://thehairpin.com/2011/07/snappy-things-to-yell-back-at-construction-workers">a really hilarious post on TheHairpin.com</a>, I decided to make a list of things you can say to street canvassers. Some of you reading this might be lucky enough not to deal with strangers yelling at you to save-the-environment-or-else-you-are-a-demon. Unfortunately for DCists, this is a daily struggle. Therefore I give you, in random order:<br /><br />Responses to Approaching Street Canvassers<br /><br />"I shot a whale in Reno. JUST TO WATCH IT DIE."<br /><br />"Just brushed my teeth, sorry!" (You can also say other hygiene-related things: Just got my nails done, Just had a wax, Just cut my hair...whatever will confuse and disarm the most effectively).<br /><br />(This one involves props.) As soon as you see one honing in on you, get on your phone and start talking into it. When the canvasser tries to talk to you, cover the mouthpiece with your hand and say "My grandfather, who's been in a coma for 40 years, just woke up and is calling from the hospital. This is the first time he's ever heard my angelic voice and I was about to tell him I'm gay and that my life partner and I are adopting an Asian baby. I'd say that right now I really don't have 2 minutes to talk about the environment."<br /><br />"I don't want this flier, but I think that other guy in the same shirt you are wearing would probably be interested."<br /><br />"I'm sorry but this is misspelled."<br /><br />(for use when dealing with scary Pro-Life people that commandeer street corners guerilla-style and shove photos of bloody fetus in your face) "OH MY GOD I have that SAME dead fetus pic as wallpaper on my computer! TWINS!!!" (follow through with a hug)<br /><br />"I'll give you money but only if I can pay you in all coins. Also, I'd need to throw them at your face."<br /><br />"I don't like your face."<br /><br />"A dolphin stabbed my brother once, so if you'll please excuse me."<br /><br /><br />*These were all brainstormed while I was riding a bus with a fever. Apologies.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-53454949378930844752011-09-17T10:33:00.000-07:002011-09-17T11:09:18.155-07:00Financial planning for any weatherBefore I get into this, let me just note that I'm running a 100 degree fever right now and have been cooped up in my bed ALONE ALL DAY and might sound crazy.<div><br /></div><div>On Friday, before I went home in a fever-induced funk (possibly related?) my co-worker and I went to TWO seminars on retirement planning/saving for the future. Just to be as ironic as possible, we got lunch at Kinkead's in between the seminars (stop it. We had a Groupon.) Sure, I was too sick to eat anything besides chowder and hot tea, but at least it was delllllicccciousssss chowder.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first seminar was for Fidelity and the next for TIAA-CREF. I went into them thinking I'd like TIAA-CREF better, because Andy's dad works for them (SCIENTIFIC REASONING), but it turns out the two presenters gave basically the exact same presentation. Points go to Lady TIAA-CREF for speaking faster and letting us out early, but overall both presentations were made up of:</div><div><br /></div><div>--three parts crazy</div><div>--one part AGGGHH I'M POOR</div><div>--one part hackneyed, misused and/or confusing phrases</div><div><br /></div><div>As many a Morocco PCV knows, my note-taking skills are...creative? At best? I started out earnestly, writing down things like "save more" but then it was suddenly more interesting to make note of every crazy thing the presenters said. Here are some favorite quotes and lessons I took away from this invaluable experience:</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>TIAA-CREF lady, on the dangers of living past 65: "...and the last thing anyone wants to do is be a Wal-Mart greeter." Naturally, everyone kind of cringed when she said this so she back-pedaled and followed it up with something like "Now, if you WANT to be a Wal-Mart greeter, there's nothing wrong with that! HAHA! YAAAAA Wal-Mart! <i>(roundhouse kick)</i> Greeting is fun! Have you guys ever heard of Happy Feet? Because it's totally on sale at MY FAVORITE STORE WHERE RESPECTABLE OLDER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WILL TOTALLY SAY HI AND BYE TO YOU IF YOU GO THERE." </li><li>I know now that if I had invested $1 in stocks in 1926, I'd have over $2,000 today. I resisted the urge to raise my hand and ask how this fact was helpful for an individual whose grandfather was born in 1930.</li><li>Fidelity lady, responding to a question: "As long as you've been saving 10% since you were 22, you're fine." Well, shit.</li><li>The Fidelity lady was fairly slap-happy with the hackneyed quotes, and yelled "CASH IS KING" a few times near the beginning of her presentation. It was, therefore, confusing when, near the end, she pointed out that "cash is only king 12% of the time."</li><li>TIAA-CREF lady, on the services her company provides: "I'm not sure how many of you know this, but we have a service called "advice."</li><li>This is my favorite (!!!) quote from the TIAA-CREF lady because she said it TWICE, clearly demonstrating that she doesn't have a good grasp of the phrase "don't put all your eggs in one basket": "Now, you don't want to put all your eggs in one basket. You don't want just white eggs. You want some blue, some yellow, some green. You want to diversify." She literally said this, verbatim, twice in her presentation. I had so many questions on this concept but felt like it was smarter to stare at my notepad.</li></ul><div>Of course, I can mock them all I want, but I'm still a bum that can't manage my money.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-37108692533114004972011-08-31T19:01:00.000-07:002011-08-31T19:02:32.888-07:00A quick oneTonight, as I was sittin' on the curb in Farragut Square, eatin' some dinner and waitin' for my bus, I realized I totally looked homeless.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-90996221164145604172011-08-09T13:27:00.000-07:002011-08-09T13:35:06.979-07:00Also.Here is a true scene from my office:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It is midmorning in a quiet administrative office. Alli and Emily sit at their desks, minding their own GReaders, when A Random Dude walks in.</span>
<br />
<br />A Random Dude (to Alli): Hi there. Do you have a panic button?
<br />Alli: I...what?
<br />A Random Dude: A panic button. Under your desk.
<br />Alli: No?
<br />A Random Dude: <span style="font-style: italic;">checks something on his clipboard</span>. Okay, great. Thank you!
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A Random Dude exits.</span>
<br />
<br />Alli (to Emily): WHAT!
<br />Emily: I don't know! Panic buttons?
<br />Alli: DO I HAVE A PANIC BUTTON?
<br />Emily: I don't know?
<br />Alli: I THINK I'M SUPPOSED TO HAVE A PANIC BUTTON! I NEED ONE!
<br />Emily: In case of thieves!
<br />Alli: Yes! Except I'm not here whenever things are stolen.
<br />Emily: Oh. That's a shame.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Alli and Emily return to their computer screens.</span>
<br />
<br />Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-40050540120339584692011-08-09T13:07:00.000-07:002011-08-09T13:10:36.735-07:00No homo? part twoThese gems come largely from the second and third installments in the series, <span style="font-style:italic;">A Clash of Kings</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">A Storm of Swords</span>.
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<br />"They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel."
<br />
<br />"His father had spent his life grubbing in other men's fields..."
<br />
<br />"Harwin had pushed ahead of Anguy, but both were coming hard."
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<br />"House Manwoody"
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<br />"Anguy, on the morrow, take the rear with Beardless Dick."
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<br />And finally...a touch of bestiality:
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<br /> "The Dornish leader forked a stallion..."Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-37623240793743288762011-07-26T12:49:00.001-07:002011-07-26T12:55:42.143-07:00No homo? part oneI've been pretty into George R. R. Martin's <span style="font-style:italic;">Game of Thrones</span> series. It's sort of got a LOTR feel, but with more of a focus on politics and feuding families than fantastical elements. There ARE fantastical elements, to be sure: dragons, sorcerors, people who see the future, whathaveyou.<br /><br />Of course, my favorite fantastical element is the homoerotic writing style of Mr. GRRM. It doesn't always show up, and sometimes only mildly, but I've been taking note of the gayer quotes as I make my way through the series. What follows is the first installment of what I hope will be a riveting series called "No homo?" No big spoilers!<br /><br />5. I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach.<br /><br />4. It made Jon remember cold nights long ago at Winterfell, when he'd shared a bed with his brothers. These men were brothers too, though the bed they shared was stone and earth.<br /><br />3. Stannis will never march north with Storm's End untaken in his rear.<br /><br />2. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear.<br /><br />1. Yet he could scarcely tell Lord Mormont it was another man's sword he dreamt of...Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-92139682159444883632011-07-21T10:50:00.001-07:002011-07-21T10:50:31.330-07:00Fancy web thingsMy friend Sean made this cool clock.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://bipartisanpolicy.org/countdown/widget.php" width="250" height="350" border="0" frameborder="0" scrolling="auto"></iframe>Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-45833687188630332452011-06-30T06:19:00.000-07:002011-06-30T06:56:15.094-07:00Ladies thinkin' lady thoughtsOn the bus this morning, I received an email with the following photo from <a href="http://unearthedcaravan.soup.io/">Unearthed Caravan</a> (try clicking the picture to see a larger version):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_-ogEexbuK_vsvVI1Kj8ev1HBnJu5yRyAgBfDba45rPR0idLq6Si3YBk4LspG8KTi7S_Cw_JWTbCENaRNVbh4yyjoprOlGCbhK7fbDyL419N63QomFdsJWqgVvhp8IqcVI4Z5ZeYK116/s1600/1.jpeg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 84px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_-ogEexbuK_vsvVI1Kj8ev1HBnJu5yRyAgBfDba45rPR0idLq6Si3YBk4LspG8KTi7S_Cw_JWTbCENaRNVbh4yyjoprOlGCbhK7fbDyL419N63QomFdsJWqgVvhp8IqcVI4Z5ZeYK116/s320/1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624002195933810850" /></a><br /><br />And I just...no. I mean I get what it's trying to say. OH BOY. Woman are from Venus and Men have Penises. Or something. And who doesn't love a good stereotype? I don't want to go all angry Hulk feminist about this, as one of my roommates might, but this is just such a poorly thought-out chart.<br /><br />I have notes.<br /><br />1. Shoes = pot of gold<br /><br />First of all, am I the only one that thinks those shoes are disgusting? On closer inspection they seem to be Prada, but that doesn't matter. They look very dated and I don't want to put my feetses in them. I feel like if the Pope were into women's footwear, he'd totally wear these. If these shoes are unattainable in the way that a leprechaun's gold is unattainable, that's probably a good thing.<br /><br />2. A ladies' room sign = a large round table<br /><br />This is just stupid. I'll give you that some women like to go to the bathroom with their girlfriends. But who actually CONCEPTUALIZES the bathroom as a place where businesspeople talk about budget reports and upcoming projects? I have never prepared a Power Point presentation in anticipation of a visit to the bathroom.<br /><br />3. Teeny spider + penny = little girl being mauled by a giant muppet<br /><br />WHAT is that child doing with her face? Other than that, though, this is pretty accurate.<br /><br />4. butter knife = screwdriver<br /><br />Nope. Since when is this even a stereotype? I'm not going to pretend I know anything about tools, but what woman (who hasn't suffered from some sort of stroke) confuses a butter knife with a screwdriver? <br /><br />5. Compass rose = ...does that really say "toward the mall"?<br /><br />GUILTY. FINE. I don't understand cardinal directions and generally have no concept of where I am in space. Andy tries to teach me and I honestly try to learn, but after a few seconds the first few electric guitar chords of the overture from Jesus Christ Superstar sound in my head and all is lost because I'm too busy putting together my fantasy JCS cast. No, I won't tell you who I think should play Caiaphus. (It's that kid from the Chocolate Rain video.)<br /><br />6. Parallel parking = a slimmed-down Pillsbury Doughboy trying to push a ball through a square hole.<br /><br />Well if you're going to park like THAT, then yes, I would assume it would feel like that.<br /><br />7. butt = larger butt<br /><br />I get what this is trying to say. Women think they are fat. I have definitely looked in the mirror and thought I looked like a fatass. It happens. However, I have never stuck my butt out and took a photo of it, then looked at the photo and thought "Wow, so THIS is what that "apple bottom jeans" song is talking about, and also I have a rattail and may be black!"<br /><br />8. 7:00 = 7:55<br /><br />I don't really understand this one. I have a vagina, so when I read time I add 55 minutes? At first I thought this was trying to say something about how women are stereotypically late, but then wouldn't the clock that ladies see be earlier in time?<br /><br />9: check engine = engine is fine, ignore this<br /><br />I don't know about you, but I FREAK OUT if that light comes on and want to take care of it immediately. I freak out about lots of things, though, so I guess maybe this could be a stereotype I didn't know existed.<br /><br />Thoughts? Am I being too critical?Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-45416029013701467162011-06-15T12:16:00.001-07:002011-06-15T12:39:00.535-07:00Why you shouldn't wear a heating pad around in the summer monthsToday I have The Menstrual Cramping.<br /><br />In most areas, I have a fairly high tolerance for pain: I have a tattoo, I used to dance around on blistered toes for hours, and one time I broke my arm and then pretended it wasn't broken for a full day before seeking medical attention because, WHAT THE FUCK MY ARM IS SWOLLEN TO TWICE THE SIZE.<br /><br />For some reason, however, menstrual pains get me. And not like they <span style="font-style:italic;">get me</span> as in:<br /><br />me: I was so freaked out! It was a total mistake.<br />menstrual pain: Like that time that Michael Showalter shot a guy in "Stella" and was like "I. THOUGHT. HE. WAS. A. TURKEY. I SWEAR TO GOD."<br />me: (pregnant pause) That is <span style="font-style:italic;">exactly</span> what I mean.<br /><br />I mean that they get me in the way that I feel like I've been shot in the lower back and just want to cry about it all day and eat cookies.<br /><br />Anyway, I was saying that today I am experiencing this type of pain. Since I'm stuck at work and can't be a little ball of miserable, I decided to at least invest in one of those little heating pads that you just slap on to whatever part of your body is acting up. After a few minutes of being THAT girl in CVS with my Midol and my heating pad and my laundry detergent (to make it less obvious that I'm obviously on my period) I was back in my office wrapping that magical heating pad around my belly.<br /><br />And it was good. Friends, the next few hours sitting at my desk were a glorious blur of warmness. The heating pad felt so natural that I completely forgot it was on me!<br /><br />This is where it gets good. At lunch time, I decided to run into Georgetown real quick to pick up a new concealer from Sephora. I'm sorry this post is so insufferably girly.<br /><br />I was about ten minutes into the walk when I started thinking to myself, "Oh my is it warm out today. Especially around my midsection!"<br /><br />Then a few paces later, "I mean, it's like the sun is lasering in on my lower back! How odd!"<br /><br />Then about a block later, "That freaking heating pad is still on my back isn't it?"<br /><br />I guess I can count myself lucky because the shirt I'm wearing today camouflaged the heating pad. But Christ, once I realized I was wearing it, and that I had no safe place to duck into to take it off, it seemed to just get warmer and warmer.<br /><br />By the time I got to Sephora I was a sweaty mess. This is generally always an embarrassing thing to be, but in Sephora I'm always hyper aware of the judgmental, mascara'd eyes of the gays who work there. I always feel like I need to immediately apologize for my fashion, makeup and hair choices whenever a salesperson approaches me in that store. <br /><br />Thankfully, I knew exactly where my concealer was, picked it up and got out of there pretty quickly. A steamy 20 minutes later, I was in my office bathroom frantically peeling the heating pad off my person then chugging a bottle of water. Not spazzy at all.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-15326373213189286272011-05-31T08:13:00.000-07:002011-05-31T08:18:05.904-07:00I'm not joining your bicycle gang.This is a graphic representation of how good I am at certain activities:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLTblT8hj0i_sPTjVNQ3C6WgZRRSCudiSoBgRoTJvvt6T9-QGy0tcWGvIYhG8xuuyJbnJaNDf-3h2ieKl4ehTe_kTJtETTPARKfEjWkhYwvIuxLEg5Ny1izig6pF-mHphACWvJGEDibrY/s1600/blog.bmp"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLTblT8hj0i_sPTjVNQ3C6WgZRRSCudiSoBgRoTJvvt6T9-QGy0tcWGvIYhG8xuuyJbnJaNDf-3h2ieKl4ehTe_kTJtETTPARKfEjWkhYwvIuxLEg5Ny1izig6pF-mHphACWvJGEDibrY/s320/blog.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612898972329907298" /></a><br /><br />As you can see, a fair amount of the activities on this very scientific, unbiased illustration are things that I do VERY well. <br /><br />You can also see that a few of my “areas for improvement” involve wheel-based transportation.<br /><br />Why even bring this up? Since you’re asking, and I admire curiosity, I’ll tell you. For the past six months or so, I’ve been put under increasing amounts of peer pressure to first purchase, then commit to riding, a bicycle. My parents and childhood friends can probably explain why this would be such a poor life decision for me. You can go ask them if you want, and I’ll sit here and prepare a list of Reasons Why I Don’t Want to Ride Bikes with You:<br /><br /> 1. I can haz bike fundz? (see previous posts about being a poor Peace Corps Volunteer).<br /> 2. I prefer modes of transportation that don’t require helmets.<br /> 3. I don’t trust myself to not freak out if a car is anywhere near me at any given time on the road.<br /> 4. I don’t want to roll up my pants on one side.<br /> 5. This one time I was riding my bike in my neighborhood and I ran into a parked car.<br /> 6. Helmets are sweaty.<br /> 7. Helmets mess up your hair.<br /> 8. Is walking really so horrible? Why am I the only person that likes walking to places?<br /><br />Friends, I really am sorry. I love you, but we’re not going for a bike ride.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-73322129962164554812011-05-26T18:38:00.000-07:002011-05-26T18:54:13.607-07:00Strangers- WHO NEEDS EM.I left Morocco with lots of things, despite my manic tendency to purge whenever I move. Cute sandals and memorable anecdotes about my bowels definitely made it on the plane home, but so did another, small thing: an all-consuming fear that approaching strangers want to burgle me.<br /><br />I guess it didn't help when I actually WAS robbed a few months ago, but that's beside the point.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, I was on the metro platform waiting for my train when a young guy sidled up to me and said, a little too loudly, "so when do ya think the train's coming, EH?"<br /><br />I was confused. I mean, there's a sign! And it says when trains come! Obviously, this dude wanted my wallet.<br /><br />Clutching my purse to my chest, I stabbed my index finger at the sign and said something like "I believe it arrives in one minute, SIR." Then I turned and faced the tracks, still hugging my possessions for dear life.<br /><br />"Oh, ha," the thief said. "I'm new here, I guess I missed the sign. Are you new here?"<br /><br />"NO." (ha! This chump won't pull some sort of tourist-trap pickpocket trick on THIS girl.)<br /><br />"Oh. Okay."<br /><br />By now the train was pulling up, and I sprinted away from the criminal and into a car a bit further down the platform. Another day, another thief defeated.<br /><br />...it was only after the train started moving again and I released the vice-like grip on my bag (I've been working out) that I realized he was probably just hitting on me.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-89912418543906794822011-03-06T18:30:00.000-08:002011-03-06T19:10:45.819-08:00Oh hey..no I haven't been avoiding you! I just...you know. SO BUSY!So I didn't die. I'm very much alive, and have been meaning to blog, but didn't really know what to talk about.<br /><br />To put it simply, I left Peace Corps in late November and have since moved back to Washington. Leaving was not an easy choice, in fact it kind of ripped me apart. It was, however, what needed to be done. The situation I was in wasn't safe or healthy any more, and even on my most Morocco-sick days I can see that I'm still happier here than I was at the bitter end of my Peace Corps career.<br /><br />Adjusting to life in the states has been a joy. I freaked out the first time I entered a Sephora and couldn't remember what I needed to buy, and just sort of stood in the middle of the store panicking. I've let the occasional "maskina/inchallah/hamdullah/bsa7a" slip here and there (it just feels so RIGHT) and I've had a few random crying spells. Sitting in an office all day is rough. I can't drink the way my friends do. I think I will always have digestion problems now. No one makes bread the way my host mom does, and NO one makes couscous. Much like Buster, I seem to find both crowds AND large, open spaces overwhelming. On top of everything, I miss my family and friends so much I often lose my train of thought. All in all, transitioning back to America is more difficult than entering Morocco was. Granted, this is a problem I was expecting to encounter.<br /><br />One aspect of life in Washington that hasn't disappointed has been having my boyfriend back. We can go wherever we want together! In public! Of course, the places we usually end up at are more in the "Blockbuster going-out-of-business sale" category than anything else, but I can't complain. It's what we do. One day we DID go to a fancy restaurant and ate churros for dessert. That was a good day.<br /><br />Drinking is an ongoing struggle. My tolerance is getting better, little by little, but sometimes I think I don't really want it to. All my light-weight stories are just too entertaining. Here are a few snippets:<br /><br />I went to this little restaurant around the corner to eat dinner and read for a bit and, on a whim, ordered one glass of red wine. By the time I had finished my glass I was noticeably wobbly. I stumbled home and babbled at my roommate for a few minutes ("OH MY GOD. SWEET POTATOES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE NORMAL KIND. THE NORMAL KIND SHOULDN'T EVEN EXIST.RIGHT?! RIGHT?!")until he found an out. Alone in the kitchen, I decided I should make my lunch for the next day. I took my time fixing lunch then went upstairs, called Andy and sounded crazy and passed out. The next morning, I discovered the lunch I had put together---a very tiny peanut butter sandwich and one clementine orange. Why did that take 15 minutes to prepare? I don't know.<br /><br />Last night I was out with some girl friends. After a two drinks I could tell I needed to slow down. We were going into a bar when the bouncer told us there was a $3 cover charge. I FREAKED out about it, left my friends and took a cab home. Except I didn't go home. I called my boyfriend and said "ARE YOU AWAKE?!I'MF COMING OVER. OKAY BYE." I arrived, stripped down to my underwear and promptly fell asleep. (booty call fail).<br /><br />The problem is I'm still really messed up emotionally, and you never can tell when drinking will lead to a cute story or a freak out.<br /><br />At the risk of sounding like a total hot mess, I'll move on to non-alcohol related topics.<br /><br />Surprising things about America:<br /><br />I forgot your shit can get stolen just as easily here as in Morocco. Last week my bag was stolen from my desk at work. Considering the past 12 months or so, this was not that big of a deal. But getting new keys, ordering new credit cards and a new phone and losing some irreplaceable memories kind of sucked.<br /><br />Justin Bieber is actually a big deal. (I was hoping it was just one of those weird trends that had picked up internationally)<br /><br />WMATA (http://www.wmata.com/) is almost totally useless. My bus is late so often that I miss it if it shows up on time, and Metro has been using every three-day weekend as an excuse to do major construction on one or more metro lines.<br /><br />You have to like, go to a doctor for prescription meds. I don't understand why I can't just text the pharmacist what I need and have her send it to my house, free of charge.<br /><br />That's enough posting for now, considering I didn't even stretch first and it's been like three months. To everyone that is still making it work in Morocco, thala fraskum, twa7echtkum bezzaf o nchoufkum inchallah.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-54925533181058811422010-11-18T07:01:00.001-08:002010-11-18T07:12:03.913-08:00You will let me know when the lambs stop screaming, won't you?A photo post. Mabrouk L'Eid!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfPwlEnYQOq6yGM2IS0JyyLdklx5NjqhjRpnC5m6pL8GT8Qoq9oYNem4Vg_OWIGAn3kZraILeybFYJYQamluTQzyT0dL2EYDL4VBiZgtNxlA094V_5AKQEj9axp2EKWFBrSWVIMV9KDHl/s1600/DSCN1405.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfPwlEnYQOq6yGM2IS0JyyLdklx5NjqhjRpnC5m6pL8GT8Qoq9oYNem4Vg_OWIGAn3kZraILeybFYJYQamluTQzyT0dL2EYDL4VBiZgtNxlA094V_5AKQEj9axp2EKWFBrSWVIMV9KDHl/s320/DSCN1405.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540906078905222098" /></a> <br />Youngest host brother with the sheep.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuiZ3pZu11K3RF5pSBqQRIjoQs2Q_RXK7dEBzli5FRmGNcAeQ7UdRzdrnHvZTge-MPT89NYDNjkp72oGRa2Ho_TknU8Y8h2-e4Um5VQVWbtDAyEz9N1lT4FW_pmFj62QehqA8zqqsoUb2/s1600/DSCN1410.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuiZ3pZu11K3RF5pSBqQRIjoQs2Q_RXK7dEBzli5FRmGNcAeQ7UdRzdrnHvZTge-MPT89NYDNjkp72oGRa2Ho_TknU8Y8h2-e4Um5VQVWbtDAyEz9N1lT4FW_pmFj62QehqA8zqqsoUb2/s320/DSCN1410.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540906080299955858" /></a> <br />The family<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbVF6ShmoZhvi5KRksU8hfqbQmhEU2ljYfxbTg-QLlw77gTLCn5Fuzjip9F_l8sWEhWS8e9n2HEOgfU3U3BwV2D20RweyVXfdtI2ggLjHwZPhxfESGiGaFn3k7O5g1AXzjOnAlhXtNwp3/s1600/DSCN1445.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbVF6ShmoZhvi5KRksU8hfqbQmhEU2ljYfxbTg-QLlw77gTLCn5Fuzjip9F_l8sWEhWS8e9n2HEOgfU3U3BwV2D20RweyVXfdtI2ggLjHwZPhxfESGiGaFn3k7O5g1AXzjOnAlhXtNwp3/s320/DSCN1445.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540906084180775186" /></a> <br />Some tasty innards, waiting to be cooked<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaHRA1JTOnESaF8lTSi71lRxvyL3SZkbhze9nfDtrIcYPJUE0Z3cVeMLg2P5OxL_El1X1LHuRcu_zA8882UaltasJaKmHGE_E1aodylfafmupmGZRZYs3r7Tbht9UYVAA4uvcxm6vsYJz/s1600/DSCN1451.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaHRA1JTOnESaF8lTSi71lRxvyL3SZkbhze9nfDtrIcYPJUE0Z3cVeMLg2P5OxL_El1X1LHuRcu_zA8882UaltasJaKmHGE_E1aodylfafmupmGZRZYs3r7Tbht9UYVAA4uvcxm6vsYJz/s320/DSCN1451.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540906089468957938" /></a> <br />Relaxing with teaAllihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-23274537508940133172010-11-13T12:32:00.000-08:002010-11-13T12:33:38.124-08:00You probably work in development if:After seeing a used condom discarded in the street, your reaction is to think "good for them!"Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-8684378283847896992010-11-12T11:33:00.000-08:002010-11-12T11:40:13.541-08:00Slow children crossingI swore in as a Volunteer one year ago. Tomorrow will be the anniversary of the day I arrived in my site.<br /><br />After a full calendar year, there's still a crazed young child that runs after me in the street yelling "HAWAII! HAWAII!"<br /><br />It took me a few months, but I finally deduced that he thinks "Hawaii," a popular brand of orange soda here, is the same thing as "how are you."Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-37435061209679097782010-11-11T06:18:00.000-08:002010-11-11T06:19:37.733-08:00Something clever that I didn't write:A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him,<br /><br />"Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."<br /><br />The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above ground elevation of 2,346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.<br /><br />"She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be an Obama Democrat."<br /><br />"I am,"replied the man. "How did you know?"<br /><br />"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct. But I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."<br /><br />The man smiled and responded, "You must be a Republican."<br /><br />"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"<br /><br />"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You've risen to where you are due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but somehow, now it's my fault."Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-87006728949756147652010-11-06T15:12:00.000-07:002010-11-06T15:15:38.710-07:00I'm kind of an idiot.Andy: oh my god are you ready<br /> for how excited i am right now<br /> you aren't<br /> is the answer<br /> because I am about to watch the first episode of this new show<br />me: what show?!<br />Andy: it's called<br /> The Walking Dead<br />me: is it about zombies??<br />Andy: YES<br />me: wait<br /> like fiction?Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-60019444754996624792010-11-06T03:04:00.001-07:002010-11-06T03:04:59.050-07:00A Big Thank You to Matt and TanieYeah, it was the batteries.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-8620977964731862412010-11-03T16:36:00.000-07:002010-11-03T17:03:02.160-07:00You need muscles.Hi.<br /><br />There aren't many people who speak English in my town. Most of the people that say they "speak English" actually know a few key phrases like "you're crazy!" and "I eat couscous." It's like how you can convince someone you speak a Berber dialect if you know how to say "bread" and "tea." The point is, it's always very surprising when someone I've never met throws out a new string of English words that make sense in the given context.<br /><br />FOR EXAMPLE.<br /><br />I've been troubleshooting, sort of, what's wrong with my water heater over the past few weeks. It stopped producing hot water this summer, but I was hardly bothered by it then. Who takes hot showers in June? Lately, of course, it's been a bit of an issue. <br /><br />Not wanting to admit that there might be something wrong with the actual water heater, I decided there was a problem with my buta. Buta, for those of you who are not aware, is what we call our huge butane gas tanks that power our water heaters, stoves, and ovens if we have them.<br /><br />Butas are very heavy. I had an inkling that mine might be empty, but the tank itself is so goddamn heavy I can't tell if it's got anything in it or not. Last week a friend was visiting and he confirmed that it was, indeed, empty. <br /><br />I sat on this information for a couple days, but tonight I was feelin' sassy. I decided to deal with this buta once and for all. After eating cookies and watching a terrible Mexican soap opera with my host aunt, of course... and after stopping by my landlord to borrow a wrench, making sure I dropped some hints that I'd be carrying my buta tank down to the shop to have it filled and trying to look as weak as possible so that maybe he'd just do it for me. No dice.<br /><br />Once I got the empty buta into a comfortable position, I found it was sort of easy to waddle down the hill from my front door to the shop. The fact that I live on a hill becomes important later (foreshadowing!).<br /><br />The shop assistant filled up my buta very quickly and then just kind of looked at it and at me, as if to say "I can't wait to see how this is going to go." I smiled down at my buta as if it were a loyal pet or something and nudged it. Except it didn't move. This was supposed to be the shop assistant's cue to offer to carry it to my house, but once again, no dice. So I asked to borrow his buta cart and started trying to roll it up the hill to my house.<br /><br />Some tips for dragging a full butane gas tank up a gravelly hill:<br /><br />1. carbo-load.<br />2. don't wear ballet flats. Serious work requires serious footwear.<br />3. get someone else to do it. The common term for this in Peace Corps Morocco is to "small boy" it, referring to the Moroccan tradition of making a little kid run your errands for you, but I think that regarding buta, you might need to "large boy" it.<br /><br />After about five minutes of huffing and puffing and dragging my buta uphill, I looked up to see that I'd moved about three feet, and sort of more sideways than up. At this point I also noticed a group of teenage boys staring at me. I may have disobeyed tips 1 and 2, but it wasn't too late for 3:<br /><br />Alli: Yimkin y3awni? (Could you help me?)<br />Boy: You need muscles! (<--note the English here)<br />Alli: Haha, yep. <br />--awkward smiles all around--<br />Alli: ...Iwa...y3awni? (So...help me?)<br /><br />The boy very nicely (and effortlessly) dragged my buta up to the alleyway where my house is, allowing my poor little arms to recuperate for the last hurrah--getting the buta off the cart and into my house. He said nothing else in English, leading me to believe that the one phrase he's picked up in life is "you need muscles!"<br /><br />At this point I'd like to point out that my water heater still doesn't work.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-48406089638497456402010-11-02T14:06:00.000-07:002010-11-02T14:25:11.215-07:0015 Books in 15 MinutesThe Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books/authors (poets included) who've influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. <br /><br />Harriet the Spy - Louise Fitzhugh<br /><br />Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky<br /><br />The Winter of Our Discontent - John Steinbeck<br /><br />Atonement - Ian McEwan<br /><br />Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson<br /><br />The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen<br /><br />Winnie-the-Pooh/ The House at Pooh Corner - A.A. Milne<br /><br />Through the Looking Glass - Lewis Carroll<br /><br />Skinny Legs and All - Tom Robbins<br /><br />The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver<br /><br />The Thornbirds - Colleen McCulloch<br /><br />The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand<br /><br />Calvin and Hobbes (comic books count, I decided) - Bill Watterson<br /><br />Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand<br /><br />The Lorax - Dr. SeussAllihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-89413459185052335042010-10-25T11:57:00.000-07:002010-10-25T12:12:41.632-07:00Step 1: Apply Paint Thinner Directly to Skin.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFCwXwG9GzlX5vgMrG-Veaj_DDAV-CwbP7HMVwtsoHa7hjFIZWNOOu1uKOWrqSVcOQgwZFFg7Lh3pQ6CFX14L1Q331bdwe5AZdGwhb-7Le3olYcWFFTjENh-hHDgE_kQj_-knG_nTMhFv/s1600/DSCN1113.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFCwXwG9GzlX5vgMrG-Veaj_DDAV-CwbP7HMVwtsoHa7hjFIZWNOOu1uKOWrqSVcOQgwZFFg7Lh3pQ6CFX14L1Q331bdwe5AZdGwhb-7Le3olYcWFFTjENh-hHDgE_kQj_-knG_nTMhFv/s320/DSCN1113.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532060822652935282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTVEltjG6RoKDlq-1TeS7FLsNoJ9Ihzna9b0fK813ykndraall4ta2nTvQm_uRmnLLxpf6wz_C_3iYBTPPrrmAi_dBaR6crLyk7C1apKisyHyudorvXnDMUZD40lK_ZDlhIOeLjImamFI/s1600/DSCN1111.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTVEltjG6RoKDlq-1TeS7FLsNoJ9Ihzna9b0fK813ykndraall4ta2nTvQm_uRmnLLxpf6wz_C_3iYBTPPrrmAi_dBaR6crLyk7C1apKisyHyudorvXnDMUZD40lK_ZDlhIOeLjImamFI/s320/DSCN1111.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532060327376914354" /></a><br /><br />The word for paint thinner in Darija is "doulio." It's one of those words that I have no reason to know, but there it is. Here's a dialogue, translated to English for your reading pleasure:<br /><br />THE SCENE:<br />Khadija's house. Mexican soap opera dubbed in Darija on the tv. Khadija and I lounge on the floor as she draws henna flowers all over my hands.<br /><br />Me: So this isn't the first time I've done henna, but my hands feel like fire and my skin's turning red. So good or no good?<br /><br />Khadija: It's no problem. It's probably because you're so insanely white.<br /><br />--time passes--<br /><br />Me: Yeah, maybe it's because I'm white. It's very...I don't know. It feels very much like fire.<br /><br />Khadija: Well, I mixed the henna with paint thinner. Sorry I forgot to tell you.<br /><br />Me: Sorry, paint thinner?<br /><br />Khadija: Yeah. No problem?<br /><br />Me: I guess?Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-58795115616143318882010-10-25T10:46:00.000-07:002010-10-25T11:42:42.882-07:00We Teach English Good.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsIV3GZjcx6T6QsV5H5kDSivO-luyYyPzjRVFbcjw89-919IL7pE0jbhJqbHefi9cVYluiv6qpTAlEyqqrsOMTkRDMfEEQIdsOQPxjLo3_obZrQHtUyyv6ztHtoGFsHhWWhvTcxBC7ZDKi/s1600/DSCN1130.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsIV3GZjcx6T6QsV5H5kDSivO-luyYyPzjRVFbcjw89-919IL7pE0jbhJqbHefi9cVYluiv6qpTAlEyqqrsOMTkRDMfEEQIdsOQPxjLo3_obZrQHtUyyv6ztHtoGFsHhWWhvTcxBC7ZDKi/s320/DSCN1130.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532042172566051954" /></a><br /><br />Note: I didn't write "Alli-Pants" on my own Manual. My dearest Jolie prepared my book for me.<br /><br />So last week I was in a small town facilitating a series of sessions on English teaching to some new Trainees. Having no degree in teaching, I was clearly the best person for the job.<br /><br />The week was long, exhausting, at times frustrating, but in the end I think it was really good for me. I needed a break from my life, and I stayed away just long enough to start missing it again.<br /><br />Some things that happened:<br />So I stayed with a different host family every night. There were two single girls, one single boy and one married couple in the training group, and I stayed with each family once (except the single boy) and with the language teacher the remainder of the week. Each family had a different way of making me feel welcome. In one house, the host father taught me magic card tricks. In another, a host sister sat with me and showed me her homework. The most surprising demonstration, however, occurred on Tuesday night.<br /><br />Usually when visiting a new town you want to locate the hemmam, or public bath. Drawing hot water for a bath can be an awkward favor to ask of your host, so if it's possible to just go to the hemmam, that's the option I want to pick. Unfortunately, the tiny town I was sent to DID NOT HAVE A HEMMAM. I know. I was thrown, too.<br /><br />So Tuesday night rolls around and I'm a little smelly. The host family I am visiting seems really open and cool, so I decide to ask if I can take a bath there. My first warning signal should have been how ready and rarin' the host mother was to set up my bath.<br /><br />About twenty minutes after I asked to bathe, the host mother came into the living room to tell me "it was time." She very nicely led me upstairs to the bathroom, then into the bathroom. Then waited patiently as I set down my things.<br /><br />Oh, God. I realized. She's not leaving, is she?<br /><br />No, self. No she isn't. I, an able-bodied adult who has taken the reins concerning my personal hygience since I was a child, was destined to be bathed by a strange woman.<br /><br />I realize that this is far from the first time this has happened to me in Morocco. However, it's the first time it's happened to me outside of a hemmam. In the hemmam, you at least kind of see it coming.<br /><br />The funny thing is, once she started scrubbing my back I was totally okay with it.<br /><br />So another thing that happened was I got to feel smart for a whole week. Translating stuff for Trainees and their host families. Finding that someone actually values my opinion and wants to hear about my experiences in the field. It was nice.<br /><br />I could go on to tell you oodles of anecdotes, but I'm going to just skip to, what I feel, is the defining moment of the week.<br /><br />By day four, my body had completely started to reject the host family diet of a huge breakfast, followed by a coffee break, followed by a huge lunch, followed by a coffee break, followed by a huge afternoon snack of differing oily breads, followed by a huge dinner. Considering my body has grown accustomed to my usual lazy diet of hard-boiled eggs, I can't really blame it.<br /><br />I do wish my body had been a little more forgiving when scheduling it's mutiny, because as it turned out, I was booting into a squat toilet at the exact same time that the Youth Development Program Manager and Assistant were waxing motivational to my group of stressed-out, fatigued Trainees. Let me tell you, the house we were in had to have been built with the idea of maximizing echo capability in mind. I did everything in my power to control how loudly my melodious wretchings wafted through the house, but I still think it was fairly obvious what was going on. I only hope no one saw the juxtaposition of my being violently ill against Peace Corps Staff's attempt to invigorate and inspire as foreboding. <br /><br />!!!Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-39494974232815516472010-10-11T10:13:00.000-07:002010-10-11T10:41:43.330-07:00Once upon a time, not too long ago, a @#%%& like myself had to strong-arm a ho.Based on zero scientific inquiry or conversation with my fellow stagemates, I feel confident saying that, for most of us, the second year is getting off to a much smoother start than the first.<br /><br />Things are just EASIER all of a sudden. I have a better idea of who I can rely on in my community, what kind of projects my kids want to do, what will work, what's not worth the effort, etc. I even have cool new kids coming to Dar Chabab. I didn't expect to get many new recruits in my second year, but there are three in particular that I'm already quite fond of.<br /><br />There is so much stuff that I'm more comfortable with, too. Last year, if I had too much downtime I started freaking out that I wasn't serving my community well enough or something, that I was being lazy. <br /><br />Five seasons of West Wing later, I think it's safe to assume I got over that.<br /><br />If a kid is giving me lip, I'm not worried that if I'm strict with him he won't come back to Dar Chabab. THEY ALL COME BACK. And if they don't (THEY DO) then chances are there wasn't much you could do for them anyway. I know now to invest my time in kids that want my help.<br /><br />I'm also taking a lot less shit from people this year. Examples of how none of my problems are a bitch:<br /><br />-A counterpart tried to insert himself into Dar Chabab activities, re-working the schedule I so carefully crafted based on student needs, and I shut him down in a meeting in front of his peers. I should also note that he made these suggestions after coming an hour late to a meeting he set up, wearing the dumbest, most ridiculously over-sized wristwatch I've ever seen. This is awkward because my role as a Volunteer here shouldn't be taking control over everything, but when someone is demanding to have large blocks of time alloted to them for doing activities that kids aren't really that interested in (and acting like a douchebag while doing it), you see where I feel the need to step in.<br /><br />-Some punk made kissy noises at me in the street and I confronted him about right then and there. I'm not sure if it actually did any good, but I certainly felt a lot better about myself.<br /><br />I'm sure I'm headed for disaster soon, but for right now I'm glad to be here. How are you?Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2977520494889212000.post-45550793528223857962010-10-05T15:06:00.000-07:002010-10-05T15:29:33.987-07:00Fun with ComprehensionYou may not believe this, but there were dark times in my past when I didn't know everything.<br /><br />For example, as a Peace Corps Trainee I had this wild idea that one day I would be able to understand Moroccan people when they spoke to me and all my communication troubles would be over.<br /><br />As it turns out, learning to comprehend words is only the first hurdle. I've got a much better grasp on Darija than I did in the early weeks and months, and I've noticed that instead of making me stress-free about communication, it's just made room for me to focus on new problems.<br /><br />1. Did he really just ask me that?<br /><br />On a few recent occasions, I've completely understood an individual, but was so thrown off by what he was saying I assumed I hadn't heard him correctly. Let's go to the very scientific transcript:<br /><br />Boumar: Chal 3andek b kilu? (How many kilograms do you weigh?)<br />Alli: ...chnou? (What?)<br />Boumar: B kilu. Chal 3andek daba? (In kilograms. How much are you now?)<br />At this point I started imploding.<br /><br />2. Wait...that's not Arabic is it.<br /><br />Sometimes a student will be talking to me in Darija, then swiftly change the subject and throw in an English word or two. It's pretty embarrassing when you don't realize you are being spoken to in your native tongue. To the transcript!<br /><br />Oussama: ...Iyeh, 3andi qraiya fe l3chiya welakin ghanji ghadda. (Yeah, I have school in the afternoon but I'll come tomorrow). <br />Alli: Wakha makayn mochkil. (Okay, no problem.)<br />Oussama: Alli! Chnahiya annieareyouokay? (Alli! What's "Annie, are you okay?")<br />Alli: Ach gilti liya? (What'd you say?)<br />Oussama: Michael Jackson! Annie, are you okay? What is it?<br />And then I launched into an awkward explanation of the storyline for Smooth Criminal.<br /><br />3. Details schmetails<br /><br />Darija is all about inferences. Even when you have a strong command of the language, it can be difficult to follow a train of thought because Moroccans can go for minutes on end talking about someone or a group of people without ever directly calling them by name. This happened last week:<br /><br />Oussama: Jau lekhrayn? (Did the others come?)<br />Alli: Chkoun lekhrayn? (Who are the others?)<br />Oussama: Smithum. (What's-their-names.)<br />Alli: [bewildered stare.]<br />Oussama: Huma! (Them!)<br />Alli: [whimpering]<br />Oussama: HUMA li jau hanaya simana li daz m3a babahum. Jedad. (THE ONES that came here last week with their dad. They're new.)<br />And twenty minutes later we arrive at the same page. And yes, they did come.Allihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18184464454907325542noreply@blogger.com0