Monthly Archives: November 2010

Piropos

I know I said I wanted to be a writer, but life is taking me a little too literally right now…in the next two weeks I have a ten-page paper on El Salvador for my Latin American civ class (which I hate, because my professor has an evil malevolent smile which always means he is up to no good), a five-page personal essay for my Latin American short story class (which I hate less), and a five-page movie evaluation for my Cinema class exam (which is the easiest class I have and one of the only two I actually like).

And THEN I have five exams. Which, okay, won’t be that bad considering one of them consists of sitting there and talking to my communications professor. For a grade. Although, considering I fell on him when he was trying to help me off a horse last month, this might not go so well…

Anyway. I’m taking my brain out of the library long enough to talk about Monday, also known as The Best Business Class Ever. Even though we technically had two classes and this one was the makeup for my professor’s mysterious medical appointment.

Pretty much the only thing we did on Monday was talk about piropos, or, for all you anglophiles, Pick Up Lines. Here are three of my favorites:

1. Dame una pestaña para hacer un jersey.

 Literally, “give me one of your lashes so I can make myself a sweater.” Fig., your lashes are really long.

2. Él es queso.

Studmuffin.

The third is my personal favorite.

3. Tantas curvas y yo sin frenos.

 

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Paris

Ah, Paris. The City of Love. The Arc du Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower…

So why was I there without my boyfriend? Well, things being what they were, his friends were coming over from Belgium for the weekend, and I had bought the tickets six weeks before…

Shame. I could have used his help. This was a typical conversation:

ME: Bonjour!

FRENCH PERSON: Bonjour. Blahblahblah? Blahblehblohble?

ME: …Oui?

FRENCH PERSON: Blahblehflghgiweghbwgebw.  HTRHQWHE. D.

ME: …..

        …….

        Anglais?

Which is not to say I didn’t enjoy myself. Given the absence of my adorable personal Francophone, the only evidence I saw of Paris being the City of Love were the machines selling condoms at every Metro stop. And the books talking about the best places in which to kiss your significant other so that so you annoy people. And the condoms on the ground.

In any case, I saw Notre Dame and the Louvre.

I cried in front of Degas at the Musee d’Orsay, because it was beautiful. Then I cried in front of Chopin’s tomb, because his music was beautiful. Then I cried in front of Oscar Wilde’s tomb because his wit was so biting.

I also terrified myself by climbing the stairs up the Eiffel Tower–despite my fear of heights–and by trying escargot. Which, believe me, is terrifying for a reason.

And I skipped down the courtyard in front of the Louvre, deliriously happy to be in Paris at night. Perhaps they had put something in my Merlot.

And I found my place. I am IN LOVE with Montmartre as I have never loved a place before.

Except, I don’t speak French.

Sing, oh Muse, of Ernest Hemingway and his expatriot journey of many days and nights…

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When Life Throws You Loops, put them in a Bowl of Milk

The last month has been pretty surprising, I have to say. Kind of like Froot Loops, which always look fake and gross but are actually pretty good.

The weekend Ricardo fed us at our six-star restaurant, we also toured the nearby (aka two hours away) city of Segovia, with its immense two-thousand-year-old aqueduct. The following day we toured the historical university of Salamanca, which is eight times as old as the Jamon Iberico which has been curing in the shops here since 1910.  The library alone was worth killing for. Some day…

And sometimes, life really does imitate art. Girl goes to foreign country to study, figures out what direction she wants her life to go in, and then…meets boy. An attractive, polite, intelligent Belgian boy, to be exact.

School, homework, excursions and…going out with adorable foreign nerds. I’ve met his father, his father’s girlfriend, and his little sister when they came here for a weekend, and ladies, my only advice for you is, Make Sure You Know Things About His Native Country Before You Go to Dinner.

First of all, who knew it was a constitutional monarchy? I mean, maybe lots of people, but I didn’t.

And then…Christian, his father, asked me what Americans think about when they think about Belgium.

I thought about Belgium for a second. And answered honestly.

“Chocolate?”

The truth is I hadn’t given Belgium much thought before we met. This small country between France and Germany? And?

But I like rain, and it rains all the time there. And I like chocolate. And I wouldn’t mind learning French…

I believe I redeemed myself, however, by my abiding passion for both Final Fantasy and Soul Caliber, which his family also shares.

And I think he likes me anyway, because I cook well.

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