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Aug. 23rd, 2014 @ 08:42 pm New Apartment Worries
So I'm about to move into my new apartment and carpet is disgusting and there is just barely room for my bed and neighbors seem loud and it's farther away from my work and I'm looking at how expensive and slow the internet is going to be and how expensive everything will be in general and my $80,000 of debt and I'm wondering how much I fucked this up.

I mean, it was a reactive decision. It's a step down, quality-of-lifewise, but I decided it was important because of morality and standing up for my beliefs and being slightly stubborn and passive-aggressive and because deep down I don't think a person qualifies as an adult until they are living alone but I think I fucked this up.

I fucked this up. How the hell am I going to do this. My brain dissolves when I live alone. I mean, I am just barely hanging on as it is but alone? Cripes, I'm going to have to hide all the knives and pills from myself or something. No. No, no, that's overreacting. But I don't do well living alone. But I also am not doing too well living with other people right now. I'm just not doing too well in general. I don't want to try medication again. Twice was enough to terrify me of the side effects. Therapy is idiotic, boring, and somehow more depressing because I already know what they're going to try and going to say because hi, psychology major here. Queen of self-therapizing. Master of introspection.

Hell, I just really wish this migraine would go away at least. My eyeballs have been feeling ever-so-slightly melted all day.

Maybe I'll come back to this later after my brain stops trying to escape out the right frontal lobe. Maybe I'll be okay once the internet is set up and the furniture moved in. That carpet is disgusting, though.
Me ports o' call
meh
Sep. 16th, 2013 @ 10:29 pm Tomorrow is going to be a wasted day.
Me mood: defeated
First, I have to get up early and cover for another teacher. The classes are the levels that I hate teaching the most. I got roped into it because the teacher called while I was feeding the kids dinner at the nanny job and the ringtone was the same as the mother's ringtone so I thought it was the mother, and the second I went to go pick up the phone the kids ran away from the table because they were being brats, and then the fucking teacher leads with "Are you busy tomorrow morning?"

I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT. "Are you busy at X time?" Because if you say "no," then automatically you are assumed to be free to do whatever they want you to do and if you don't then you are a horrible person. I was distracted by kids running around with food in their hands and dropping crumbs and causing havoc, so I said "no" and then she said "Great, can you cover these classes which are all the levels you hate the most and are not at all comfortable teaching?" and then if I said no I would feel like a heel. And I tried to back out of it, I really tried, I said that I would have to check my schedule, I was at my nanny job right now and the kids had just run away, and she said okay what time are you done so you can check and I truthfully answered 9:00pm, and she told me she needed an answer before then so I just agreed because oh dammit Kiddo's trying to run with a cup of milk in his hands and I know I'm going to be cleaning that off the floor in two seconds if I don't do something.

So I got roped into that.

And then the dad gets home and says OH BY THE WAY SPARKLES STARTS BALLET TOMORROW and it turns out that starts an hour earlier than I usually get there, and he doesn't even know the time or where her ballet clothes are or realizes that I have to pick her up from her school, which I don't know the protocol for, and if I hadn't realized that in the car before I pulled out, and went back inside and asked him, he never would have told me, because he doesn't think and I am supposed to be a magical psychic who magically knows how they want me to run their children's lives and how to accomplish those things. And is always assumed to be available.

Before I pulled out (the second time), the mom called me and told me that tomorrow is also Parent's Night at Sparkles' school, and that I would have to put the kids to bed and that they wouldn't be home until 9:30.

So. I'm getting up early, teaching horrible lessons that I am exceedingly uncomfortable with, having an hour lunch break, going to a second shitty job doing things I don't want to do, need to put the kids to bed which WILL involve tantrums from both and probably hitting and probably them spitting on me because that's what they do, with no support or.....fuck. Just fuck. Fuck my shitty life.

I just...I just hate that. I'm going to waste a whole day on menial, mindless, useless work for a pittance of wages. I will have accomplished nothing. Not even reading something interesting. Nothing. Zip. I will be exactly one day older and one day closer to my death, and I will have nothing to show for it but a ridiculously small sum of money, most of which will disappear the next time I need to fill my car's gas tank.

Fuck. My. Shitty. Pathetic. Life.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
Fuck everything.
Me ports o' call
meh
May. 10th, 2012 @ 06:37 pm Tinnitus in the right ear.
Me mood: apatheticapathetic
Me tunes: I will follow you once around the sun - Jonah Knight
My right ear has been ringing nonstop since the middle of last week, due to a cold turned sinus infection turned ear infection. Reaaaally hoping it goes away when the ear infection does. Freaking out a little about possible hearing loss. Knowledge that I freak out a little at most bodily occurrences does not seem to be helping.

So, anyways. Hi, journal. Nothing interesting happening to me. Finished the semester. Internship is going on until the end of July or so. Graduating the end of August. Kind of terrified about that. Give the girl a Master's degree, shove her out into the world, see if she lands on her feet. Mostly, I'm worried about money. The YMCA job here pays skittles. It's less than every other place I've ever taught swim lessons before, and the parents and co-workers are ruder. Or, at least it seems that way to me, but a lot of it is just me being completely tired of this job. I am tired of being the swim teacher, tired of all the kids kicking me and spitting water in my face, tired of the parents convinced I don't have little Johnny's best interests in mind (because no matter what the problem it, it's always the teacher's fault), tired of everybody assuming I'm a teenager - it happens! With astonishing regularity! I'd be flattered, if it didn't always occur in conjunction with people thinking that I'm incompetent and know nothing about children! I may punch the next person who tells me I couldn't possibly understand (insert complaint about child here) because I've never been a parent! Lady (or man), I have been taking care of kids since I was literally four years old. I have been taking care of kids professionally for over fifteen years. Yes, including bathtimes and mealtimes and bedtimes. Yes, including scrapes and owies and downright medical emergencies. Yes, including the poop and puke and other bodily functions. YES, including the temper tantrums. Believe it or not, unlike many parents, I actually know exactly what I am doing.

Despite that, I am really not looking forward to sending out resumes. I don't even know if I have the energy to look for an alternative and hopefully more lucrative summer job, because even if the Y pays peanuts, it at least has very flexible hours and I need those with the internship and classes and, towards the end of summer, preparing my final paper and dissertation and presentation.

Still. Not sure if I have enough money to cover rent. My clothes are getting pretty ragged, but I can't really afford to buy any new stuff right now. And next week is the Steampunk World's Fair, and I can't back out of that because I promised I'd go months and months ago when I thought I had enough money and Sarah already reserved the hotel room and bought the tickets*. I don't know if I'll be able to buy anything. I don't know if I can pay rent. I don't know if I can pay insurance. I'm afraid to look at my bank account and find out because I think I won't be able to and I don't know what I'm going to do about that.

So, ah....yeah. That's it for me, I think, Journal. See ya.




*We are rooming with Jonah Knight. Jonah Knight. I've had a music-crush on him since I first heard his stuff, and he's hot as hell. Also married as hell, so I'm not gonna do anything other than compliment his music, but Sarah and Eric and Traci won't stop giving me flak about it, because they apparently can't believe Molly isn't asexual and I was trying to maintain that particular facade around them because they can all be huge assholes about stuff like this. So, Jonah Knight's gonna be in my hotel room. And Sarah's gonna be there too, in full Con form. I might die.
Me ports o' call
freakazoid
Mar. 20th, 2012 @ 12:52 am Dysnomia.
Me mood: enthralledhalf laughing half crying
There's a word for it.

Oh my gosh. There's a word for it.

There's a word for it.

I'm not...there's nothing wrong with me. I mean, there is, but there's a word for it. I have a name. It has a name. I KNOW WHAT IT IS NOW. Obviously I don't have a very severe case, but this is one of the monsters that's been haunting my life, more and moreso as an adult, and now I know its name. I can't fix it, it can't be fixed, but I know what it is now, and the fact that it has a name means I can't possibly be alone.

All those people telling me that I just wasn't studying hard enough, that everybody else could remember this and I was smart so why couldn't I, all the endless jokes about how I can't remember names or dates, the words, the bloody words that never come every damn time I speak out loud instead of typing on a computer with an online thesaurus right on hand, the nonsense words I say when I mean something else, the freakin' YEARS spent wondering what the hell was wrong with me, all of it. It has a name.
Me ports o' call
OMG
Oct. 28th, 2011 @ 02:59 pm *casually strolls back to LJ as if she hasn't been missing for months*
Me educashunal activimities: The Twelve Palaces Novels
Me mood: cheerfulcheerful
Me tunes: Upside Down - Paloma Faith. Also, Monkey Rag.
One of the best things about dyeing your hair, I've decided, is finding out which new colors work for you now and wearing all these clothes that you would have looked stupid in before and rocking 'em. My nifty highlights from summer were getting all long and raggedy so on Monday I decided to switch to a winter coloration of pure black. There was a little moment of "what have I DONE" when I looked at myself in the mirror and realized that with my pale skin, I looked like a washed-out moonface, but then I played around with makeup a bit and realized that with dark eye makeup and lipstick at least two shades redder than anything I could wear before I was suddenly rocking a perfect Snow White getup. And I can wear bright reds and blacks! Lime greens and bright blues! Colors that would have been too stark for brown hair suddenly looked punkish and cool with the black hair. I love it. The only downside is that most of my wardrobe is geared towards the brown-hair coloring: lots of dusky reds, maroon, browns, subdued greens. Black hair calls for more punchy color, more blacks, more brights. I'm going to have fun with this, I think.

Anyway, I've been on Tumblr. That's where I've been. I believe Tumblr is my new main home on the internets now, and I've also been eaten by Homestuck. I love Homestuck to an unhealthy degree now. I love Jade and Sollux and making horrible jokes about stairs and pumpkins and I was actually one of the people who liked the first act of Homestuck, instead of going "wtf why is this popular" and skipping to Act 2 to where the plot took off like everybody else. I have read all of Problem Sleuth and I liked it. That's how far down the Homestuck hole I have fallen. I have Homestuck music and t-shirts and may have bought bee-themed clothes just so I could quietly and unobtrusively geek out about Sollux in public. These may have included black-and-yellow striped sweaters and earbuds.

OTHER FANDOMS OF THE MOMENT:
-KidK is making me want to watch all of Storm Hawks AGAIN and I probably will because Stork.
-The TV show Community. Mostly Troy and Abed. Mostly Abed. I most want to just watch The Abed Show.
-The TV show How I Met Your Mother.
-The TV show The Big Bang Theory.
-The TV show The Walking Dead, to nobody's surprise whatsoever.
-The TV show Grimm, although it's not as goods as I hoped. I'll watch it anyways, I have a thing for urban fantasy.
-The BBC TV show Doctor Who, although that's pretty much a given constant fandom forever.
-The BBC TV show Sherlock. And also Jekyll. I put them together because Stephen Moffat is responsible for both of those and Doctor Who, and at this point I would watch a documentary on oatmeal, provided it was directed by Stephen Moffat.
-The video game Team Fortress 2. I'm finally learning how to play a good Scout, although I can't do Sniper or Spy for my life. Pyro is still my favorite class, closely followed by Soldier ever since I got Dr. Grodbott's Cow Mangler laser cannon.
-The video game Alice: Madness Returns, to nobody's surprise whatsoever. As soon as I can get Eric off TF2 on the big screen downstairs, I'm playing that.
-HOMESTUCK HOMESTUCK HOMESTUCK HOMESTUCK HOMESTUCK. I know at some point the Homestuck fandom fever will die off to a manageable simmer, like most of my fandom fevers do, but I'm enjoying it while it lasts. I've got half a hand-animated music video to Jonathan Coulton's "Mister Fancy Pants" done featuring Pantskat that I hope to wrap up before November 11. I might post it here, might not, but I'll DEFINITELY post it on the art Tumblr.

Okay that's about it for now. Outside of fandoms and hair dye, my life consists of schoolwork, searching for an internship, teaching swimming lessons constantly (I stink of chlorine at all times), and babysitting for Kiddo and Jennifer, who continue to be the most adorable things ever.

New life goal: Learn how to play an electric guitar. Or possibly a bass guitar. Also, obtain a guitar.
Me ports o' call
DANCE DANCE DANCE
Aug. 10th, 2011 @ 03:07 pm How old am I again? Six and a half, right?
Me mood: curiouscurious
Me tunes: I Can't Decide by the Scissor Sisters, THANK YOU HOMESTUCK.
Tags:
I sometimes wonder if others remember their childhoods with such alarming clarity as I do. Looking at photos of my sisters and myself tends to bring about implosive flashbacks where I am suddenly there, that age, that height. I know what the shoes I was wearing felt like and I knew how strong my limbs were compared to now and I remember being shorter and what my hair felt like brushing the back of my neck and what my sisters sounded like and how they acted then and what shirts they were wearing and I know what it felt like to run without my chest seizing and I know the smell of the gravel in the front driveway in summer, and I start thinking of where I want to go next, what game I should play next with my sisters, and then I come back to now and I am completely shocked that it is now, and that memory did not happen yesterday, it happened over twenty years ago.

Sometimes I just stop what I'm doing, look down at my feet, impossibly huge and impossibly far away, and wiggle my toes, and be just completely amazed that my feet are all the way down there and I'm all the way up here and oh my gosh look at my arms. Look at my arms! How did they get so ridiculously long? I remember being a child, I remember what it was like to be smaller, and sometimes I'm blown away by how big I am now.

I remember being uncoordinated, and how it was actually impossible, I mean, truly, really, actually impossible, to catch a ball thrown at me. I remember having reflexes like a clunky robot and hands like mittens. I was playing with my tablet* the other day, and I drew a curved line, part of a character's face, that was exactly as thick as I wanted and exactly where I wanted it to go, and I was suddenly amazed at myself, because I can remember having to try to draw a line between two other lines, about 3/4 of an inch apart, on a worksheet for my kindergarten screening test, and I remember being frustrated and ashamed because I could not manipulate the giant clunky oversized kindergarten pencil into making that line without going over the other two lines. I couldn't make it go where I wanted to, and my hand would jerk sometimes so that the scribbled line would zigzag off in the wrong direction, and I remember being that and now I'm this.

Gads, does everybody remember their childhoods like this? Does anybody? Do you remember being small? Do you remember how you could run and run and never get tired, until you were suddenly falling asleep, and there was almost no transition between the two states? Do you remember clumsy small fingers and how knees were always scraped and how big and exciting and scary the rest of the world was? I remember dogs towering over me. Dogs! They were like dinosaurs. Do you remember how jumping was easier and falling down didn't really hurt, just because you were smaller and closer to the ground? Do you remember suddenly going from laying down to jumping up without getting dizzy? How tiny scrapes hurt worse, because you had never felt bad pain before?

I really hope there's other people who remember being a kid like I do. I don't want to be the only adult who remembers what it was like to reach up to touch a parent's knee. Maybe that's why I get along with kids so well. As far as my memory is concerned, I was their age yesterday.



*my late birthday present from my birthfam, via a gift card and a lucky find of a Wacom Bamboo Pen tablet on sale
Me ports o' call
DANCE DANCE DANCE
Jun. 18th, 2011 @ 07:43 pm Reporting from the last weekend in Costa Rica
Me mood: restlessrestless
Oh good grief, I haven't posted here for ages. All right, hello, still in Costa Rica for another week, and just got back after spending three weeks in Ortega, a small town in the Guanacaste provice of Costa Rica. Actually, "small" doesn't really do it justice. It's a scant grid of three streets going one way and five going the other, dirt roads, chickens running everywhere, herds of cattle driven past every morning, and fifty-odd stray dogs because spaying and neutering cannot exist here.

I...wow. I don't even know how to address this. I mean, I feel like I've been there for years. Every day was like a week at home. I loved some parts and hated others. I can't describe everything. I'll just start listing stuff.

-I saw wild scarlet macaws in a tree less than ten feet away from me, on a day when I had forgotten my camera.

-Children threw rocks at all the animals, because that was how you treated animals here and because there was nothing else to do.

-My host mom made a homemade kind of cheese called guahala, or guajala, or gwajoula, or something like that, that was one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted.

-A man on a horse came around to deliver milk every morning.

-I have never sweated so much in my life. I would wipe my arms and immediately, immediately, they would be covered in so much sweat it looked like I had just dipped them into water. I strongly missed the feeling of just taking clothes off to change, instead of needing to peel my damp clothes off.

-We went on a boat ride on the nearby Palo Verde river and we saw tons of crocodiles and fed oranges to white-faced monkeys that hopped right onto the boat and onto my head.

-I need to learn how to make gallo pinto the way my host mom made it.

-Gallo pinto (rice and beans) is served as the main part of every single meal, including breakfast. When I told my host mom that we didn't really have rice and beans that much in the U.S., she looked horrified and asked me "What do you eat?!"

-Learning a new language makes you stupid. You find yourself saying things like "I like this food! I like this TV! The man on the TV is being very funny! He talk funny!" because you don't know what else to say, and every single conversation is an awkward guessing game. You understand two words out of any sentence and have to try to figure out what is being said, and formulate a reply, based on those two words. And, since you're mostly silent or talking like an idiot, well-intentioned people begin to treat you like an idiot. Lots of conversations where they do things like hold up a cup and say "THIS IS A CUP!/Yes, I know that's a cup./YOU DRINK WITH IT! DRINK! *mime drinking*/Yes, I know. It's a cup."

-Also, my host mom and her friends strongly adhere to the if-they-don't-understand-it-just-say-it-louder theory of interlanguage communication.

-Dora, the four-year-old niece of my host mom, mostly lived with us and decided I was her Best Friend Ever and we played lots of games that didn't involve much talking on my part. Her favorite phrase is "Molly, quiere jugar?" (Molly, do you want to play?) She's real rough on her toys, though. Broke a lot of 'em, and when I let her play with Nip, the beanie baby cat I brought along, she bit Nip's nose off when my back was turned. I didn't let Dora play with any more of my stuff after that.

-I went horseback riding up a very steep hill. I remember horseback riding when I was little. This was not like that. I felt like I was constantly falling off this horse, and the horse didn't like me and kept trying to bite me. It was still fun, but my butt hurt for a week after.

-Multiple classmates saw chickens and pigs killed in front of them. Most couldn't handle it, especially when they were offered chicken or pork for dinner later.

-I miss hot showers so much. And reliable water service. Water got turned off for no reason in the middle of the day when all you wanted was a shower. Three showers a day or more. It was so hot.

-Mamone (gumball) trees have hundreds of wild parakeets in them at all times.

-They cook meat with fat in Ortega, and my host mom would give me these huge hunks of ham sitting in huge pools of fat for breakfast every day along with the gallo pinto. It would just sit in my stomach like a weight for the rest of the day. I will not miss the giant chunks of fat-dripping meat at all.

-I was so used to seeing scared starving dogs in Ortega that when we came here to Playa Tamarindo and I saw a fat happy dog, I was shocked and felt like crying.

-I am really sick of people staring at me all the time and hearing people saying stuff about "gringa, la gringa" wherever I go and knowing they're talking about me. And the perverts who think American women are easy and yell stuff at you while you're walking by. Oh, and the guy who danced with me at the going-away party who seemed okay until he started leaning in and saying, in bad english, "I love you forever. I love you, baby. Pura vida, tuanis, eh?" That's not how you treat women, I don't care what the culture is.

-I heard howler monkeys every single day, and saw them a few times. They are tiny black monkeys that sound like huge homicidal gorillas, and they sleep on tree branches with all their limbs hanging down and it's pretty cute.

-Iguanas kept running around on the house's roof, making a racket like the roof was collapsing. Iguanas can really book it if they want to.

-There was no working shower in my house. Instead, there was a bucket. You filled the bucket up with cold water and you dumped it on you. I thought about Homestuck every time I had to use the bucket and kind of giggled inappropriately.

-There is no library, and people don't really read here. Everybody said that their host families gave them weird looks when they started reading something. My host mom, for the first week, seemed to take me cracking a book as an indication that I was bored, and so she would make me sit on the front porch and plop herself down next to me and try to talk to me until I stopped trying to read.

-GECKOS WILL NOT STOP POOPING ON MY BED. I never even saw these guys in my room. They were like little geckos ninjas. Every day, they'd come in, poop on my bed, and leave. I know it was geckos because I've seen them in other rooms and I know what gecko poop looks like. Yes, geckos are hella cute but NOT WHEN THEY POOP ON MY BED THEY AREN'T.

-I missed the internet so freaking much.

-I don't really have much of anything in common with any of the other students, and can't really talk with any of them. I've been very lonely, although I love the experience.

-Once I got my lines in Spanish down, I was able to do a pretty good job teaching the local kids about drugs and alcohol and getting them to laugh and have a good time. It's nowhere near as easy when you can speak the language, but kids are still kids, wherever you are.

-There were some messed-up group dynamics in my group. I'm not going into detail here 'cause I don't want this to get out and hurt anybody, but it was stressful and I'm glad it's over.

-People just walk around with machetes in the country. Big ol' scary machetes. They're tools for gardening and farming here. My host family bro climbed a tree and hacked down some coconuts with one. I kind of want a machete now.

-There were some really, seriously, horribly poor people there. There would be shacks that would be abandoned in the U.S., things that were ancient with rotting timbers and leaning and gaps in all the boards and not big enough to be more than one room and there is nothing inside, and people would be living there.

-I got so sunburned last week, and I am so brown now. I managed to avoid significant tanning up until then, but now..I haven't been this brown since I was a kid and didn't know what sunblock was. I am nervously eyeing all my moles in fears that one will suddenly sprout tentacles and turn into CANCER MOLE WRAAAAAGH!! Besides that, though, I kind of like the tan.

-I got stung by a jellyfish yesterday and may have seen a baby octopus in a tide pool today. This is not an Ortega thing, but I wanted to say it. Also, I am now ever more terrified of jellyfish.

-Gah, I don't know what else to type. Ortega was greatly interesting, but also depressing. There were very poor people and lots of problems and severely mistreated animals. There was also delicious food and laughing kids and a thriving culture. There were mosquitoes and huge bugs at all times and in all places, and little restaurant/stores called sodas or poupourrias that would sell you juice boxes for sixty cents or ice cream for thirty cents. I loved it and hated it and didn't want to leave and wanted to go home. I don't know.



One week left, and I need to write the final 15-page paper in this week, and start picking up all the stress I dropped off when I left for Costa Rica. I'll be glad to come back, even if I'm sad to go.





Unrelated: Yesterday I found out that the sequel to American McGee's Alice game is out. I screamed so loud that half the class came over to see what I was freaking out about.

NEED THIS GAME NOW.
Me ports o' call
big step
May. 29th, 2011 @ 11:43 am PCHOOOOOOOO!!!
Okay. Going ziplining in an hour. If I die, I just want everyone to know I died in the most awesome manner possible. It probably involved me saving a baby monkey with one hand while punching a leaping jaguar with the other hand, while fireworks went off in the background, while I defused a bomb with my feet. And there is also going to be an awesome soundtrack.


If I live, I'm going to go on the canopy bridges tour afterwards.
Me ports o' call
freakazoid
May. 28th, 2011 @ 05:41 pm Here are some more Costa Rica notes
Me mood: boredbored
I realized in my last list of Tico observations, I made it sound like the place here is a giant slum or something. It's not, I swear! It's definitely a developing country, but it's also definitely not third-world. The hospital we visited looked ancient on the outside, but all the equipment inside was top-notch and just as good as anything you'd see in the U.S., if not better. Walking down the street, you'd think you were a city in the U.S. where all the people happened to speak Spanish, except some incongruity will suddenly remind you you're in a completely different place. Like, people will just sweep dog poop into street drains here. Or you'll be in a giant supermarket and you see somebody getting more items for restocking by lowering the boxes from the second floor with a basket and rope.

-The Mall of San Pedro is huge and four stories and I really wanted to stay there longer, especially after I found the anime and comic store. Anyway, when you get to the food court, instead of people giving out taste tests or something to advertise their restaurant, you get people in chef outfits handing out little postcard-sized advertisements. They're really insistent, too, they'll forcibly shove the cards in your hand and you either have to take them or let them drop on the floor.

-Radio stations will advertise by driving around trucks with huge speakers playing their music.

-Costa Ricans are very xenophobic (I was told this by several Ticos outright), but most of that xenophobia is aimed at Nicaraguans. Costa Rica is the richest Latin American country with the healthiest, happiest people and the most stable government. Nicaragua is the poorest Latin American country with the worst health and least stable government. They are neighbors. Unsurprisingly, lots of Nicaraguans illegally immigrate into Costa Rica and take low-paying jobs, like Mexicans in the U.S. Almost every social problem imaginable is blamed on them, from increases in violence to drug use to machisto culture to family violence to raising prices to...well, anything you can think of. The racism against Nicaraguans is very mainstream and very prominent.

-Gringos are considered to be very rich, and some Costa Ricans will take advantage of that. Two days ago, three of my classmates took a taxi from the Mall of San Pedro to ICADS (where we learn spanish), and the taxi driver purposely took them on a tour of the entire city, assuring them that they were going the right way every time the girls protested. They were getting very scared and angry, and what should have been a 1300-2000 colones ride turned into a 6000 colones ride. Anyway, one student, Odera, completely flipped out on the cab driver and they paid him 3000 and left before he could protest. Our spanish instructor was aghast when we told her the story; the taking-advantage-of-gringos thing is only really well known among tourists and those who take advantage of tourists, not the population at large.

-The money here is the colon, and 1000 colones equal about $2. I've gotten very good at translating from colones to dollars. Bus rides here are about forty cents!

-You don't need to bother with weather forecasts here. The day starts bright and about 70 degrees, then slowly climbs to around 80. Between 3:00-5:00, it rains and the temp drops. During the night, it's high 60s. Every single day, regular as clockwork. It's a very nice climate, although I've been told Ortega and Bolson are much hotter and more humid.

-Ticos are excessively clean people. It's normal to take two or more showers a day, and Costa Rican houses are kept spotless. Even the streets have no trash on them! Litter doesn't happen here.

-Although I would really like to introduce these people to more efficient car engines. I have not yet met a single vehicle here that doesn't stink of diesel. I mean STINK stink. Worse than the worst gas station.

-There is no flood insurance. I learned this because yesterday there was a flood in San Jose and surrounding areas. Like, a serious this-would-be-on-the-news-for-weeks-in-the-U.S. flood. Houses just down the street from us were affected. My Tica mom told us that there was just no flood insurance here, floods were too common or something.

Blarg. Bored again now. Tour at 5:00. Gonna veg until then.


Note to Myself: Gumballs are called Melicoccus bijugatus, or mamons.
Me ports o' call
Katcat
May. 28th, 2011 @ 04:39 pm I need a facepalm icon.
Me mood: geekygeeky
Me tunes: birds going whistle whistle chirp
I'm in the Monteverde cloud forest now! It's called the cloud forest because we're up so high that when clouds come in, they go right through here and it gets all foggy at night. I have yet to see a monkey here, although I may have glimpsed one in San Jose earlier this week. Either a monkey or a really weird squirrel.

Anyway, the group can't stop talking about going to discotheques or bars or spas or whatever here and everyone looked at me like I was crazy when I asked if anyone else was interested in going to the Monteverde Forest Reserve and Science Center. They also scream when they see ants, flies, or cows, and say that it's too quiet here in the country and that the thought of mosquitoes in Bolson and Ortega, where we're spending the next three weeks, terrifies them. I did not realize these types of people actually existed before now. Who screams at cows? One person nervously asked if the cows were going to stampede us. Good grief.

...and there's the thunder! Type more later. Tired now.
Me ports o' call
Inspector Brainbot