the icing on the cake

note to all blog readers: while skyping with my aunty karen, we have decided to formally install a code name for senora carmen. thereby, we will be able to audibly discuss her horrible hostess manners without her awareness. with little contemplation, the agreed upon name will be "cruella" (yes, as in cruella deville).

monday. my two classes go by slow. in anthropology we talk about culture. regional, national, and universal. she asks for an example of universal culture. ....lady gaga? the kid a couple seats down answers linguistics; we all have language. ....that answer is probably better.... the next slide on the powerpoint shows examples of typical stereotypes, including a red bandanna. our professor questions us, "what do you think when you see this?" "blood," a very strong voice comes from the side of the room (for your visual aid, the room is pretty small. every desk lines the walls of the square room around the teacher's desk - the worst nightmare of any kid that hates the front row). ...what the? blood? i was thinking like farmer or cowboy...

dinner: slices of tomato with some kind of cheese (sort of like cream cheese?) and avocado spread. delicious. and some soup. this week, she will make us fried sardines. ... the entire sardine minus the head. once i ripped the meat off the bones and got past the fact that, yes, i just ripped off a fish tail... it was pretty good i guess.

tuesday. i get to school and switch out of my art history into music theory. why? i'm going from a 300 level class of something i'll actually have to study into a 100 level class of something i've been doing since the 7th grade. all i need is a fine arts credit. make it count. (in class, we turn the lights off, close are eyes, and listen to some compositions. then we are asked how we feel and what we think of as we listen. jackpot.)

wednesday. for lunch we go to tienda verde - this little sandwich shop by school. 1. 30 euro for a sandwich. sold. we sit outside and eat while raphael (a knowledgeable young french gentleman who enjoys an expensive meal and likes to argue) tells us about the american store. he explains that the american store is not only a store with jars of marshmallow fluff and dryer sheets, but also bakes -and sells- cakes (and apparently teaches a class on how to bake cakes ....is it that hard?). he looks at me, "i know what you like. you're the kind of girl that likes tons of icing on her cake." ...how the hell do you know that? have you seen my family at a birthday party? the cake could file assault. for anyone not aware, we- my family- like icing. a lot. it's genetic, it's involuntary, it's dangerous. i don't even know why we bother making the cake. "you see, cakes in spain - they're just cake, no icing. " ...this is a problem. we make plans to buy a cake from the american store and share it between the two of us. while washing it down with some brews. in fact, raphael is so excited about it that we end up walking to the american store before my next class so he can show me.

for the walk, raphael's roommate- jorge- joins us. we go through the sequence of questions. a bell goes off in my head when he tells me he is a music major. i interrogate a little further and - bingo! he plays guitar, has two at his apartment, and is cool with me playing them. i make plans to come over after school that day. and the next day. and the next.

i look around. i know where i am. i know the people. i know the bars and restaurants. i know my classes and my teachers. i know "pavo" means turkey when i go to order a sandwich. i know what time cruella takes her nap and what time she feeds us dinner.

and then i realize....i love it here.