Your name is Javi

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Everybody in this country is named Javi (which is short for Xavier).

And if you’re not named Javi, you could be Paco, which is short for Francisco. Then we have Chema, which stems from José María,…naturally. So just to clarify, here... if I were to have, say, a baby Spanish boy, I could name him Enrique Jesús Eduardo and just call him Carlos for kicks, no?

On a totally unrelated topic, I hacked off all my hair. Huge change, and I love it. My self-proclaimed Spanish mother Asún (I’m almost positive her full name must be María. They’re totally unrelated so it would only make sense) carted me to this posh district Chueca and all but held my hand as my hair stylist snipped a good 12 inches off my hair. Mi mamá sporadically gave my hair a few reassuring tossels while Ana was doing the actual cutting, just to make sure it was all going to come together in the end. Forget messing up the stylist’s artistic flair or inspiration, in this close contact culture, there really are no rules. After my metamorphosis (give me some slack, here…I’ve easily had long hair my whole life), Asún took me around Chueca where apparently all the Spanish shoe boutiques hang out. I wish I were still in the dark about this materialist’s dream since my second pay check has yet to surface and I can’t get the second perfect pair of Spanish boots out of my head. Forget visions of sugar plums, I’m haunted by a sleek pair of knee high leather boots that are marginally out of my price range. Please don’t get me started on the American dollar and this blasted economy right now…

For the sake of elaborating on the close contact culture reference, if any of the Spanish teachers at my school were employed in the United States, they would have lawsuits and pedophile charges by the end of September. Students and teachers alike pull on one another’s hair, squeeze the shoulders to comfort, and almost always touch at least one part of your arm, hand, or back when they talk to each other. To me, the touchiness of the Spanish culture is a beautiful, bona fide characteristic that I feel is lacking in the US. Being a foreigner and far from my family, I don’t miss the hugs, kisses, or touches of encouragement my family would give me. The students and teachers fill this void for me (while not quite as entirely as my family, it’s a running start). Actually, scratch that. They not only fill the void, but also have made me really appreciate the importance of human contact (putting me in a whole other void in some far off galaxy—don’t worry about it). A simple hand squeeze can go miles if you’ve had a rough day or need some inspiration. Plus, the extra physical contact adds authenticity to the relationship, eliminating this artificiality that is deeply rooted in the US.

I’ve been teaching the Bachillerato classes (16-18 year olds) about relationships (always a fun topic for hormonal teenagers) and they have to prepare dialogues that force them to act out these extremely awkward situations (think along the lines of proposals, break-ups, jealousy, and cheating). Fun for me, fun for them. I’ve noticed a really cute tendency worth mentioning among the boys with the dialogues concerning phone etiquette. Instead of saying “see you later” or something else completely guarded and protected, when the macho boys are saying good-bye to their imaginary girlfriends, they directly translate a common phrase they use, “besitos,” to “kisses.” Maybe it’s just me, but I find their direct translation adorable and I see a window into Spanish relationships. Or maybe I’m just PMSing. In all likelihood, the latter is the culprit.


Completely random question unrelated to Spanish culture: what the HELL is going on with Internet smiley faces anymore? I miss the good old fashioned : )
Simple, easy. You’re happy, I’m happy, we’re all happy, done. I get
:PPP
shit all the time. Just stop. Send me a freaking emoticon instead of your ambiguous smileys. And please, if those P’s are supposed to be your tongue, for the love of GOD put that thing back in your mouth and remember that humans sweat, not pant.

I am also getting randomly harassed by boys on Skype. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, how about you don’t randomly CALL ME EVERY 2 SECONDS AFTER I REPEATEDLY REJECT YOUR PHONE CALLS and then send me a rush of flower, smiley, and heart emoticons. How ABOUT that. I mean, I love your optimism and all, but the odds that I am a middle aged, insecure internet whore are slim to none.

Note to self: become better versed in all chat applications so the next flood of professed love via emoticon hearts can be civilly kept at bay by your practiced “block” defense.

Song of the entry: Is there a Ghost—Band of Horses (an all time favorite)

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Comments

[SB]

HAHAHA I love this deep insightful entry...followed by a emoticon rant. So badly want to see this new hair though! Picturas? (is that even spanish, or did I just make that up?)