Test eaze...1,2,3

When I took the GRE 6 years ago I promised myself I would never take another *stupid* standardized test again. I thought that I was in the clear as far as testing goes, because in the real world it's not about tests but about brains, skills, being in the right place at the right time, etc.

I was wrong.

If I want to start a career as a foreign service officer I have to take a special test for it, which is run by the ACT. The same ACT I took when I was 16. Along with the SAT, the AP exams, and the who's-it-what's-its I took my junior and senior years in high school which, when I look back now, just seem like a hazy fog of frantic test-taking, not necessarily my carefree years.

During those non-carefree years I used to make sure to wear my special, lucky black hoodie on the days I had a test to take. I stupidly wore the hoodie once when I helped to paint my brother's new house and thus ended up getting eggshell-colored paint on it. I threw the hoodie away. I shouldn't have thrown it away, though. A little paint wouldn't have taken away the hoodie's natural powers --and if I had the hoodie now I could have worn it to take this test I have to take sometime in the next several months. I could use some luck. The failure rate for this particular test is 80%.

4/30/2012 edit: Actually, the passage rate is 40%. And only 3% of the people that take the test end up becoming an FSO. I like them odds. Still haven't taken the test. I had discovered that it would be a good idea to study, so that's what I kind have been doing.

The kids are alright

I have been observing that the people in my area that have kids are so old. I don't feel like I could be a part of their club yet. If I were to live in other parts of the country I would see much younger couples with kids and babies, and I could probably see myself more like them and not feel so weird about the idea of growing my family. I know some pregnant people, and I know so many people getting married in the next year. We are growing up.

I can't wait for my friends' wedding in a few weeks because it's going to be in Serbia. Serbian weddings sound wild. The festivities are supposed to begin at 10:30am and they proceed until at least 4am the next morning. I was told by a Balkan coworker to bring antacids and tylenol, because we will be wined, dined, and danced for almost 24 hours straight. I can't wait.

Today I went to a national park and my friends and I saw a lot of children. I felt kind of like we were on a child safari, observing the different shapes, sizes, haircuts, and wardrobe choices. All kids, with the exception of my darling nieces and nephews, are strange and alien to me. Where I live, you don't see many, and when you do they are usually in 1s and 2s and they're just visiting.

Perchance to dream

My mom grew up in the Philippines, speaking Tagalog (Filipino), but when she came to the States she pretty much stuck to English, and got really good at it. She doesn't have a foreign accent at all.

She didn't speak Tagalog with my brothers and me as we grew up, thinking that it wasn't a language worth knowing, really. She was much more interested in us taking Spanish in school and concentrating on that. From what I recall, the only Tagalog word she used with us is the word "muta." Muta is what Americans would call the "sleep" in their eyes, the crusty stuff in our eyes each morning. I never heard my mom say the English equivalent to us. I taught my husband to say muta pretty early on in our relationship. Any kids I might have one day will also learn muta. But I hope my own family could also learn and use other Tagalog words, in addition to speaking Spanish, since that's my husband's native language. Unlike my mom, I believe the more languages, the better. There's always room for more.

Sharing is caring

I'm sharing now and it's scary. I'm used to having only 2 people read my blog, my buddy who also blogs, regularly, (you'll note that she's also the one that leaves me comments) and my hubby a.k.a. The Hubmiester. And maybe my dad? Although I'm not sure.

Quickies

Just got a call from my grandma. I love that woman. And she's also very efficient. Our phone chats are always brief. This one was just over 3 minutes, and we managed to talk about my return from Mexico, my work, and babies. She even wished me a happy Thanksgiving. We don't talk that often. I'm so much better in person.

I don't give good phone.

Rut

It has come to my attention that I do nothing. When trying to account for what I do with my time, I find that my time passes, but I didn’t really use that time to do anything in particular; and seldom anything of note. When someone asks me the dreaded question, so, what do you do in your spare time? I usually say I cook, I read, I watch movies, I like languages.

I cook but I’m not a cook.

I read but I’m not an avid reader.

I have been told that I am a skilled writer, but I’m not a writer. I rarely write anything. I think I’m pretty good at writing emails, but I don’t use email to keep in touch with people anymore. I use Facebook, like everyone else. I don’t tell anyone that I write, or used to write, or would like to write. Somehow it’s easier to say that I watch movies, probably because watching is passive, and writing is active and, to me, too personal to share with someone I barely know.

I believe I’m naturally athletic, but I don’t exercise. I walk every day, but it’s not much, and it’s mostly to get from the metro to work or home. And when I walk, I don’t wear sensible shoes. I wear flats that smush my toes, flip flops that restrict the natural movement of my feet.

I study languages but I’m neither a polyglot nor a linguist. The problem is I study but I don’t speak.

I’m not trying to be harsh on myself, I’m just trying to figure myself out. I think I would like to be a person that does something. A person that has hobbies, talents, skills. I do enjoy life and I have a good time in my spare time, it’s just that I would like to transfer my creativity into activity.

When left to her own devices

Will visit the pie shop 3 times in the space of a week

Will decide to start running, and start doing it every day

Will relish the feeling of her sore muscles

Will pamper herself with foot cream, foot scrub, and foot spray

Will watch random movies fully reclined in a large comfy (faux?) leather seat, ordering her snacks from the server, grinning the whole while from ear to ear

Will get an hour-long pedicure

Will try to read challenging authors

Will take walks in the park, in the plaza, in the neighborhood

Will do all this by herself, while thinking of her loved ones

Will plot how she will pamper them as soon as she sees them again

The author waiting in the terminal

Gets reflective in airports

Is humble to a fault

(Is about to disprove the above)

Loves feeling clever

Is polite to a fault

Worries too much about what others think

Worries too much about others

Pretty much always feels safe

Loves to write, and writes to love

Has a small (but loyal) fan club

Could reach the stars

Is too humble/polite to reach above stars

/Stars above

Feels clever when performing word play

Writes infrequently and spontaneously

Lacks discipline

Fears cliché but is probably not that original

Wants to "speak up" and "be herself"

Has been informed it's time to begin boarding

Hearting Ira

I have a huge nerd crush on Ira Glass. He is so honest, perceptive, inquisitive, and vulnerable on his radio show. I have heard the most incredible stories on This American Life, stories that make me cry and laugh out loud, that make me stay up thinking, that give me fodder for conversation. Lately, when I stream his podcasts online, I hear Ira appealing for money for his wonderful show. I can't resist that man's plea. The thought of this show not being able to continue is unbearable.

The underrated dwarf

Having grumpy moments is a part of life. For instance, I've been grumpy for the past two days straight. I can pinpoint the exact time it started. I was in line to watch Sex in the City 2 (so inferior to the original).

I'm not positive as to why I feel this way, but my inquietude probably has something to do with the fact that I don't know what I'm going to be doing six months from now. You see, I'm going through my "semi-annual" check-up. I like to check up on myself every so often and make sure I'm 1) doing what I enjoy doing or I'm working towards it, 2) happy and healthy, 3) not being held back by anything (fear, insecurity, lack of resources), 4) gaining good experience/learning something, and, finally, 5) on the right path to continue enjoying those perks. So right now, I'm asking myself those check-up questions to help me determine if, 6 months from now, around January 2011, I will still be in good shape.

I'm currently in the middle of the above process, and for whatever reason it's making me restless, tired, and hard to please. For instance, despite having just bought a ticket to see some good friends I feel kind of eh. Despite the fact that my husband is going to visit me in a week, eh. I had some chocolate pie for dessert day. Still, eh.

Hopefully I can psyche myself into feeling non-grumpy very soon. Two days is too long to feel this way, especially over nothing concrete. Life is too short to suffer from long grumpy spells.

Night

When I sleep alone

I keep the curtains open

So the city keeps me company.

haiku-zit?

My mom is here and it was hard to fall asleep last night.

Her snores competing with the dropkicking thunder

Of the season's first rain.

Fear itself

On my third day here I decided to challenge myself and face my fear directly. Driving in Mexico. I was scared of driving here because the drivers here are very aggressive, the roads and signage are different than in the US (i.e., they don't make sense), there are glorietas galore (roundabouts, which do not exist where I'm from), I had never driven in Mexico before (actually, I had once, but most of my drive was spent sitting in line to cross the border), and then there was the time I went to Tijuana with my family and when we came back our car was gone, and then the other time we were in Tijuana and the streets were so flooded that water seeped into our car reaching up to my shins, so besides those anxieties, I was perfectly capable of hitting the Mexican road in a strange new car. Heh.

I was supposed to drive to a party, so at 2pm I attempted to punch the address into the GPS that came with the car, to no avail. The address was not recognized. By the way, that GPS is evil. I thought, well, no problem, I'll just look up the cross streets on my handy little tourist map. Besides, I had allowed myself plenty of time to get to the party, which started at 3pm, so I thought that I would take my time going through the city and taking in my new surroundings. One hour later, I ended up on a strange kind of road, a periferico, where it was impossible to ever make a left turn, for kilometers and kilometers and kilometers. After being stuck on that road for a long time, I decided to take my chances and make a left turn. I eased into the median, noticing, as I did so, that the buses that passed through the devoted bus lanes in the middle of the road got awful close to my car as they wooshed past.

Then, I heard the unfamiliar yet unmistakable siren of a policeman trying to get my attention. He was a motorcycle cop. Feeling surprisingly relieved and, further, justified in my choice to make an illegal left turn, I calmly completed my turn and pulled over on a side street. I had never been stopped by a police officer in my life, and always guessed that if I ever had the misfortune I would undoubtedly burst into tears. I hate breaking the rules, and I especially hate getting caught doing so because on the rare occasions I do break the rules I feel like I have a good reason for it. I showed the officer my identification, explained to him that I was a gringa who had just arrived in the city, on my way to a party full of other gringos, and that I was hopelessly lost (which he could see for himself when I showed him the address for the party). After tsking at my ignorance of the city, at my predicament on the strange and scary periferico road, at my close call with the fast-moving buses, at my being a clueless girl left to fend for herself in his sprawling city, he showed me on the map where I actually was, where I wanted to be, and explained to me how I could get there. He proceeded to elaborate on the general layout of the city's roadways and explained that he would not be writing me up that day. Honestly, I wasn't even worried about being written up, I was just glad to know where I was and where I needed to go.

I pulled away, feeling refreshed from my brief driving break (I had been going for 1.5 hours straight at that point). By the way, there was extremely heavy traffic that Saturday, so everything took about 5 times as long as it would have without traffic. I went in the opposite direction on the damned periferico, missed my turn at a diabolical roundabout, and had to take the road to the very end, where it u-turned at a university (no need to break the law there), until I was finally able to swing around to where I was supposed to be. Kind of. Once I got to the road where the party had been going on for some 2 hours now, I couldn't find the appropriate street number. So I did the old-fashioned thing, stopping at a convenience store to ask for directions (rather than performing an illegal maneuver just to get the attention of a friendly cop who could tell me where I needed to go), and finally got to the general neighborhood. After that it was just a matter of circling around to look for parking and convincing the guards I was a legit party-goer and not a delinquent. No sweat.

That was my ordeal. It helped make me stronger, although it did not completely cure me of my Mexico driving jitters. But I'm proud to say that I know my way around better, that I manage to stay more calm when I drive now, and that my GPS is still evil and cannot be totally trusted (it spends a lot of time banished to the center console of my car). I'm glad I got through that ordeal early on in my stay. After that, everything else is a piece of cake.

Annoyances

I can't tell you how many times I've been offended here. They're not big offenses - it's mostly invasions of space and privacy, dangerous maneuvers on the road, and cutting in line. Actually, as you will see, most of my problems come down to the cutting. It's similar to how I was offended in Italy, but here I tend to feel invaded with more frequency. Here is my gripe list, in no particular order:

1. I'm in line, and you approach from the side and cut. Or, I'm in line, and you come in from the side and put your stuff on the counter while I'm still holding on to my stuff, effectively cutting in front of me.

2. I'm driving on the road, and you push in front of me quickly, without signalling, without looking over your shoulder, with no concern for anyone's safety.

3. I'm in line and you push in and yell out a question to the cashier, again, cutting.

4. I'm in line and you move up so far that you're literally on top of me. Both men and women are guilty of this, and it makes me uncomfortable. (This happens a lot to me in the U.S. as well, I think I have space issues.)

5. I'm sitting on a bench, and you come in with your entire family, knowing that you can't all fit on the bench with me there, and start bringing out food, spilling stuff all over me, letting your kids run on top of me, until I leave and let you have the bench to yourself.

Cutters never prosper!

I bet you think this post is about you

The birds here are amazing. I didn't know it was possible for a large, dense city to have so many songbirds. My first week here I took a walk near where I was staying and I heard some whistling. Being an experienced traveler of Latin American environs, I figured it was some local men tirandome piropos (catcalling). But I soon found out that there were no whistling men around, it was the birds. Little vain old me, always thinking that I must be what all the fuss is about.

Slangtastic

I have to post now before I break my posting streak of once every 4 days. I'm learning lots of Mexican slang, especially this weekend. By the way, this has been the loooongest weekend of my life. But not in a bad way. It's just that I feel like I haven't been able to rest since the weekend began. It's because I have a grad school friend in town, who absolutely loves this city, so he showed me and another gringa a good time in the city. Both nights I got home at 6am. I had never done that before in my life. It was fun, but I'm ready to have some alone time to recharge my batteries. My batteries are very easily used up. That last sentence would sound a lot better to me in Spanish, but I try not to make a habit out of blogging in Spanish. I want my brain to stick to one language at a time, and not combine them. Sometimes it's hard to do, especially when I'm in a Spanish-speaking country.

Mexican slang:

Que padre! or Padrisimo! - Cool. The more common definition is father. So when you're saying "how cool" in slang you're literally saying "how father!"

Guey - comes from the word "buey" meaning "ox." Guey is a term of endearment like "dude."

Pedo - literally means fart. But here they use it to say "drunk." As in, "estoy pedo/a." In other words when someone is drunk they are literally saying "I am fart." My nephew would love that! Fart is his favorite word. But hopefully he won't know what it means to get drunk for at least another 10 years, because he's only 3.

Cruda - Means hangover. But literally it means "raw." Ay, guey, que amanecí cruda" or "Man, dude, I woke up raw."

Slang is so weird.

Feminine Intuition

Last night I had dinner with two people I had just met through some colleagues: a young woman and an older man. We talked about our industries, our careers, and our frustrations. The woman talked about how her two bosses made life hard for her, how they held her pending promotion over her head, and how there was a lot of competition and other workplace challenges in general. I asked her if she mostly worked with women (and her field is not a traditional field for women). She said yes.

Her male boss was impressed with my "insight" but I was just sad. I explained that I didn't want to assume that women were making her work-life a living hell, but that was simply the only scenario I could picture when she described her situation to me, even though she used gender-neutral terms like "boss" and "nazi" and "hell."

My intuition told me that this young female professional was having problems in a workplace that was dominated by women. And I was right. I'm not sure what causes these female troubles in general but I really think certain women might bring it upon themselves. I've heard female friends make negative assumptions about their female counterparts at work based on the woman's looks and on how they perceive the woman interacts with their male counterparts. More often than not, an attractive female who gets along better with the male coworkers is written off as spoiled, under-qualified, overly sensitive, and attention-mongering.

We bring this female vs. female attitude on ourselves, and on each other, although it's horrific and unnecessary, because of tradition/unenlightened values/personal competition/jealousy/our own personal baggage. It makes me feel awful because women should be the ones supporting other women and making each others' lives a little bit easier.

Women face enough challenges in life as it is. We could do everyone a favor and treat each other with some honesty and respect, at the very least. Or, we women could surprise the world and maybe treat other women just a little better than we would treat men because we women know what it's like to have menstrual cramps and need a little extra fiber in our diets. It's not fun.

Worth the wait

I realized that if I write today, that would mean I will have continued to post to this blog exactly every 4 days since I arrived in Mexico...

Last night, my opinion of this city totally changed. I met my friend's friend, a local, for the first time, based on my friend's introduction via Facebook. We agreed to meet at 6pm, but at 6:30pm, as I was debating whether or not to just head back to my hotel since she hadn't yet arrived, she showed up. I have been told that Mexican time is half an hour past Anglo time, which isn't too bad I suppose.

We spent the next several hours drinking Mexican beer, walking along a street, chatting in Spanish, but with me mostly listening in Spanish because my new companion was quite chatty. I had traveled down that same street before, in my car, in a taxi, in a double decker tour bus. I traveled down that same street during the day, at dusk, at night. But, this time, I found that street absolutely agreeable, beautiful, enticing.

I vowed then that I would take many more trips down that street, but this time, by foot. I would make my husband and my mom walk that street when they came to visit. I would walk that street when I was by myself. That street made me finally understand what I have heard different people say about this city. This city is not only livable, but probably a little slice of paradise on earth. How appropriate, then, that it is also called the place of eternal Spring, in the most Mexican state of Mexico, and an area that is home to the largest community of expats in the world.

I get it now, and all it took was being willing to hang tight for half an hour in order to meet a friend of a friend.

It's harder for the one left behind

I love planning trips. When I don't have a trip in the pipeline, I feel extremely restless and distressed. I also love hosting people and creating itineraries especially for them based on what I think they would like to see/do/eat/drink. For my current trip, I didn't do much planning. I'm going with the flow for now. But when some of my family visits, I will create fun itineraries for them.

This is the first time I travel for work. When I lived abroad before, it was mainly for study. Now I'm realizing that when travelling for work, some things change.

For instance, language. I'm speaking a lot of English here. But I'm learning not to feel guilty for speaking English, because at work the main language is English. But at least when I'm far away from work and from coworkers, I only speak Spanish.

Transportation. I can afford to take a taxi, or I can drive, so I don't need to climb onto a bus or hop onto a subway. But public transportation is such a wonderful way to learn about a city and its people. If I never use it, I could be missing out. I think I should make the effort.

Food. Because I'm not living with a host family that feeds me, and am not piss-poor, I can actually afford to get food at restaurants here, but I feel like I need to try really hard to eat the comida tipica of the area. And it would be nice to share some food with some families here, instead of just eating by myself or with coworkers.

Work vs. Study. Finally, I have to tell people that I'm in their country for work, and not just merely to learn and to soak in their culture, their atmosphere, their language, their way of life. I'm here because it's my job. But I also chose to be here due to my interest in all the other stuff that comes with living in a foreign country. I hope I can still soak in as much as I can, and be a good ambassador for my country. I hope I leave a good impression on the people I meet here, and that my overall impact is not only positive for me, but overall positive for them.

Carlos and friends

My very first dinner in Mexico, on my own, I can go anywhere I want, and I go get a burger at Carl’s Jr. I need to explain – I really wanted to have Mexican food. I had heard of the infamous tortas ahogadas, or traditional sandwiches “drowned” in a special hot sauce, but when I went to the place nearby that serves them, they were closed.

Then again, it’s not like I have Carl’s Jr. all the time when I’m home. It’s been years since I had Carl’s. They don’t exist where I’ve lived for the past 5 years, and when I go back home to California where those restaurants do exist, paradoxically, I don’t have time for fast food. But let me tell you, my Mexican American fast food experience was not what you’d expect. The restaurant was beautiful. It was chic, trendy fast food atmosphere at its finest. The service was by the book, from the cashier’s sincere words of welcome, to his counting out my exact change. Then there was the pickle, jalapeño, and salsa bar. And when my order was ready, another employee brought my food to me as I lounged on one of their couches and basked in the restaurant’s awesomeness, and asked if I needed anything else besides ketchup. When I got back to my hotel room and opened the bag, I noticed that not only was my food piping hot and fresh-looking, but that not a thing was out of place. Masterfully, the good folks at Carl’s made sure that every single fry of my order stayed obediently in its paper container.

The apple soda alone would have been enough to justify the trip. I need to invent apple soda in the US. I don’t understand why it isn’t prolific in the States. Carl’s Jr. may have originated in the States, but judging by my experience here, Mexico has made it its own.

By the way, the portions are huge. Although the patty isn’t as thick and char-broiled as what I remember from my previous experiences at Carl’s in the US, I ordered the smallest combo and I’m pretty sure it would equate to a normal combo in the US. I’d hate to see what the large combo looks like in Mexico.