Azores Day 9: What's a Trip to Europe Without Some Language Barriers?

First things first Blog, when I say I'm going to take a picture of a cow, I actually take a picture of multiple cows. Case in point:

The ocean is a part of this because that's what the cows see when I'm not standing there causing herd befuddlement and taking pictures.

Livestock photography was just one small part of today's excursions. I also climbed on some rocks, got afraid of the tide again, and found out Portuguese people, like every other European, pretend they don't speak English until you try to speak their language and fail.

I've pretty much figured out how to navigate the landscape here. There are rocks to climb, waters to swim in, and pastures to hike across. None of these things, however, have taught me how to speak Portuguese. I don't know if there is anything in this world that can teach me how to speak Portuguese. It sounds beautiful, difficult, nonsensical, and like every single Latin-based language combined into one. Just when you think it's like Spanish, you find out it's more like French. Or Russian. Or none of these. And I guess the Portuguese get really offended if you try to speak Spanish to them because apparently the two have a history of not getting along. Also, I'll reiterate, Portuguese and Spanish are two entirely different languages.

I knew that fact even though I ended up speaking Spanish (poorly) today when I found myself in a tiny grocery store in search of eggs, milk, and, of course, wine. I don't even really know Spanish, but it's the only language that was ever even a little bit taught to me besides English. So when the two men who were lurking next to the wine started talking to me, I had nothing--I mean nothing--to say in their language. I didn't even know how to say hello in this language (it's ola) when I first got here. I mean, I knew how to say hello in Portuguese at the time of this interaction, but it wouldn't have made sense. The conversation had already been initiated. Ola wasn't going to cut it. After they kindly moved out of the way so I could look at the wine I said the only other Portuguese word I know: obrigada.

They were amused by this. I decided to try and instill their help since despite this grocery store's tininess, I couldn't find the milk. I had seen the word milk in Portuguese when Carly and I were at Biscoitos the other day. I remembered it was pretty much like the Spanish word for milk, leche. So I just went for it. "Donde es el leche?"

Shit. I was speaking (terrible) Spanish to Portuguese people. It's like you can't not do it.

But they were nice and could tell I was trying and that's when they pulled their European slight of hand and decided to whip out some English chops by telling me that the milk was right behind me. Of course it was. Why would it be in a refrigerator? That would make too much sense.

Beyond that, they helped me pick out some wine (from the mainland!) and ring up my things. Thanks Portuguese guys. You brought me out of my comfort zone and accepted me for the unilingual American I am. Except I was a little confused when everyone said ciao to me as I left. So we say goodbye like Italians?

So now I guess I know three words in Portuguese: ola, obrigada, and ciao (even though I already knew ciao from Italy, but whatever). Oh wait. Scratch that. I know a fourth: fodis which of course means fuck. Like Carly's husband says, you've got to learn the swears first. I don't know why, but it sounds like good advice so I'll go with it.

Azores Day 2: Awkward Beach and Old Friends

Just like that, I've adjusted to the time change, Blog. All that sleep paid off and today I was able to take some time for personal reflection along with a nice jaunt down to the beach where I silently freaked out about which part of the swimming hole was best to explore. I was clearly the only American at this public access. While everyone else confidently navigated the concrete stairs that have been built into the rocky cliffs so as to access the Atlantic's chilly waters, I was awkwardly reading Kurt Vonnegut's Jailbird while watching the Portuguese dive into water that I eventually learned was not deep enough for even a belly flop (in my opinion anyway).

The cliffs distract you from the fact that all water in this photo is no more than 4 feet deep.

I love Europe because rules are a moot point here. There was a kid who was no more than four years old running around on the concrete, peering over edges that dropped an easy 15 feet down into frigid water that was well over his head. He was walking along rocks with waves splashing around him. He was pushing off the edge of the stairs to try out his puppy-like doggy paddle with no adult within reach. Sure there were lifeguards present, but they were occupied with trying to capture what I assumed was a jellyfish in another part of the swimming area.

After overthinking it to a maddening point, I finally just manned up and made my way down some stairs where there were a couple ladies around my age cooling off in the water. As I approached them I realized I had forgotten (or, fine, maybe I didn't know) the Portuguese word for hello, which is sad because it's ola. I awkwardly smiled as they blatantly judged and then decided to escape the entire situation by submerging myself in the cold and salty water.

Swim swim swim. Yes. This water was definitely only up to my rib cage. Why are full grown men diving into this head first from 15 feet above? Oh that's right. Europe doesn't have rules or a sense of preventative action. Anything goes! I'll bite if it means I can drink wine in the passenger's seat of Carly's island bomb car, which I can. No one is forcing me to dive into this ridiculously shallow water or flirt with poisonous jelly fish. No rules it is.

But the real highlight of my day was seeing this lady:

All I got was an action shot of nipple warfare in the car.

Megan Ramage White is on this island and we had dinner and it was the best. Old memories resurfaced and we reminisced about the good old days (and holy hell that entry I linked to above is so old, I was still nursing my wounds from my break up with Rob. ROB.). It's been four years since we've seen one another; a time that has been easily marked by her daughter's existence, who before tonight I met only once when she was a baby. She's four now and we had a lengthy conversation about her cat, Chicken and how she had all sorts of animals at her birthday party. I'm sad I'm away from home for so long, but am so happy I'm here for the next three weeks so I can be with these awesome people in this awesome place for an adequate amount of time.

Tomorrow we go to Biscoitos for more beach. This time I won't be alone so I'm hopeful my ability to exist in European society will be realized and executed.

Until then, I'm totally going to bed when I'm supposed to. Success!

This Is a First

Blog, a right of passage happened today. I got into my very first car accident that didn't involve severely injuring or killing a wild animal. No! I instead legitimately hit a car. No, not even hit. I think the correct term is "t-boned". I t-boned the drivers side of a car at a pretty nifty speed, if you don't mind me saying so myself. It was exhilerating and terrifying all at the same time. I feel pretty good about it for the following reasons:

1. This dude (yup, I got a good enough look at him to know he was a white male who is probably around the same age as myself) literally drove his car in front of mine as I was going down a main drag in good ole Minneapolis. There was no light and no notice that I was about to completely smash the front end of my 1997 Sable into  the side of some ambiguous silver four-door sedan.

2. As everyone (or most people) knows, when you hit a deer, you hit it because it runs out in front of your car at an interval that allows nothing but a gasp and a tap of the brakes to take place. That is exactly what happened to me this evening. Ironically, t-boning a silver four-door sedan at roughly 20 miles per hour caused less visible damage to my car than that one time I knocked out a headlight by hitting the ass of a deer back in North Dakota. I didn't even kill the deer. It ran away from my as I emerged from my car to yell at it in anger and frustration. Tonight's incident just left me surprised and shocked. Yes, a deer will run away from you. But a dude who just allowed his car to be totally fucked up by mine? I'm surprised.

3. I used my horn. This means nothing in the police report. This means nothing to the guy I hit. This means nothing to my insurance company. But the fact that one of my first reactions was to honk my horn comforts me for some reason. It makes me feel like I was the first one who responded to the whole situation. I got to take advantage of what little control I had over the situation by alerting anyone and everyone around me that some shit was about to go down. I got to let everyone hear the precursor to the actual accident. You're welcome, gawkers. I'd like to think I drew more witnesses in with my supersweet horn honking abilities.

So I called 911 for the first time. I filed a police report for the first time. I schmoozed with some very sweet and nice witnesses for the first time. And I missed my burlesque class for the first time. I was really looking forward to working my triceps this week too. No lie.

In a way I'm glad it happened. I suspect the damage to my car is minimal (I'm hoping anyway). I got a nice lesson in car accident ettiquette (note: don't drive away if you are t-boned!). And I ended up spending a nice evening with my roommates, wine, and tealights (turns out I'm all about ambiance after recovering from the initial shock of a traffic accident). Though I'm anticipating next Tuesday when I can once again spread my legs and snake my body in a classy stripper fashion.Yes, I was on my way to the burlesque class I've been taking when this all went down. And I plan on continuing to learn the art. Don't judge, Blog. You know you'd want to drop a shoulder strap to this song if ever you had the chance:

Late Night Ads: Part Deux

What's that Blog? You want more from last night's ridiculous Craig'sList ad I posted out of curiosity regarding what the Minneapolis dating pool holds? Well, you're in luck. I've managed to create a few more categories for the responses I've received. Note to self: If you mention vomit, they will obsess about vomit...

Case in point:

"You seem to be easily nauseated.... Are you sure it isn't some sort of stomach flu? Maybe someone slipped some syrup of ipecac into your nightly broth? You could just be having an epileptic reaction to the bright colors on your computer monitor?"

"nothing attracts a man like multiple references to vomit lol" (You'd be surprised at the current state of my inbox, sir.)

"I saw your posting on craigslist and was interested I laughed when you brought in the whole vomiting concept, I am a 20 year old SWM DDF college student at the UofM" (1. I don't know what DDF means, 2. I am both proud and embarrassed that my humor entices 20 year-old males)

"Still vomiting? I have alittle bit of vomit in the back of my throat. Burns just enough to remind me that this is a little uncomfortable ….perhaps meeting someone on line. so whatdo you think? Chat or vomit or both simultaneously?" 

And the vomit grand prize goes to... this guy.

"I dont like to vomit, but iv come to realize that not branching out and staying confined to the same structure of people is just plane stale. We could meet at least until one of us vomits. i dont vomit much but if your cerousity in meeting anyone . i live in uptown and am willing to meet just about any serial killer as long as they shake up my stagnet patter! im not some sleezy grease ball , just interested in meeting one. hit me up if your down or ignore this message if you have already vomited or choose to spare me and decide not to cut me up and put me in your trunk ! IM FUCKIN BORED AS SHIT!!!!!!!!!"

There's more. Oh, there's so much more. Like...

Dudes who have houses... but not STDs:

"I live in Minneapolis and have my own house . I am very safe, fun and respectful"

"As for the basic info, I'm 38years old, 5'11 175# shaved head (i.e. bald), blue eyes, glasses.  I'm smart, well educated (a lawyer), with a job, a car, a house, no STDs, nokids, etc."


Just checking in on my progress:

"Since you posted last night I would bet you have been vomiting constantly since reading the emails you received???" (also hung up on vomit)

"haha your ad was funny. I also live in uptown, I enjoy looking at these craigslist ads but never really respond to them cause I dont really online date either but they are fun to read but you seem interesting. Did you get some good responses yet?"


LOLZ:

"I'm just like you probably sick of the bar scene sick of going through the same routine of trying to meet people only find out how lucky you are to be single lol"

"I am single and interested, but 

unfortunately...lol  i am older than  you . i am 42.  lol.   I am fun and outgoing

person.. i  am kind and caring person... bla bla bla .... lol"


Then there's advice... 

"You don't sound so happy. Control your thoughts, control your attitude!!!Life is good!!!"


Compliments (which I suspect are only made in an attempt to get into my cyber pants)...

"I saw your post and found itvery interesting. It is one of the better written posts I've seen in a while. So I thought I'd send you an email to say Hi."

Your post was fantastic, very funny and brutally honest. And someone I would definitely like to get to know more. I believe I share your sense of humor and outlook on life. I am another individual that is looking, I've been set up with friends of friends and tried the random girl at starbucks and yet here I am.

"You made me laugh. Even if it was the slightest of chuckles." (Why thank you for the coveted distinction of my possessing the ability to cause a slight chuckle from within sir)


Incredible straight forward-ness...

"I think other bored peopleare most likely to respond"


And out of all of them. Out of all the spam, creepy old men, and ridiculous misspellings, the one guy I'd consider responding to whilst choking back the vomit I made ever so clear would take place if I were to go through with this, is a polite and honest teacher who happens to be real:

Hello,

I read your post on CL. I would love to talk with you more. My name is
David. I am 31 years old. I am 6'1, brown hair, brown eyes, cute smile and
a nice athletic muscular body. I work as a high school teacher and love my
job. I also enjoy reading books, watching movies, hanging out with
friends, downhill skiing and working out.

I love the city and work and live in Minneapolis. I would like to talk
with you more and see where it goes. I am real since we are supposed to
get a big snowfall tonight night.

my picture is attached.

thanks,

David

The question remains; will I respond? I don't know. Nausea still makes its way up my esophagus when I think of what I could possibly include in a response to the polite school teacher who loves his job. But I'm learning that the one thing that drives the success of online dating is curiosity. You just won't know unless you put the time it takes to write a blog entry about all the d-bags who responded to your classified post into an actual response to the one who actually catches your eye.

Of course I'm still hung up on that guy I was dating, Blog. But I have to admit that this Craig's List experiment has taken me out of the sorrowful cycleI have been stuck in and did just what I hoped it would do; it reminded me that there are men out there and has distracted me from dwelling on the weirdness that came with dating that guy. It is completely up to me if I want to pursue them or not. I'm still not sure if it's something I want to do, but it's good to know that it's an option. I guess I knew it was an option the whole time, and that's probably why I crafted a terrible ad about dating-induced vomit.

Jesus, Samantha. No wonder you're single.

Late Night Ads

 Blog, I can't sleep. I was riddled with a hangover-induced migraine last night that seeped over into this morning and as a result I ended up sleeping until noon. It's thrown my schedule way off and now all I'm left with is my thoughts and you.

It doesn't help that the thoughts I'm having are not nearly the kind that can lull one to sleep. Quite the contrary. My mind is full of frustration and a ridiculous longing for what I simply cannot have. It is an endless cycle that you'd think would make me exhausted enough to get some shut-eye, but in the end I'm wide awake with nothing to do but contemplate as to whether or not I should write about it all publicly.

I'm sure you can guess where this is headed Blog. Part of me just wants to spill it all to you for the sake of releasing it from the confines of my conscience. At the same time I feel like I'm beating a dead horse at this point. We've gone through this before and nothing has changed. I'm sad, confused, and unsettled with the way my last "relationship" (I put quotes around the word because it was a strange enough experience for them to be deserved) ended. Perhaps because it ended in no way I have ever experienced a relationship ending. Hell, the whole thing was something I had never experienced before. In retrospect it all seems as if it was in a good way, but it's hard to tell for sure. I could just be building this magnificent guy up in my head from the increasingly vague memory I have of what it was like to have him in my life.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm surprised that I'm still hung up on that guy I was dating a few months back. I even expected that I'd be out of the post-relationship dumps by the time my birthday rolled around. Well, that came and went and I'm still here pondering what the hell happened.

I guess it doesn't help that I hang out with his friends from time to time.

Anyway, in an attempt to both divert my attention and gauge where I am in the "being over it enough to consider dating" process, I spewed this Craigslist ad all over the women seeking men page this evening. It pretty much speaks for itself. I'm not proud of it, but I have to say the 32 (and counting) messages I've received in response have been entertaining enough. Entertaining and further proof that online dating really does make me want to vomit since the simple thought of responding to any one of these messages makes me nauseous. I guess that puts me at a zero in the "being over it enough to consider dating" area. It's actually a comforting thing to know. I'm glad I'm being honest with myself, and Craigslist for that matter.

And now, highlights for what entered unto my old hotmail inbox this evening reminiscent of this throwback entry that interestingly enough is embedded with a subtle tone of my former insecurities and proof that I had an asshole for a boyfriend.

There's the get-to-the-point guys:

"So,
I read your CL ad and thought i'd respond to your shit. i'm 26, a guy, in s. mpls. email me...."

"Male.23 pic plz."

"Come snuggle thats all no joke" (WHAAA?!)


Conversationalists...

"Good evening. How are you? I enjoyed your CL post. I really don't know what I am looking for, but guess I am looking for some companionship, someone to chat with, and if there is a connection, dinner, movie etc.
Have a great Tuesday! Enjoy the snow!"

"Just about anybody could respond.
And coffee is a good start ;)
How's your night going?"


The "I may have just copied and pasted my online dating profile into this email" guys:

"I love soccer, surfing, salsa dancing and spending time with my family. Always like to try new things, get into new adventures. Having goals in life are very important and I work hard to achieve them! Traveling is a big passion, places I have been so far: most of US, Bahamas, most of Europe... Looking forward to seeing South America and Far East Asia."

"35 6'3" brown hair blue eyes. I enjoy all kinds of music listen to alot of country and rock. I enjoy hunting fishing and everything the outdoors has to offer. I like to go out to eat have a few drinks or go to movie or just stay home and watch a movie or listen to music cuddled on the couch."


The "I totally know how you feel" crew:

"I would response to that I feel what your saying online dating come on really like it works If it need work I would be amazed plz key me know what you would do if you meant a cool guy down to earth soft spoken man such as myself I would love to keep this conversion going if u will"

"Hi your posting is pretty cool. I agree with the whole thing that you're talking about. My problem has been no one's ever given me a chance to shine on a date. You put your biography out there and you never hear anything back. I don't care if you're not interested. That has been my experience with online dating." (Womp, womp)

"Hi there! just thought I would say hello. You seem like a smart person with a nice sense of humor. That is key to me. I never roam craigslist ads, but for some reason I felt that I should tonight. Maybe it's for good reason. I met you." (Oh dear. This is what you consider meeting someone?)


A one-upper?

"Do you one better. My sexy bi wife of 10 years left me last year for her online gf. Talk about vomit"


And last but certainly not least, the haters:

"The problem with idiots like you is that you don't realize how puke inducing YOU are."

"I'm not even gonna respond to your shot!" (But you did, and you spelled "shit" wrong)

"You post because for one you are a female
Second, you are insecure and afraid ti approach men on your own by choice
Third, you need attention
There
Vomit away. Thanks.
Women in thus city act confident but aren't at all.
Men can see thus lack of it written in between the lines while women don't think we can."


His harsh words ring true for me. And yes Blog, it is incredibly tempting to put up a sarcastic defense to him and his odd spelling of the word "this", but why should I when he is right? While I don't think I need to be reminded that I am female and I do believe I exhibit a certain air of confidence, I certainly am not ready to approach men. Does this mean I'll never be ready? No. But that last guy and all the others who responded did me a huge favor in reinforcing my stance on where I am with seeing what's out there. As for needing attention, I think we all need it to a certain degree. It just depends on where that attention is coming from. Right now, an email chain is not going to get me what I want. And I'm totally ok with that.

Homeless Poignancy

What's with the homeless = poignancy feeling I get every time a drunk and bumbling homeless person wobbles up to me and asks me for change? I feel like there is some hidden meaning in the action. Like I should suddenly find out something about the world that I didn't see before. Isn't that what homeless people represent in shit like books and movies anyway? The idea that the protagonist has been missing throughout the entire story and then he or she finally sees the glorious light in something ugly and forgettable. But then there's real life. The drunk and bumbling homeless man who wobbled up to me tonight and asked me for a ciagarette had no light for me to see. I am not moved to write a poem about it. I'm not moved to relate it to a movie. I guess I'm moved enough to blog about it. But the word "blog" has become something that doesn't carry poignancy with it, but more just a "talking about shit" kind of essence. That's why I like blogging. It doesn't have to be heavy.

I don't often find poignant discoveries about myself and world when I encounter homeless people. My life is not a movie. However, to the contrary, homeless people I encounter seem to be on the prowl for some poignant discovery for themselves. They are their own screenplay, asking for change, feeling hopeless, hoping for some movie-esque event to take place and change their lives for the better right before the credits roll...

The man who I encountered tonight was begging not only for a cigarette, but also some sort of weird wisdom/soulful intensity/verifcation of his poignant ways or what have you. It was actually hard to understand him between his mumbles. But he fit into the category of the homeless person you encounter who tries to poetically sum up big ideas with small phrases. After telling him that I didn't have a cigarette, he made his way to the revolving door to leave the building we were in and he just stood there. It seemed that he was trying to push through it, but was too drunk to do so. I asked him if he needed help pushing the door, because I like to bring this sort of thing onto myself whenever I can (lie).

"We can all stand on our own."

He mumbled other things as well, but this is what I made out from it. We can all stand on our own. Yes, we can. Unless we have some sort of physical disability, most of us are able to stand on our own. But of course he didn't mean this literally. Drunk and homeless statements such as this one can only come from a figurative point of view. We can all stand on our own. We don't need help from anyone else, girl who is awkwardly standing there listening to me. How dare you ask if I need help. I'm strong. Look at me. Overcome with strength.

He actually did make it through the door which I was pretty impressed by. He went outside, wandered around. I thought he was gone. I continued to wait for my bus. Suddenly he was back in my view. Back through the doors. Back in my personal bubble.

With alcohol on his breath he told me he had a question. I told him to ask me his question, since I do this all day anyway, what can one more question hurt? Well, after mumbling and apologizing for taking so long to ask the mystery question he was going to ask, he ended up telling me that I was something along the lines of "worth it", or maybe "you have to believe in you" or something like that. I told him thanks and if he didn't have a question for me, then he'd have to leave me alone. But the poignancy! This homeless man was desparate for his pertinent wisdom and feelings to be doused upon the public, rum flavored breath and all! It got to the point of awkward, but he eventually left me alone and then my bus finally came. I got on and went home. The heavy importance of a movie life was gone from mine, and I was more than fine with it. Noticing fellow bus riders who look like my friends is more my style, yo.

I realize this man has an addiction. I realize he's probably been shit on by a lot of the people in his life. I realize he was reaching out, perhaps in an interally desperate, be it though daily,attempt to connect with someone somewhere and receive some verification that he is a human being worth something besides ignorance. Maybe I'm wrong about all this stuff, but I've been watching a lot of Intervention lately, so it's got to count for something. I think that's why I asked him if he needed help with the door...

Anyway, I think my point here is that I did not feel poignant in that situation, though I felt I should have felt that way because that's what the movies make you want to feel. But when are movies ever like real life? They're not. Homeless man felt poignant because he was drunk and had major life issues. But there was such a disconnect that there was absolutely no middle ground between these two points of view. We both stood and had an incredibly awkward interaction, from my end of things anyway. No light was seen. No resolution made. Just an observation by a sober girl and a interally and personally magnificent speech made by a drunk. And now I realize that movies capitalize on the space between sober, employed girl and drunk, homeless guy. Way to go, Hollywood.