Statistics

Soooo, it's been brought to my attention that people are actually reading my blog. Which I never really anticipated outside of my dad and my sister. (Mom's still figuring out the internet.) But as I was looking at my stats earlier today, I was pleasantly surprised. I've had almost 850 pageviews, which seems pretty excessive. AND, this is the exciting part for me, people in 6 different countries have read my blog. I mean, the United States and Spain make sense, because I've ...lived in those places. Here are the specific stats from today:

1. United States (of course)
2. Germany (I don't speak German, aside from "mein hund steht in flammen"* nor do I know any Germans well enough for them to follow my blog. So that's curious)
3. Spain (This makes more sense, since I do have American friends here that have told me they read my blog. Thanks for the support all you SAE people!)
4. France (While I do not speak French, nor do I really know any French people besides my step-dad's cousin's wife and therefore half of their son as well I suppose, this makes sense. My former roommate, Maggie is living in Avignon, France. This is her blog bonjourdearmaggie.blogspot.com)
5. Ireland (I give this one to Maci and Kelsey)
6. Russia (RUSSIA?! I'm so confused. I know of no one who lives in Russia. The languages I speak are nowhere close to Russian. Why are Russian people reading my blog?)

My readership (that sounds way too fancy)

After all of this, I just have to ask you a few questions, dear reader.
First of all, hi. I'm very glad that you're wasting your time to read my pointless blog. (actually I have another one that's supposed to be the pointless one, but that's besides the point. ha. points.)
Second of all, where are you from? If I don't know you personally, then feel free to say in my comment box where you're from because that would be cool for me!
Third of all, if I don't know you....why are you here? I mean this in the least rude sentiment. But after a few months of being in Spain, you really learn how to be direct with people.

So I actually intended on writing about Spanish food in this blog, but stats just kind of....took over. I promise this will not happen often. I just find these little internet-y things quite interesting. And I will write more often. Especially if I'm sick, because, downtime. Bye-bye grammar. So thanks for reading, and I hope I didn't scare any newcomers! Bye!!!!

*my knowledge of German is accredited to Olivia Tarplin

Two Weeks Notice

The days are ticking down, and I'm almost at my destination! I have exactly 14 days until my plane leaves O'Hare and hops over to Toronto. (See what I did there? Hare...hop...like a bunny...anyway) This is the time when one might usually start packing. And since I am a responsible woman of the 21st century, I shall start my packing. So here it is: my packing list, with commentary.

The Somewhat Necessary

• Documents (passport, visa, plane tickets, etc.) These will allow me to get in to Spain and make sure they don't kick me out
• Money. Because chances are, I may get hungry.
• Rx. (This stands for Radioactive Xylophones.)
• Backpack. They tell me I'm going to Spain for school.  I might as well humor them.
• Gifts for my host family. I'm between Bears gear and peanut butter
• Computer w/charger. So that I can continue my lovely blog
• Camera. Photographic evidence that I ate at a cafe.
• Plug Adapters. Unfortunately plugs aren't universal yet.  
• Mattress. Just in case the one in the apartment isn't comfortable

Clothing/Shoes (Probably way more than I actually need)

• Jeans (2-3 pairs) 
• Sweaters/Hoodies (2-3) Bringing American style...or lack thereof.
• T-shirts. Classy.
• Long sleeve shirts.
• Underwear 
• Long side note: I forgot underwear on a week long trip to Colorado when I was a sophomore in high school. It was the most awkward/miserable 2 days until I could buy new ones. Never making that mistake again.
• Pajamas. And maybe bananas...
• Socks. The cute ones with llamas on them.
• Swimsuit. Although with all the nude and topless beaches, I may not even need it! (joking, family)
• One set of workout clothes. Because I'm delusional.
• Jacket. For when the temperature dips down into the fifties...
• One nice outfit for special/formal occasions. Such as movie premieres or bar mitzvahs
• Decent walking shoes. And also pretty yet impractical heels
• Flip flops (especially for showering at hostels)
• Sarong, straw hat, beach umbrella, flamenco dress

Toiletries (Because Spain Doesn't Have Stores)

• Shampoo/Conditioner. To keep my hair luscious
• Toothbrush/toothpaste. Because this isn't the UK
• Soap. 
• Deodorant. BO is unacceptable.
• Disposable razors. This is Europe after all.
• Hairbrush. Unless the grunge thing comes back.
• Nail clippers and nail file. So I can obnoxiously primp while waiting in line 
• Suntan lotion. Now I'm just rubbing it in.
• Makeup.  No one should see my real face in the morning
• Toilet. Trees.

Misc.

• Small plastic bottles for toiletries. TSA hates big bottles and they cannot lie.
• Purse. To carry my things in. Or to hit attackers with. 
• iPod. If I can find the darn thing...
• Umbrella. Ella ella  eh eh eh
• Watch. What we used before cell phones.
• Sunglasses.
• Playing Cards. For solitaire mostly.
• Journal. Which I will then select entries from to put on my blog. Gotta save the juicy stuff for my granddaughter to find years after I'm dead in a dusty old crate in the attic. 
• Thin lightweight towel. Or a Shamwow.
• Flip. Never leave home without your frog.

My Kingdom for a Visa

Applying for a visa. This sounds like a whole barrel of monkeys’ kind of fun, right? Of course not.  It was possibly the most stressful application process of my life. I mean, getting into North Central was easier and required less effort than this. (Not that I picked my school because they didn't require an essay with the application. I would never do such a thing out of laziness… Anywho!) I started looking at all of my visa requirements with plenty of time to spare. My appointment was on Friday. I opened my email on Monday. Perfectly logical! Except that they want your entire life story on a felt board like in Sunday school. Which I always thought was brilliant. They were pieces of paper that stuck without sticky things! But I digress.

The requirements to obtain a Spanish visa, which is a part of the Schengen zone (apparently according to my research), and expansive and vary greatly from one consulate to the next. So I, being completely freaked out and paranoid, decided to obtain ALL THE DOCUMENTS!!!! This, in hindsight, wasn’t a bad plan after all. I panicked at my time frame, since I was to leave for Naperville the very next day, and simultaneously inconvenienced my dear loving parents. I had my mother set up a last minute physical so that my doctor could say that I am “Physically and mentally well and able to travel” which is only about half true. I also had to have my father go to the bank to get a money order, and to the post office so that they could notarize a statement saying that he will give me $1000 a month to live in Spain (Best piece of paper that I have ever owned!).  All in less than 24 hours notice. Did I get all of this done in time? Yes. Did it make my mother have a spaz attack? Pretty much. Did I need all of those documents? Nope.

This is the beauteous part of the Spanish consulate. They say you need all of these things…4 passport photos, bank statements, color copies of every piece of paper in your filing cabinet. But really all they want is your forms and your money. I gave the man at the counter probably a third of the papers I had in my folder for my application. Which I was okay with, it is totally better than getting there and having the man behind the counter go, “Passport?” and you go “…riiiiiiiiight…” However, I had a traumatic experience that was almost that bad. My story goes a little something like this:

I get into Chicago at about 10:55 and decide to take a cab so that I get to my 11:30 appointment with plenty of time to spare. I lucked out with a driver who didn’t care about my life story and knew that I probably didn’t care about his. I discover on my way there, that my planner says 11:40, and I had much more time than I thought I would. (Sweet!) So I get to the consulate, which mostly just looks like a post office, and start talking to some of the other people studying abroad. When it gets to my turn at the 11:40 slot, actually about 12:00 at that point, I step up to the counter. I give the man my passport and he looks up my name. “That’s strange, your name isn’t in the system” My heart feels like it’s dropping all fifteen stories onto Michigan Avenue.  “I’ll try looking it up again” I try to convince myself he spelled my name wrong. “Are you sure you had an appointment today?” “I’m absolutely positive, I wrote it in every planner and on every piece of paper I have” Okay, so a bit of hyperbole, but still. Really?! I was about to burst into tears or take a chair and smash the window, because basically my life was over. “Can I see your forms?” What the hell is this guy getting at? Does he really want to torture me this much? “Okay and your ID. Okay, I’ll take your letter of acceptance.” And that’s when I figured out…he’s going to let me do it anyway! Oh heaven, and angels, and Eric Clapton! I got all of my papers that he needed turned in and he told me, “Come back in a month to pick up your visa.” I CAN GET MY VISA!!! I practically skip out of the building with relief and a new sense of freedom.

And then I ask myself. “’Come back in a month’? What is that supposed to mean?!”