Glory be. Glory be. We now have hot water and a working oven. Life is complete.
Well....

Mark turned 25 recently. It was a ride-of-a-day. I visited his school and there was a band (Jet Lag) playing for the kids in their outdoor playground. When told this, I figured it'd be a Blues Clues/Sesame Street type band that has songs like "A-is for Apple, B- is for Bubble gum......", but it was just like any other indie rock band you'd see in the U.S. - long black hair, striped T-shirt, black vests, ......
Regardless, the kids didn't sit there like cheese muffins, but were dancing the whole time. So, too, were the teachers. It was so exciting. If a song started slow, the kids would sit, but once the tempo increased, the kids moved in a wave to their feet and into a non-violent moshpit. Two final things to say about it was that they sang Happy Birthday to Mark (which was a special thing to do and a great way to get Mark to blush his brains out) and lastly, they invited the kids to sit and stand beside them for the final song. So the kids swarmed around them like maggots on a steak. They surrounded the keyboardist and banged on the keys when his part came up and completely ruined the song (but made it so much more entertaining). It was a disaster. Teachers were running laps around these kids keeping them from twirling the guitar cords and crawling between the band's legs. Long live Jet Lag.

We went to Ikea, as well, which is identical to Canton's. It reminded us of home, which was nice.
At night, we went to a department store and layered our body in all sorts of samplings of expensive perfumes. Afterwards, we smelled of royalty (actually I think people wanted to barf).
I've had to learn some basic lessons on language etiquette, particularly on the point that English is not a secret language. I sometimes get careless and speak in English about people (while being really close to them), assuming they cannot understand me. And, of course, some end up being bilinguists and so they heard my snickery comments about them and I feel like jumping off a bridge. Lesson learned, though. For now.
Tutoring has been going okay. Lola has been helping me with my Spanish and I with her English and things are good, but I wish I had charged her mulah from the beginning. Oh Lola.
Oh and me and Mark were walking through the Plaza Mayor a few days ago and there was this group of people crowded around some Latin band, loving it. Mark comments that Spaniards love these type of groups so I catch a long glance and notice people with hands lifted and eyes closed, which can only mean one thing - they're singing mainstream Christian rock songs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hmmm...........certainly a blast from my past.
Today I plan on carving pumpkins, finding an indoor pool, researching my future job, finding a country to flee to for an upcoming excursion, find other (more exciting) people to tutor, rent a Disney movie (maybe Lion King), and help Mark at school with his bulletin boards.

A Loss of Self (worth?)....

Okay. Here we go. Brace yourself.
Electricians came today to finally install hot water. My introduction to the two dudes was pretty disastrous because I had no idea what they were saying, but we all climbed passed this and established a positive rapport. Anyways, they start doing their business which means the toilet is down. And, of course, by God's loving grace, the times when we have to go to the bathroom the most are the times when something prevents it.
It got bad.
I'm standing in the bedroom, knees shaking like a maniac, sweat soaking my body, me contorting into all sorts of obnoxious positions, praying that these fellas not catch a glimpse of my agony. We all know how it comes and goes - we feel the intense urge and it passes for a moment, we catch a breath, grab onto the wall and prepare for the next urge. Well, it came to the point where there were no breaks. My body was demanding that it do what it was called to do. So then my mind is dissolving and I start reasoning that I am way too old to have to experience this ridiculous drama. So I walk into the spare room, close the door and start clenching a roll of toilet paper like it's a life jacket and I'm lost in the ocean. And I notice a pad of paper and I start illogically thinking that I deserve to get this out of my body - that although I'm too old to pant over pottytime, I am somehow not too old to crouch on the ground and follow my destiny.

And so I did it and it couldn't have been otherwise.

(for a moment just I now I considered sparing you the details after the incident, but decided it's essential to the story - after all, i have no more dignity at this point)

So I drag the mess under a chair, close the door and walk to the guys and pretend to be interested in their work. The man tells me I can use the bathroom now and I'm thinking - "Eff-you, man, my doo-doo's under a chair and I want to kill myself."
I return to the room which smells foul, so I put my creation in a bag, tie it up, and throw a blanket over the chair to trap the stench. Upon another visit, I realize this isn't sufficient, so I sneak the bag past the men, run downstairs, throw the bag in a tiny trash barrel, and ran back upstairs.

The men are still here now. And the room is currently airing out with an open window.

I think Mark might break up with me because of this. Yikes.

(Also, you better believe I took a picture of the corner where I did it - but i can't find the adapter cord to import the photo).

I'm sorry.
I posted this really for my sake - to remember the good, the bad, and the smelly.
I feel convicted (like Pee Wee Herman).
I hope we can all still be friends.

...

It's been a while. What can be said?? My tutoring session with the Spanish woman was okay. She was a little dry, but it gives me another thing to do here in Madrid and has inspired me to maybe find other people; younger, fresher, and more entertaining people who might need English practice. I guess I got too excited and assumed I'd be hearing funny stories from her about her bratty kids, menopause, and the next season of Survivor, but..... maybe that will come soon.
Mark, Caitlin, Talia, and I ventured off to Gijon this past weekend. Mark's school director gave him the keys to her vacation apartment. The city was beautiful. We climbed luscious cliff hills (I almost fell off and Mark chased a black cat),we swam in the sea (I couldn't feel my legs it was so cold and Mark shrieked countless times in alarm over suspected fish bites and crab attacks), we visited a pretty seaside cathedral (where two girls were going to town with nose-picking, forgive them Jesus), saw an old man wash his dentures in a stone fountain, met a sweet Mormon girl on a bus who was evangelizing to us for her mission-trip, and we frequented Sidrarias (where men that looked liked uncle Daves and Mikes poured hard cider into a cup, arms stretched super wide, emphatic about not watching the risky pour). Me and Mark also visited a different church and it was almost empty inside, so we sat down. Then all of a sudden a bride walks down arm-in-arm with her father and a wedding begins. We skipped out of there as soon as the priest shut his mouth.
Oh!! Another important thing to add is that a bird pooped on me for the first time ever! - on my shoulder. it was green and white, like a danish paste for St. Patrick's Day. Also, we played Charades on the second night here and I discovered Mark's competitive side. I was never warned. However, I played off my comp-side really well. But....he probably saw through it. Nonetheless, my team lost.
I tasted baby squid (which really did taste like BBQ chicken and I tried mussels which really did taste like dying babies). Furthermore, Spanish pizza does not compare to the joys and splendor of Hungry Howies. I advise you to bask in its wonders while you can (and please send me a letter with a smudge of Hungry Howies crust on it or a jar with your pizza breath locked in).
No one has dryers here, only clothes lines, but our neighbor (across the alley) here on the fourth floor took up most of our line, so I was forced to hang all our socks and undies on the spines of chairs and table edges. It's an ugly sight. (below- those are my black undies and mark's red swim trunks).
Well, let me end with two things: the first is an inspiration quote I learned this weekend -
"Don't make God have to pop a tire"
and secondly, here are some pics of our new place. Peace.

Bananas

A few important things happened. First of all, I instigated Maria into singing and she took it way too far. I threw out a few lyrics from the Sound of Music, but little did I know it was her favorite movie. So she ends up giving us a tour of the soundtrack in her Scottish accent. Things took a sour turn when she began to discuss her childhood experiences with Catholic proselytization. And then out of nowhere, this happens:
So I end up watching Disney's Prince of Egypt, which is awesome. And Mark busts through the door almost in tears, walking in on me -who is also almost in tears. It was at a very pivotal scene where Moses and God become buds at the burning bush. Here's a taste of it:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=amGHXO94P_I
Basically, I asked Mark what the buzz was about and he said we could move into the new place today, but might have to cleanse out bodies in cold water like polar bears and not use the stove for a couple weeks.

Life is a blank canvas for me over here so I was offered the opportunity to help some Spanish medical student with her English-speaking skills. Her name is Lola and we spoke on the phone yesterday, me with my broken Spanish and her with her broken English. It was a mess. But kind of fun.

Me: "Do you want to meet hoy, manana, o un otro dia??
Lola: "Como??"
Me: "Hoy, lunes, martes....etc.??"
Lola: "I want meet Wednesday every week".

It was the longest 7 minutes of my life. I'm, of course, pooping my pants with nerves because tomorrow's the big day. I'm clueless about what to do so I might need to pester Mark and shake out some of his talent onto myself. I'm so nervous about being an impatient, condescending American. It will be a lesson learned. Worst case scenario is she hates me and cusses at me. But at least I will have no idea what she is saying. Oh my.I need to go to the doctor's office for several things. Gosh. My language skills aren't sufficient for an independent visit, so I have to pack Mark in my pocket and have him be my voice to the medical world. I'll be able to say, "Tengo un bulto en mi testiculo izquierdo," but.....

I'm pumped for my very soon excursion to Asturias. And....
that's all.

i need to change my underwear...

Yikes. Andrew's bloggin'. Ehh...this is awkward.
Nonetheless, where has life brought me? I'm here in Spain. I imagined Madrid and all it's unfamiliar codes 'n customs would give me some minor emotional concussion, but it has not. But I'm not disappointed. What I am disappointed in is the mullet fad. Me and Mark see them everywhere. What's humorous is that they come in many variations. We viewed a soccer match yesterday in this really cool field. It was elevated so that if a ball flew out-of-field it would probably kill somebody below from the impact. Regardless, some of the guys sported a fairly decent and suave mullet. But then we visited this wild carnival last night and saw some really ungodly ones. I stole one of the kid's school photos so you can see what 'm talking about. Another important thing to mention is that I found my favorite Spanish landmark so far. Well, I guess it's not a landmark, but it's amazing all the same. It's that crazy rope furnishing to the right. The random web photo doesn't do it justice. I plan on playing "house" with fellow playground children, napping, reading, and conquering this piece of heaven in the days to come.

I'm going to start packing for the big move to Barrio del Pilar, which, by the way, has a wild cat on the roof of its shopping mall (Mark shrieked like a baby at the sight of it), shopping carts in its park fountains, outside ping-pong tables, and grandpas that pee in public . I've seriously just peed 3 times in the past 45 minutes. What is Spain doing to my urinary system. Maybe I have diabetes or a urinary tract infection. Buster rest in peace. Is Mark's hypochondria rubbing off on me?
Despite the many joys and wonders that leaving this current apartment entail, i will miss a few things like the butt-cleansing bidet, heart-shaped kitchen tile, and window view that so adequately accommodates my Peeping Tom-ishness. Maria also has her quirks, like how she has a basket of at least 8 remote controls but needs our assistance in using the "delete" function on a computer. She'll sing sometimes, too, and once taught Mark a sweet dance move. Someday I'll teach her the Hustle. Oh Mary Jesus. She truly brought to life these lyrics:

She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle! She is wild!
She's a riddle! She's a child!
She's a headache! She's an angel!
She's a girl!

How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!

---------well. I'm done I think.