Taking Over Argentina, One Success at a Time.

I used to be a blogger.

That was before I discovered a website on which I could watch literally thousands of old episodes of 30 Rock.

Beginning to feel there is some shame in this.

So, my friends, I commence again.  Blogging.

Blog. Blog. Blog.

You know what I don’t get? 

Who does the laundry in China.  I mean, in all Western parts of the world, the Chinese do the laundry.  So… do Westerners do laundry in the East?

I feel this is a valid question, as here in Argentina, my laundry man only addresses me in Mandarin.  This is a bit unfair, as I do my very best to speak to him in Spanish.

In the end, absolutely nothing is communicated except that I continually and reliably lose socks. 

Registering for classes is like trying to convince a straight man to drive a Smart Car – nearly impossible.  And even when everything appears to be going to plan, you get the sneaking suspicion something has gone terribly wrong.

It is the bane of every college student’s existence.

For Truman State University, this endeavor was held over the past week.  It was impossible to forget, as everyone’s Facebook status was about it.

“Registration – you suck!!!” 

Well.  I did not realize Registration was a functioning being.  I will have to write him a strongly worded letter.

Post-registration, it is common practice to swap horror stories.  Now, logically, rapidly typing in numbers into a computer, then waiting for the Screen of Doom to pop up doesn’t make an actual saga.

College has nothing to do with logic.

The irony of it all is that for as hard as one works to get into a class, NO ONE EVER ACTUALLY WANTS TO TAKE IT. 

Not that this is ever disclosed to the faculty, of course.  We actually frequently write to our (hopefully) future professors, stating how thrilled and privileged we would be if granted the opportunity to take their course.

When met with success, gratitude is shown by not using the first class period for naptime.

Every class period thereafter is fair game.

I like tall people, but sometimes they frighten me.  What if they become self-aware and begin to use their size to their advantage?

Game over for us regular-sized people.

I don’t like my Spanish class (again).  It’s quite embarrassing, being the only one who doesn’t actually speak the language.

Had to get into a debate with a Mexican girl last class.  We were not exactly evenly matched.

She said convincing things, like “In the case of the American economical situation…”

I announced things like, “Dog! Cat! Train!”

Stalemate.

We also had to discuss our perfect match.

I was nearly silent on the issue – not for lack of qualifications, of course, but because I simply had no idea to express things like “good at tying shoes” or “is actually capable of comprehending a map.” 

When I was inevitably called on, I told my class that in my perfect world, the gentleman would know how to do dirty things to a horse.

This is not what I meant.

Somehow, Spanish books only ever taught me this phrase, instead of the much more useful and desirable phrase “to ride a horse.” 

Textbook writers are such jokers.