tah-ee-lorr

as a rule, i'm pretty easy to get along with.

... let me rephrase that.

generally, i like my peers.

... one more time.

unless you're impossible to be around, i will not fantasize about shanking you.

that's not to say that i don't like people. actually, i fancy myself a people person. but lately, i've been overcome by the urge to slap my spanish professors with whatever notebook i'm currently doodling on. and it's not because of his or her teaching style, thick spanish accent, or inability to get to class on time. this urge has taken over my thoughts because of one mistake that every single one of my teachers has committed:

pronouncing my name how it would sound in spanish.

granted, my parents (bless their hearts) did not bestow upon me a traditional mexican name. and i am forever grateful for that, because otherwise, anyone with half a brain would look at me, see that my name was ______ (maría, josefina, luisa josé de la santa maria...) herrera, and immediately assume that i had just gotten off the boat from guadalajara. so, as a thank-you to my dear mother and father, i have an english name.

but that doesn't help the fact that i also look very mexican, and am currently living in a country full to the brim of spanish speakers. again, don't get me wrong -- i absofruitly love having a natural tan all year and being mistaken for hawaiian/kind of asian/exotic (that one's my favorite... partially because NO ONE who uses it has any clue what it means). i am a secure young woman who can handle the puzzled looks of passersby that are probably thinking "where did this mexicana learn english?"

and now, to my point.

i am starting a new round of classes here in spain, and for the love of all that is holy, i cannot contain my emotions when a professor calls roll and says, without fail, "TAH-EE-LORR? Tah-ee-lorr, HERRERA?!?! Eres española? Pero porqué tienes un nombre tan inglesa?" ("You're Spanish? But why do you have such an English name?")

this is where i go through the exact same routine:

1) say my name in english with an american accent. taylor.

professor gives me a quizzical look.

2) repeat my name more slowly, maintaining american accent. tayyylorrrr.

by the looks of it, teach has just suffered an intense drop in IQ.

3) say my name slowly in a spanish accent. teh-ee-lorr.

prof has just had an aneurysm.

4) give up and let my professor call me whatever they can manage. usually something along the lines of tyler, tah-ee-lorr, or -- the best -- tee-lehr.

this sequence of events has happened enough times that i've learned to adopt a spanish alter-ego for whenever a spaniard asks my name. her name is carolina (and my last name is herrera... laugh if you get it).

i guess at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what people here call me. i've learned to answer to all forms of the name 'taylor' without problem. but let's just say that i've added more yoga and stretching into my daily routine, as well.

ps -- you know what's even more fun than having a spanish last name in a spanish-speaking country? seeing the looks on people's faces when you tell them you're from california. but more on that later. i have to do some eagle pose before i burst a vein in my forehead.

you might say i'm in a different place

that place being sevilla, spain! as of last thursday, i have begun the next four months of my life as a wannabe sevillian (sevillian... civilian... haha... bad jokes are still good jokes). and what do i have to say of my new life so far?

i. love. everything.

from the way that all you can see has been somehow shrunk down to half its normal--read: american--size (people, cars, rooms...) to the indescribably delicious food my host mother, Ana, makes every day. my classes during a short intensive period are perfect--just the right level of review and learning new aspects of spanish culture. and don't get me started on tapas.

really, don't.*

one thing that has caught my attention is the fact that one of my somewhat recently added physical features (a tattoo on the outside of my left thigh) seems to be something newsworthy to the natives. after wearing a short skirt to school today (no, not that short. please trust that i can tell where people are looking when they stare), i realized that heads turned from every direction to ogle my left leg. "is my skirt riding up? do my boots clash with my outfit? am i on fire?" these thoughts all passed through my mind as the number of astonished passersby grew. a) check skirt; still in position. b) check boots; still go nicely with today's ensemble. c) quick check to see if i should stop, drop, and roll; no flame to be seen. so what's the big deal?

although i won't know until the days start getting warmer, i think tattoos are unusual here. in a country where women never set foot on a soccer field (or other sports arena, i might add), i can't imagine that my fellow females would adopt such a masculine habit. well, all i can say is buckle up spain, you're in for a bumpy, tattoo-filled summer.

on another note...

while watching "friends" dubbed in spanish during lunch today, a commercial came on for another sitcom. the picture showed the profile of a cat, with the words "7 vidas" (seven lives). i asked Ana if cats indeed had seven lives here in merry spain, and she confirmed my suspicions.

poor kittykats, life's rough on the peninsula.

anyway, time for bed. and hopefully writing this will keep me from thinking in spanish first, then translating to english as i talk/write. one can only hope. and pray to the dear lord baby jesus for overkill.

adios todos!

*because they are DELICIOUS, HEAVENLY, PERFECTLY SIZED, AFFORDABLE, BLAHBLAHBAHBLABABHBHBABHLAH....... you get it.

i mean, who doesn't have them?

of course, i'm talking about pet peeves. those little things that people do that just make you want to scream "YOU'RE AN IDIOT" and then kick a baby. here, for your enjoyment, is a list of a few of mine:

1) using nicknames that you did not make up. one of my best friends has a nickname that her family gave her, and it's nothing close to her actual name (things like hanna banana cannot be helped). so why do new friends of hers that hear her family nickname call her that?? the only people who call her that are related to her... you are not related... take a hint.

2) "natural flexibility." almost nothing drives me crazier than seeing a comment on a picture of someone doing the splits that goes along the lines of "wow, you're so lucky that you're naturally flexible!" with the exception of gumby and people born without bones, no one wakes up in the morning and says, "i think i'm going to touch my foot to the back of my head today." ask anyone that you see doing an amazing pose--odds are they have been/are a dancer, gymnast, yogi, porn star, etc. these people have been active and stretch regularly, therefore giving them the ability to turn into a human pretzel at any moment. it's not magic, people, it's dedication. give a girl some credit.

3) thinking you have the magic touch and can fix something i've been trying to fix for an hour. "did you try turning it off?" oh, you don't say! there's a power button on this thing! wow, i never thought of that... ARE YOU JOKING?? of course i tried turning it off, holding this button, pressing that, and throwing it to the ground. clearly, nothing has worked so far. but thank you for alerting me to the most direct way to make something work. unless you invented the iPhone and know that it will recognize you and call you mother, please don't tell me to hold the power button.

4) guys who try to start heartfelt conversations at dance clubs. do they really think i came to a place where i cannot hear myself screaming to talk about common interests with a stranger? i can almost guarantee that most girls are there to dance. yes, clubs can be a good spot to pick someone up. but that doesn't mean you should be trying to find your soulmate. who wants to say to their grandchildren, "yes, i met your grandfather at club x in san francisco. i was really drunk and sweaty and right as i started grinding my butt into some stranger's pelvis, he bent down and screamed 'YOU'RE REALLY PRETTY, WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND? WHERE ARE YOU FROM? WHAT ABOUT YOUR PARENTS?' and that's when i knew we would be together forever." so guys, please realize that as much as i wish i knew what you were saying, i feel as though this bass is shaking my soul, so i really, really cannot understand you.

ahhhh, much better. a little ranting does the complexion good. and now i encourage you to recognize your pet peeves when they present themselves, then really enjoy your rage.

i say this as a friend

to all those cute, fresh-faced, eager freshmen entering the daunting and exciting world of college: don't be fooled. sure, i also thought "the freshman 15 doesn't apply to me. i'm special. heck, i'll probably lose 15 pounds my first year, what with free (hahahaha) access to a gym, p.e. classes, and healthy food options at the cafeteria!" i, too, started freshman year with dreams of spending every free moment at the gym and sporting my first six pack since i was six. but be warned, dear freshmen, it's a lie.

a brilliant lie, just like the others fed to our generation. and sure, we hear about the f15 from our elders, but who really believes what wise older people tell them?

the point is, please take heed, dear freshmen: you will gain weight. you might not like it. it's not going to go away by itself. and by gum if you don't realize that the 'frozen yogurt' is actually soft serve ice cream, god save your soon to be chubby cheeks.

cause you're no different from the rest of us.

get me out of here

when i think of summer, images of blasting the latest lady gaga, katy perry, and justin bieber (yep. i said it.) with the windows down in my best friend's car come to mind. especially during the afternoon, my favorite time of day. there's nothing like wearing sunglasses and yelling out the lyrics to our songs with absofruitly no worry about being off-key or just plain annoying.

but as i remember these memories fondly, one issue comes up: i always seem to be the only person in the car who has a hair issue with the wind. one of my best friends has beautiful curly hair that she mousses every day, therefore locking it in place. boys (that i hang out with) don't have an issue because they don't have flowing locks. and my other best friend usually has her hair up.

is it my fault that i like to rock a down-do? should i be upset that my hair is relatively easy to style, therefore it flies every which way? and since i've always based a good amount of my self-confidence in having decent hair, i haven't been tempted to shave it all off (it'll happen sometime). so why do i get so upset when i can't enjoy a simple pleasure like driving with the windows down?

riddle me that.

by the way, they mate for life

today started with a rude awakening by my father. no, literally, i woke up to him yelling at me.

"ARE YOU GOING TO SLEEP ALL DAY?"

news flash, it's 6:45 am. i went to bed at 1. i don't have anywhere to be today. can a girl get some beauty sleep?

despite many attempts at ignoring the incessant yelling, i finally answered (quite eloquently) with a barely audible, "mmmmmuuuuhhhh..."

after splashing some water on my face and gargling with mouth wash (i forgot my tooth brush at school... so sue me), i made my way downstairs to see what all the ruckus was about. "goooood MOOOORNING PRECIOUS!!" my dad sings. "can you run an errand for me before you go back to school?" i agree and start off toward my task. all seems fine until the last leg of my journey, when i enter the freeway and notice two birds in the middle of my lane. of course, birds always get away from cars at the last minute, so i slowed down and assumed they would fly far, far away and continue about their birdly business.

wrong.

oh so very, very wrong.

before they could both take off, one of them flew straight into my windshield. BAM. blood and feathers suddenly stream across the driver's side of the glass, forming slow rivers of bird DNA that no amount of windshield cleaning solution will clean. i keep driving, unable to comprehend what just happened. either this bird died right in front of my eyes or it sustained massive injuries but made a swift recovery and joined its fellow flying friend.

how i wish the latter was plausible.

i then had an hour and a half to stare through the bird remains at the cars ahead of me before i reached my school. nausea and disbelief came in waves, followed by disgust and distress. and even though i am atheist and not particularly spiritual, i took a moment to apologize to the bird and wish it a peaceful afterlife.

it took a few hours for the overall nausea to subside. i have come to terms with the fact that this incident was an accident, but i keep reliving the moment when that poor bird hit the windshield. needless to say, i will keep this bird in mind every time i see roadkill.

rest in peace, oh feathery flying one.

cosmo: knowledge is power

during a recent trip to my neighborhood 7-11, i picked up the latest cosmopolitan magazine. this issue featured the ever-pregnant heidi klum during one of the off months that she did not have a bun in the oven.

as is my routine with a new magazine, i first had a quick look at the ads and headlines of articles. next, i go over the magazine a second time and start to read the first paragraph of the articles with the more interesting titles. finally, when i have hours to spare, i make my third and final round through the sexy woman's magazine.

this time, i start to take in all of the information that is presented (much of which i have read time and time again from past issues). how to wear this top, why not to wear skinny jeans, how to get him to drop his pants at the drop of a hat... all these helpful life lessons and more reside within the hallowed pages of cosmo. and, as usual, i find myself doubting that if i don this certain dress with that special bra, that particular boy will instantly ask for my number and want to marry me.

don't get me wrong -- i absolutely love cosmo. every time i see those glossy covers with the beautiful stars of hollywood in my local grocery stores, i cannot help but fork over the six-odd dollars that will allow me to leave with a new magazine (legally). i love the ads, the articles, the pictures, the sample perfumes... i even find a certain satisfaction in ripping the numerous subscription sheets from in between pages. finally, i love ripping my favorite advice pages and ads from the magazine and pasting them wherever i have free space on my bedroom walls. the addition of new pictures on my walls never fails to excite me (which is why i have continued to decorate my room even though i will have to move out in approximately six days).

but reading all of the explicit tips on how to blow your man's mind always leaves me puzzled. how am i supposed to employ these man-snatching tactics when i can barely read the articles without blushing?

maybe i'm not meant to follow cosmo's advice exactly. maybe there are other women out there who feel that not wearing underwear under a short skirt is asking for trouble. but i am still plagued by the thought that maybe some cosmo-reading girls actually do lead these crazy and borderline overly sexy lives. maybe some girls do take this advice to heart and put vaseline on their nipples in order to achieve a perfect self tan on their chests. maybe other girls use lines like, "hey i'm sexy and that's why you should let me bypass the line into this club!" surely this type of girl exists and has treated cosmo like it is described in legally blonde -- "the bible."

but the worst thing? i wish i had the balls to be a cosmo girl.

so bad.