Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Pay Attention to Detail, and Don't be an Yerkface!!

I have been living in Chile for a year now... well, living for real- with a real person job, with a real apartment, real bf, etc. and just now am opening a bank account. For all my fellow gringos who are like, "oh my gawddd, you are so lazy blehblehbleh," let me tell you: things here AREN'T that easy. It's not like in the states when you can walk into any old bank, at any old time, and create an account. Nooo, no, no, no. You must be a real person. The first, and supremely most important thing one must do to become a real person in Chile is to get what is called a RUT. This is your number. You are a number. It's not really like a social security number that you only use on special occasions like, um, dying, or giving birth, its a number you utilize for EVERYTHING. Park your car, give your RUT. Sign for a package, give your RUT. Swap spit, give your RUT. It is, indeed, that ubiquitous. So- after about 8 months of making up a random number, and/or being honest and saying, "no lo tengo, soy extranjera" I manned up and got one (actually, my amigos in HR did everything for me... I just signed some papers... thanks guys!!).

Well, really the whole point of this story to explain the puta process of obtaining a bank account here at the end of the world. Ok so I'm officially armed with the three things I desperately need: my RUTizzle, work contract, and "liquidaciones de sueldo" (pay stubs?¿). I happen to be missing the equally essential "carné" (Chilean ID), but they let me slide cuz they have a "convenio" with my work and so they know I'm not some green-back-gringa opening a Chilean account to thwart the nation and take over the país. And Jesus, they have my passport, drivers license, and basically a blood/urine sample-- if they doubt my identity, CHUPALA wns de mierda!!

As it turns out, I get it all sorted out and apply for my first little Chilean bank accountie. Adorable. I'm so stoked because now I can stop hiding cash in my bra/hat drawer. Psyche, like I have any cash after Christmas... nice try. So my agente calls me on Monday to notify my that, all the documents passed their rigorous inspection (I filled out more papers than if I were singing a will and my life over to them foreverrr) and that my productos (credit/debit cards and checks- pff who uses checks??) were ready to be picked up. Like the excited little gringüita I was, I hopped, skipped, and jumped downstairs, walked the 10 feet from my work and into the bank. Sit down at Yerko's desk (not making that name up..) and start signing another cascade of papers about dying, overdrawing, what "credit" is, etc. and I'm about 3/4 the way through and I notice that on one of the papers my last name is spelled wrong. Nothing unusual. You'd be seriously stunned/impressed at the number of ways people have come up with to spell my name. It's quite, eh, creative. So I say:
Me: Ahem, my last name is spelled wrong on this paper.
Yerkface: Whaaaat?
Me: Yeah, you put an N instead of a U.
Yerkface: Ohhh noooo, that means it's spelled wrong on everything...

Sure enough, on the credit cards, cheques, and every other document that I myself didn't write my name... it was spelled wrong. MOTHERF/&#%¿. His excuses:
Yerkface: Eh, uh, durr, well you guys at your work make mistakes too....
Yerkface: Eh, uh, durr, well your handwriting makes the U look like an N...
Number one: How, HOW, could you have spelled it wrong?!?!??? YOU HAVE EVERY DOCUMENT THAT MAKES ME A HUMAN BEING!!! If you have an f-ing DOUBT about it... DOUBLEfrakkingCHECK asshole!!! Number two: What an ASS!!! I.) you have absolutely no proof that we have ever made a mistake, as, in fact, we are quite awesome, II.) LAMEST EXCUSE EVER CREATED. Man up to being an INEFFICIENT, NON-detail-oriented, MORON of a YERKFACE!!! I almost punched this fool right in the schnoz. Give you a shiner to decorate your dumb giant forehead.

Now, okay, I'm "sorry" to be mean about Yerkface and his oversized cabeza, but the majority of my bad luck in Chile (which is quite ample, let me tell you) is caused by other people frakking s#¡t up. Yes, I make my own slew of dumb decisions, but 99% of the time they only affect me... and maybe LL because when dumb/preventable/annoying things happen to me, I tend to talk about it... more than necessary. Sry.

It's just NOT really that hard to do your job right and to pay attention. At least to important things.

Morals of the story niños y niñas:
1) Pay attention to the s#¡t you do.
2) Avoid doing dumb s#¡t in the first place.
3) If you cock up, for christsake, man up to that s#¡t.
4) Us and Ns looks alike... dumbs#¡t.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

I've been shit about blogging lately. Why? The following excuses should suffice: 1) no internet in the apartment, 2) being busy at work (last week..), 3) coming down with an appalling stomach virus that virtually sucks all life from my body, 4) generally not really giving a damn. And now it's Christmas Eve, almost the new year, and I can't seem to be able to conjure up a coherent post that isn't a stream-of-conscious blab fest about everything that I'm "feeling," how "happy" I am.

Yes, I have thought about writing about the differences between my 24-year-old concept of what "Christmas" is in comparison to that of Chile and just how it can never really feel the same. How it might be one of those notions that is not flexible, that requires a specific combination of stimulants that, when rolled into one, create what is (my) holiday season. In my brain, without the requisite low temperature, without my Coloradoan home, without my family, without so incredibly many sensory (all 6 to be exact) contexts, this year, I have been completely unable to hop on the sleigh of holiday spirit. Not saying that I've become a Scroogette, just that without the proper stimulants to, I suppose, remind me that it is Christmas, I have, well, forgotten. Of course, I bought presents, decorated my apartment (with a mini tree and lights sent from M&D), forced myself to watch Love Actually and Elf, and participated in various Secret Santas. But- if none of that had been required of me, I'd have been happy to sit this one out. It feels forced. It feels, actually, confusing. I'm not supposed to wear sandals, dresses, bikinis in December. Where are the gingerbread men? I'm dreaming of a white Christmas? Not this year. The only white Christmas that will be had is me at the pool alongside LL... there's white for ya. It just isn't the same.

Which, in fact, has been somewhat of a blessing in disguise, because it has helped me in forgetting that I'm not home with my family. Forgetting that I wont see them for, what, another year? Forgetting that this is my first Christmas away from home. It's made it OK. But now, tonight, tomorrow, when the dots finally get connected, when we give gifts, when the images and stimulants start corresponding to those I have ingrained in my psyche, will it be OK? I'm guessing it will be okok- but also that I might seriously bum out. Just gotta keep reminding myself of how much worse it could be; I could, actually, be alone... I could not even be able to celebrate at all... I could be jobless and not afford to buy gifts for the people I care about... But it turns out that I'm not alone and am very fortunate, loved, cared for, able. That- is what makes a Christmas merry.

And yes, in the midst of the holiday scramble, of the locura that are the malls, streets, sidewalks, grocery stores, I considered posting about finances. While it's clearly not the most enticing or exciting subject, it is something that has been on my mind for some time. The main reason for its presence in my preoccupations, is that in Chile, I make such a minuscule salary. I make enough for one person, for me, in my mid 20's to "live" on my own, but somehow I just can't shake the thoughts of the future. As a woman, these are things I "must" consider. There is no way in hell that I could ever afford to have a family on what I make. And, yes, I can save, but nearly all of that money will go to purchasing a plane ticket to go back to Colorado for Christmas 2010. Inevitably, I had a minor panic thinking holy shit how am I gonna live on this?? Would it be much different if I went home (assuming I could actually find a job..)? It is okay because of the differences in cost of living? Living in the future is always a horrible idea- gotta live each day for its own- but you have to at least think about the future... And when I do that, I'm not so sure about what I see. Don't really see anything at the moment, to be honest. Still have no idea where life will take me, what is in store for this little Bee.
//Does anyone else worry about those things?
//Is it easier to just go with the flow, let it all pan out?
//Should I seriously just take a chill pill?¿

WHat else had I thought about writing??

Well, can't really remember, but at the end of the day I am kinda excited that it's Christmas--

Wishing everyone a Merry X-mas, Feliz Navidad, and God Jul...

Thursday, December 17, 2009

It's Christmas??!

So, it finally dawned on me that it is Christmas. After ardently avoiding it like a good little grinch, I came to the conclusion yesterday that HOLY CRAP x-mas is in TEN days and I have no gifts bought, have not watched the requisite: Christmas Vacation, Love Actually, Home Alone, The Grinch (Jim Carrey), and ELF, and have not eaten a SINGLE Christmas cookie. Buuu.

To do:

Gotta send (and WRITE) Christmas cards.

Buy gifts for: 7 peeps.

Figure out how to make gingerbread cookies. Make the dough, bring dough to LL's house (what? you think I have an oven in my PolleyPocket apartment??), and have a Chilean version of "who can make the weirdest cookie? contest." Sidenote: does Chile have molasses? Unnecessary complication.... not in the mood... might just make sugar cookies...

Do laundry: at a laundromat-- LAME, but it's becoming a dire situation my friends.

Sneek a peek at the gifts my mom sent, hehehe.



WTCrap am I doing, I have no time to blogblab right now, gotta go!!!!!!

Aaaah!!!

Friday, December 11, 2009

Japi Berdei to Miii

Originally, I wasn't going to post a blogski about my 24th cumpleaño (see prior post...) but since I had such a rad time, I think it's definitely worth mentioning. Since college, I have this problem where I get really excited about a month before da big day and as it gets closer and closer, I look forward to it less and less. Not really sure what's going on there... So this year I was feeling semi-the-same but woke up on my birthday, relaxed, not depressed, just normal ole B, ready to enjoy the day (duh, had the day off work, how could I not?) even if I didn't really do anything special. Luckily for me, LL worked on the holiday Tuesday so that he could take Wednesday off to hang with me. Yeah he rules. Totally rules.

He arrived to my little house in the morning with roses, balloons, and cake (mmm birthday breakfast of champs) topped with a candle (1st of many... ran out of wishes at the end of the day...) and performed a perfect rendition of "cumpleaños felizzzzz." After downing (again- 1st of what is surely an unhealthy amount) the cake(s), we peaced out. He told me, "bring sunscreen and a bathing suit, and shoes." Chile:1, US:0-- balmy birthday trumps bundled bithday... I brought, yes, a swimsuit, a tiny bottle of face sunscreen (bah I'm tonta, what the crap was I thinking (?¿?), mistake #1), and chacos... good enough.

Heading out of the smogalicious city, we drive towards the Andes, until we are, well, in the Andes. The similarity to FoCo is scary. For a second, I thought I was home. Really. After a simple process of deduction (thank you road signs), I realize that we're en route to the Cajón de Maipo, which is somewhat equivalent of going from FoCo to Estes Park. River, canyon, mountains- all the goodies. Living in Santiago and not having gone to the Cajón (less than an hour away) is silly. How could I have been missing out on this beauty? Serenity? Clean air? Finally can be checked off the list. Might go back this weekend. Might stay forever.

After winding alongside the river (Maipo, taking a stab), we arrive at this place called Cascada de la Animas which appears as if it should be located in the Keebler/Smurf forest, teeming with little woodland creatures who talk to you in helium voices and give you candy. Unfortunately, they haven't acquired this addition at time of press, but it was nonetheless awing and somewhere where I could definitely set up camp (like, for life). It's a little compound of ecotourism offering horseback riding, rafting, cabañas, a campground, hiking, canopy tours, a giant pool, and a perfect restaurant right alongside the cliff that overlooks the river. I had the salmon (and a salad, and bread, and a pisco sour, and dessert, and a bite of LL's delish pasta thing... strictly adhering to the "I can eat whatever I want on my b-day, bitches" rule)- it was amazing and the location and ambiance are wildly close to perfection.

We spent pretty much the whole day lounging around the giant pool, surrounded by mountains... accompanied by only the sound of the running river (psych--- and two old ladies). Five minutes into roasting and toasting my Casper-skin (no, LL, I will never be as tan as you lets please end that competition now b4 I get melanomaaa), I was like, "hmm, this SPF 15 anti-wrinkle face cream really isn't gonna cut it" (seriously, wtf was I thinking). So I trekked up to the "kiosco" to buy something a tad more fuerte. Not for sale. Not in stock. Just my luck. BUT-- Ra the Sun God was on my side and they actually had some to borrow. For free. Nice. The catch: SPF- SIXTYmotherF&%#. So there goes the tanning idea... A day in the sun and nada to show for it. Chalk. I knew that LL would never use SPF 60 (frak, who would??) so I told him it was 45 so he wouldn't get burned to death. Yes, trick-ay trick-ay. I later told him cuz I felt bad for lying. It was for a good cause tho.

In the afternoon, we went for a hike to see the cascadas (waterfalls) with our kid guide, Geronimo. Woo!! They were, of course, beautiful, and I was very proud of myself for not falling up/down the mountain. I always trip. What?Iliketolookatthenature. We drive back to Santiago though both of us seriously contemplated staying there forever (apagamos los celulares y chao, cierto?!).

The rest of the evening is spent with friends, (LL's) family, drinks, a flamboyantly surly waiter, more cake, pisco, and dancing. Note: if expecting fast service, don't go to Ebano in Ñuñoa (though the sushi and drinks are delish and the happy hour a decent deal). I couldn't have been happier that everyone came and celebrated with me and my aging self (Mili, Carlos, and Mato get extra points for going out with us after and reggatoning the night away!!!). Man, 24... that's always sounded old. But it sure as hell sounds better than 23.

Pretty much can't wait to see what the heck this year has in store for me. I made a total of 1+1+24+1 wishes on my b-day...

Now let's hope some of 'em actually come true :)

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

_Blah_

I. Am. Blah.

Blahhhhhh.

Today is a holiday (some virgin did something) here in Chile and all I want to do is lay in my bed. My stupid birthday is tomorrow and could not want to celebrate it less. I even took the day off from work. Dumb. And. Dumber.

I don't know. Living in a diff country makes me so much more vulnerable to, well, being a bipolar baby. I have absolutely nothing to be blah about. Job- check. Apartment- check. BF-check. Friends-check. Beautiful day, day off work- check and check.

Missin the fam-check.

Just one of those days people. One of those days where I panic and over analyze all the minute and certainly insignificant details of my life.
//What am I doing with myself??
//Am I making the right decisions??
//Everything.

And it never goes anywhere because in (+/-) 5 hours, I'll be perfectly normal, lovin' life and happy with everything. Must be one of those expatriate things.
//Anyone other expats experience the same thing?
//Any non-expats??

Just need to snap out of it. Snap. Out. Of. It.

Gonna go to a movie.

The guy eating a giant ice cream cone in what can only be described as hot pants is definitely making me happier. Baby steps.


Thursday, December 3, 2009

How to Alienate a Gringa(o)

In the prolific Chilean blog circle, the theme of "How to Alienate a Chilean" has been circulating by bloggers such as Emily who states: "tell them you don't like palta (avocado)," "ask for tap water," and "argue that pisco is Peruvian." Peg who writes Cachando Chile thinks you shouldn't mention that "you don't like sandwiches," state out-loud that "you don't get the concept of onces," or "tell them that you don't like Joan Manuel Serrat." And KeM puts her 2 cents in by frankly noting: "tell them you majored in French Literature," or "if you're a chick, drink a beer."

Very interesting points. I can't say that I personally identified with all of them, but most are pretty legit (ie: "are you sure want water?? it's just water, are you sure you don't want soda/wine/juice/beer??). In geneneral, I do almost anything possible not to commit a cross-cultural faux pax, but when residing in another country it is bound to happen sooner or later. For example, when I first arrived to Chilito, I was volunteering for a foundation and still sticking to my Boca-Burger-made-possible vegetarian diet and it was clear that everyone thought I was a human form of ET/Alf/Stitch/Marvin. And it didn't help that I hardly spoke a word of Spanish-- school Spanish to boot (leagues different from Chilean Spanish). Needless to say, after seven months of volunteering, I left with one good friend. My única compadrita gringüita.

It was really a bummer because despite appearing to be mute and seriously aloof, I always wanted to join in the conversations-- which flew faster, and with more slang and Chilean dichos, than I ever could have fathomed. Thus, I resigned to listening, observing, and being the freak girl who didn't eat animals or talk about what I did on the weekend. Somehow, I actually absorbed a ton from these (one-sided) interactions but probably ended up alienating a few of my coworkers in the process... just by being different.

Which got me thinking... there are ene cosas that a "gringo" could do to alienate a Chilean, or Mexican, or Indian, or whomever. But what is it that the Chileans do to equally alienate us gringa(o)s?? Acá van...

1). Making comments about personal appearance.
Here in Chile, people nickname each other based on physical characteristics such as "Guatón" (fatty), "Negro" (dark skinned), "Flaca" (skinny), or"Rubia" (light-haired). Once, LL even called me "Gordita" (little fatty) and after resisting the urge to cry/being horrifically insulted, he explained to me that it'd be the same as someone calling you "Honey" or "Sweety." Hmmm... In Chile, political correctness is nearly non-existent. In FeriaDisco there is a section of CD's called "Black Music." That's how upfront they are about physical attributes. They don't feel the need to beat around the bush when it comes to looks, and they aren't offended/taken aback when someone comments on their appearance. It's okay to tell someone that they're packin' on the pounds, that you have an Argentine ass, or what, what's that on your face?? a ZIT????? Así es.
In the US, that is a strict no-no. Never ever would you (or I) make a comment that could possibly offend someone on the grounds of physical characteristics. You just don't do it. Simple. So I can say I was incredibly taken aback by what happened to me at the foundation some months ago when a girl coworker of mine, literally came up to me, placed her hand upon my stomach, and says: "wowwww, what have you been eating lately?? you're getting faaaaat!!!" Cue eating disorder... Not really, but I seriously almost cried. Wouldn't you??? Thus: way #1 to alienate a gringo(a).

2). Making fun of Spanish-speaking abilities.
This one really pushes my buttons. If I'm at least making an effort to talk, to get to know you, to join the conversation and not be the mute, aloof gringo, don't make me feel like an idiot/awful by 1) mocking me, 2) stating exactly what I just said, but with an over-exaggerated "gringo" accent, 3) straight up laughing at me. Throw me a frickin' bone here people, I'm trying. Sometimes I wish I spoke fluent Norwegian (skål!!) so I could just say whatever the hell I wanted without people having the slightest clue-- at times, it does work against you to speak the world's language...

3). Insist that I wear shoes/socks/a jacket/a parka.
I know you care about me getting pneumonia and dying from not wearing socks around the house, but if my feet aren't cold and I've lived 24 years doing the same, just please live and let live. I like going barefoot. I like wearing sandals when it's above 50° (family rule-- no shorts/sandles if it's colder). I like not dying of heat and think it's totally whack when I see hoards of people on the street bundled up like babies in a blizzard when it's 60° outside. I'm an adult and if I get cold because I made the stupid decision to wear flip-flops it's my own fault. But at least let me make the mistake.

4). Saying that North Americans are "cold."
Okay so this one is a bit trickier. If a whole continent, country, or nationality is generalized on any basis you are bound to be wrong. Sure, there are minor cultural differences like not kissing on the cheek or making out/getting to second base in public but generally, in my (almost) year here, I've found that North Americans are more "warm" than Chileans. There is the whole personal space bubble thing that we have ingrained in our subconscious, but once you get past that I think most gringos are more friendly, outgoing, and interested in branching out that most Chileans (ugh I hate making generalizations, but I'm basing them off personal experiences). Such as my last point-->

5). Not expressing an interest in getting to know you/me.
This notion directly correlates to #4 because, here, you can go a whole, what?, 6 months without a person (who you see everyday, work with, etc) asking a question about you. I still haven't figured out if Chileans just don't care because they already have their firmly established groups of friends or they're just nervous/complacent to talk to a foreigner. Personally, in this aspect gringos get the gold. I think, as a whole, we are genuinely interested in other people, like to get to know those who surround us, and make an effort to include people who happen to be in the same circles of contact. Again, generalizing is dangerous, but in my experiences, this is what I have seen in several instances. It's nice to have the interest reciprocated- even if minuscule.

Again, again, to make my point across, I hate generalizing. It's pretty much- without fail- an awful tactic in describing cultural differences, but these 5 aspects are personally relevant and each one can, of course, be accompanied by the opposite. I live in Chile because I like it. I enjoy coming to work and my coworkers are fantastic, demasiado amorosos. LL, if it hasn't been made perfectly clear, is a saint. An amor. There's always two sides to the story. Chileans who do things to alienate gringos; gringos who do things to alienate Chileans. And that's the way the cookie crumbles.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

MI CASITA NUEVA!!!

In a crazy whirl-wind week, I bolted like a bat outta the hell that was my apartment, found a new one, signed the lease, moved in, and- most importantly- experienced my FIRST uninterrupted night of sleep in two months!! I feel like a new little human being, happy as a clam. Una lata: I tried, and it appears, failed at my epic battle to reclaim the deposit ($320, cash) for which I so valiantly fought that I'd paid when I moved into satan's lair. Ugh g.dammit. Seems as if strongly worded emails don't aptly get the point across. Not surprising- I think the evil step-sisters only respond to yelling, in-yo-face-bitch drama. I, for one, am not up for it; not a fan of confrontation whatsoever. So, I packed my mass of accumulated junk and peaced-out. No teary-eyes at this despedida. CHAO.

Luckily enough, I snagged a half day off work and LL (wonder of wonders, man of all men) took an hour-or-so off to help me. For the third time. He´s moved me from all THREE of my previous apartments here in STGO-- in SIX MONTHS. Without complaining once. Or judging me for my habit of hoarding. I wrote about this issue previously but Jesús Christo am I in in da red now. Boyfriend-Of-The-Year, 2009.

BUT- a typical Chilean curve-ball was thrown-- what happened was that when I got to the apartment at 9AM to drop some things off like I'd arranged, Carlos, the very sweet doorman of my new building says: "I can't let you in. The Señora has a problem with you." After having a minor coronary spasm, I call her in a panic and she goes:

"Well, I'm just really skeptical. I need X, X, X from you and I passed up so many other people who wanted the apartment who already had those things ready. I just don't know"

ME: (about to sell my soul/body if needed) "No, no problem, I can get it all for you right now, it's no problem, I promise, I'm really responsible blah blah blah nervous-panic-can't-stop-talking-B-takes over....

Señora: Convinced/annoyed/scared, says "Okay. I'll be there at 1:00." (Lie, didn't arrive til 2:00)


What else did I have to ask LL for??
1) A check for the guarantee (what? you think I have those here??)
2) To be my co-deudor.

D
E
B
I
T

Moral of the story:
I now, for the first time in my whole little life of nearly 24 years (B-day on the 9th peeps) have my OWN place to call home. My OWN things. My OWN bathroom, kitchen, floor, walls... I finally can arrive to the place where I house my junk and call it home. And mean it. I feel content, seriously content. I can't wait to keep unpacking. And I've totally consulted my lovely friend of Rainy City Style on design tips-- tricky for a studio apartment of less than 200 square-feet... Bring it on Polly Pocket.

And, yes, I did have some time on my hands so I moused this nice picture. Whud up Frank Lloyd Wright...