Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Don´t expect a thematic post, I´m just rambling

I’ve been a bit busy lately.

I made a ginormous Thanksgiving feast for 20 some of my unsuspecting Spanish in-laws FROM SCRATCH.

No, I’m not insane.

If Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart could spawn, I would kill myself and be reincarnated as their gifted organism. No, scratch that. My husband would be. God or whoever is responsible for reincarnation might allow me to be a mole on his freakishly culinarily prodigious ass.

Luigi usually gets all the credit for the gourmet cookery around this place, but my cranberry sauce makes you want to rub it all over yourself and lick it off while a turkey gobbles circles around you and my blueberry pie makes you want to quit your job and become homeless and hang around outside my building in hopes that I might one day invite you in for piece of it.

I know I said food was for pussies and all, but seriously, I make a mean spread. And plus I’m getting tired of that stupid fucking diet recipe that is beginning to taste like soggy arseholes.

As exhausting as this panoply of traditional American food is to make in this crazy place where basic necessities of life such as Crisco and brown sugar are impossible to find, if I didn’t at least try to pull this off, I would be miserable on Thanksgiving. I NEED Thanksgiving.

But now it is finally over and Christmas is nearing and...I’m going back on the chute-the-chute again.

Back to the BIG.

Big houses with big cars and big boats parked outside. Big people wearing big clothes walking big dogs. Big plates of food on big tables in big restaurants.

Back to the world where you can do the following without fear of becoming a social pariah:
-eat an apple while walking down the street.
-go grocery shopping in your pyjamas.
-write a check for $2.00.
-speak English, loudly.

Back to the world where suddenly everything makes sense, where an American hairdresser can earn more than a Spanish doctor, lawyer, and engineer put together and enjoy a lower cost of living.

Back to the world where I listen to fucktards having stupid conversations and I know they are fucktards. Here they are all just Spanish people speaking Spanish. I can’t discriminate against fucktards here because I can barely recognize them. My prejudices here have never fully developed because I communicate on a subnormal level. I can’t wait to be able to cast my judgement again over idiots deserving of my scornful gaze.

Back to the world where nobody cares where I’m from or laughs at my funny accent or how guiri I look.

My only hope is that it doesn’t feel too good, that the obnoxious machinery of the American dream doesn’t reel me into its rusty wheels and try to spin me round again scraping me with loose spokes and screws and other false promises of grass-is-greenery.

But chances are, it will.

It will be too short a visit to make me want to get the hell out like I did before.

But it will be short enough for all of the nuances of "home" to bolster my idealization of it and for it to nag at my bifurcated sense of self and grab hold of the half that corresponds to it with its monster claws, and scream, "This is where you really belong".

No. It's not.

Ahhh, let the roller coaster ride begin again.

-Bluestreak.

23 comments:

neil wykes said...

Argh. I'm thinking of doing a British Christmas for Spanish friends. Doubt it'll be that successful. The 'Aaargh' was how I felt reading your fears and thinking about my own when I go back for Xmas and enjoying myself and then coming back to Spain

the cubicle's backporch said...

Yay for going back to the world of the big! And eating an apple on the street makes you a social outcast? Why is that?

mongoliangirl said...

Bifurcation. Of the self. Oh, Bluestreak. You are speaking my language and all I have in the world of big is horses, dogs, a farm truck and acreage. Sometimes? Sometimes I still wish for a big house in a big city and big vacations. The good part? Falling in love with where I actually live over and over and over again.
P.S. Can't wait until you know how to I.D. Spanish fucktards!

Gypsy said...

When I was doing study abroad in Italy, the program did a special Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and cranberry crap and everything. It kind of made all the difference.

I hope that you get just enough of the US to be sated with BIG for a little while.

Dirty Pirate Hooker said...

So how did the spaniards like the turkey day feast?

My Way said...

I am very excited that you will be around fucktards very soon.

Mike said...

Considering the economy some of us may end up homeless and outside of your house. Better start baking...

Xbox4NappyRash said...

I'm going to have to visit home in January for the first time since last year and I'm dreading it.

Dreading feeling the pull that I know is not the right thing for us right now.

Good luck.

Rassles said...

I don't care what happens, but once you're back in the states, I have an assignment for you.

Operation: Get Rass A Burro.

A Free Man said...

I can damn sure relate to trying to replicate American traditional cooking overseas. I went on a manic hunt for buttermilk all over the Home Counties just to make "proper" cornbread. Exhausting, but fulfilling. And filling.

Bluestreak said...

@Neil - never had a British Christmas. I´m sure your Spanish friends will love it. My Spanish in-laws start asking when we´re gonna have the Turkey dinner in September.

@Cubicle - Don´t you know that apples are to be eaten with a fork and knife??? Crazy american.

@Mongolian - I can only ID them when it´s raining and the fuckers don´t know umbrella etiquette.

@Gypsy - it really does make all the difference.

@DPH - They fucking love it.

@Myway - me too!

@Mike - true! :(

@xbox - i have such mixed feelings about going home too and definitely part of it is that dread.

@Rassles - poor rassles. Most kids beg for a pony and never get one. Rassles begs for a burro and never gets one. I´ll see what I can do. How about a bean burro? That´s about the best I can do.

@A free man - I had the exact same dilema for my cornbread. So I looked up "buttermilk substitute" and came up with lemon juice and milk. After I got over the fact that I was adding curdled milk to my recipe, it actually worked out pretty well.

SweetSpikette said...

I totally feel you on this one.
If I'm being honest though, I just really want to know if/where you found brown sugar?
it has become my duty to make galletas americanas aka chocolate chip & peanut butter for my spanish family at christmas time. it would be easier if i didn't have to pack pounds of sugar in my suitcase.
come to think of it... ever seen chocolate chips?

Immoral Matriarch said...

I can’t discriminate against fucktards here because I can barely recognize them.

Best line ever.

Formerly Fun said...

First, I love you rambling. Second, I love how you describe why it will be fun to be in American soil again. Three, I totally relate to the importance of the length of visits home, too short=hardcore difficult to recover from nostalgia...too long= my relatives irritate me, am I really related to these people but then I'm glad to go home.

Brook said...

hahaha you make spain sound so horrible!!! but I could only imagine what you are feeling... No brown sugar? how the hell do u make chocolate chip cookies?

Bluestreak said...

@sweet spikette - I had to special order the brown sugar from an American store in Madrid and have it mailed to me. Ridiculous.

@immoral - thanks, it really is hard not to be able to recognize them.

@FF - I´m actually dying for my family to irritate me so I´ll want to come back here.

@Brook - I´m still trying to figure that one out actually.

Yo Momma said...

can we make a deal? When I move to Missouri, can we swap places whenever you start to miss fucktards and I miss seeing people who are brown and somewhat similar to me? Well more similar than my mother in law with the Peggy Hill haircut, who likes to collect wooden chickens and has a monotone zeal for life.

hereinfranklin said...

@Yo Momma--don't be hatin' on Peggy. I loooooooooooove Peggy and the whole propane gang.

miss hell said...

say hi to all the fucktards from me! YOOOOOOOO DUDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Mother Theresa said...

You can't find brown sugar? Funny, we have it in the supermarket over here. Crisco no, but I don't eat that anyway. I really can't imagine going back to the world of the big; it'll be 16 years this Christmas since I was there last, and I really don't miss it at all. Well, enjoy...and eat an apple on the street for me, okay? Oh, and the fucktards here...those would be called "gilipollas". ;)

People in the Sun said...

Ha. I love your labels.

Of course I understand everything you say. Fortunately for me, even though I romanticize Israel between visits, and I always think (or at least used to think when things were different here) that I should rethink my adventure, it always takes me less than ten minutes to have an insane fight with my father. I need a couple of oceans between us.

Those bastards call you names?

In Israel people make fun of Russian immigrants. And here, if you're from South America or Spain, you're a Mexican. It's nice to know the whole world is dumb.

You sound unhappy, which makes for great blog reading, but it's probably not good for you. I'm not suggesting you move back here, just that you do whatever you think you should do without fear. Good luck.

Florida Girl In Sydney said...

Phew, you really got my adrenaline pumping reading that. I know my blog is just like a bunch of junky silliness every time I read your honest rawness.

Once again, all I want to say is...
everything she said.

Anonymous said...

Why bring the in-laws to the trailer when you can bring the trailor to the in-laws.

Was there green bean casolrole?