This is my place to vent, philosophize, tell jokes, whatever comes to mind. For travel tips go to: http://www.vikastraveldiaries.blogspot.com Para português: http://www.lvjp.blogspot.com
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
First day in Hanover, NH
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Do you know what June 18 is?
Thursday was an interesting day. For those who know me, I use the word interesting very freely; I use it for lack of a better – clearer – understanding of what I really feel about something.
Well, let’s start with “it was Paul McCartney’s birthday”. And I, along with millions (maybe billions) of other fans, took it to twitter to say happy birthday. I used to do fancy birthday wishes in the hopes that mine got retweeted by @PaulMcCartney. Apparently I am not the most creative person out there. But yes, my day is pretty much Paul center on June 18th. Out of every ten words that cross my mind on every June 18th, eleven are PaulMcCartney (yes, one word), and that night I usually dream about him as well.
I am just thankful my hubby isn’t jealous of Paul. Why would he anyway? The guy is 73, and I am, well, 21. They guy is ubber famous and I am, let’s say, not.
And yes, I know I am slightly crazy (okay, maybe a little bit over-the-edge crazy), but shut up. Whoever isn’t slightly crazy about something throw the first stone. So, yes, shut it. You know exactly what I am talking about.
Okay, day goes on. It is a regular work day. Slaves go to work on regular work day, and so do I – and glad I have work to go to. And even though Paulie was everything I could think about, I did do my job. I have to say I forgot my lunch at home, but I did my job.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
blood work
Sunday, April 05, 2015
Easter message
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Let's all be civil
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Two bad products on the same day?
They both arrived on the same day. They were both huge disappointments.
The license plate had a Jamaican flag.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
too many cultural differences
Yes, when I came to America I took a class on American culture as part of my training as an au pair. However sometimes I hear teachers (Foreign and Americans alike) emphasizing aspects of the American cultures that even the Americans don't seem to know it exists.
"Unless there is something wrong with me, this is how I act on a regular basis," I was told by an American friend of mine when I mentioned a supposedly no-no in American culture, but standard in Puerto-Rican culture. This particular friend of mine is of Scottish-Irish ancestry.
Now, honestly, friends, let's talk about American culture. America has 50 states.
Heck, Brazil has 26 states and we have several different Brazilian cultures. So talking about Brazilian culture has to be either a very short set of general guidelines that defines the majority of the Brazilian population across the states, or it will be a very prejudiced or elitist (only this group of Brazilians determine which one is the Brazilian culture) definition of the Brazilian culture.
The same goes for the US. 50 states. 5 official regions. How can we define American culture without either giving very few and general guidelines or without being extremely elitist to the point of saying that these people here in this area are the true representatives of American culture, and everyone else is just not doing it right?
50 states, 5 regions, about 20 different ancestries which came from different economic and religious sects of their original countries. Each of these categories make a different culture.
The American culture is a mix and match of all these. It takes quite a bit of effort to find so many definite American cultural traits. Yes, they exist, mas they are not as many as one would like to believe they are.
We are more the same than we are different.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
A month later ... I pledge somersaults. No, wait.
Did your chin drop? Well, I can't say I think it's ugly. I can't say I don't like it. It's still beautiful. And everytime it snows, my heart still jumps a little bit, like a little girl excited that she hears daddy's voice as he arrives home from work.
But I just want it to go away already. Enough is enough.
My dad used to say that too little of something is insufficient, too much of something is excessive.
It's not that I don't like the snow. It's that the snow won't melt! It won't melt! It won't friggin melt!
Aaaaargh!
I feel like I am stuck in a never-ending winter. Feel like I will never be able to feel the heat of the sun again.
Negative temperatures are never a good thing. Negative temperatures in Fahrenheit is definitely never a good thing. Negative temperatures in Fahrenheit and for several days, weeks in a row is absolutely never (ever, in anyone's wildest nightmare) a good thing.
It has been a long cold winter and I am so ready to pack up my things and move back to Brazil.
Suddenly Here Comes the Sun had become my favorite Beatles song. It used to be one of my least favorites, above only freaks like All You Need is Love, Within You Without You, and Hey Jude (no, Hey Jude is not that great, no matter what you say).
So, now it has been in the 40s during the day for a couple of days. I am praying with all my heart that it goes higher a little bit everyday and that it stays that way until we reach the 70s.
I pledge that on the first sunny, windless, 70-degree day, I will go outside and bask. And the only reason why I don't say I will do somersaults is because I absolutely don't know how to.
Thursday, February 05, 2015
Snow
Quite honestly, I hate winter. I hate it with all my heart. The deadly cold. The wind that cuts right through your soul. The dreadful black ice. Do you want a cranky Vika? Check her out in the winter time.
But snow? No, I don't complain about snow. I always say that if I have to go through this awful weather, you better give me something beautiful to look at. If I have to be cold, let it be in a winter wonderland.
So let it snow, beautiful white snow, until spring comes.
At least I don't feel like I am stuck in a giant freezer, where all life has ceased to exist. Quite the opposite, now I feel like I am simply in a land where everything is blanketed in a white yummy frosting, and sprinkled with confectioner's sugar.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
afraid of death?
So I guess I need to clarify.
I like being alive. That's how God made me.
What am I really afraid of?
I'm not sure whether I am afraid of dying or of getting old. Maybe neither.
I am afraid of time maybe. I guess I am afraid of the fact that our time is so short, and I don't want to waste it. In my mind I still feel like I am 14. Sometimes I even feel like I am less smart than most 14-year-olds, but then again, when have I have been smarter than anyone over 14? I feel like I will be 84 and still feel the same way. If I get to be 84.
I am afraid of what I don't know. They say we are afraid of the unknown. Well, I don't know what it's like to die, but I suppose there is a lot of pain involved.
I am afraid of pain. You have no idea. I have very little tolerance for pain. I am not sure why I was born a woman, since women supposedly have more tolerance for pain. I have always been a chicken. I was afraid of getting my first period, because I was told I would bleed. I was afraid sex would hurt, and that terrified me, because if there was one thing I really wanted when I was a virgin was to have sex. I am terrified of the day I find out I am pregnant because that baby will have to come out somehow.
So it's the ailments that scare me. That ailments of life.
Most of us will die of cancer, heart disease or some freaky accident.
When I was a kid I always thought I could die of some freaky accident - like falling down the elevator shaft or shot on a bus robbery. But why stop there? Car accidents, kitchen accidents (I did almost cut my finger off with a knife last year), slippery bath tub accidents (yes, I look at the bath tub and all I see are ways I could get myself badly hurt; that's why I keep the bathtub so squeaky clean), fire accidents.
Not only accidents. I have been paying more attention to how people die. Cancer kills a lot of people. Then there is heart disease. A young couple died of a heart attack the first time they had sex. So now I don't think only of freaky accidents, I also think cancer and heart disease. Then there is food poison and medical errors.
All of these mean one thing - pain. I watch a TV show called Bones, and they make very vivid descriptions of what happens to the body when people die in freaky ways. They all sound painful.
Then there is the ailments of old age. I had a teacher who used to say, if you don't die at a young age, old age will do it. Aging also does things to your body. And there you go thinking you're 14, next thing you know you've got Alzheimer's, or dementia, or something freaky like that.
What happens to our bodies when we die? What do we feel? Do we have time to regret all the things we didn't do?
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Boys respected Girls
Men have always used swear words, but in front of a lady, they did not.
Men have always used vulgar language to talk about sex, but in front of a lady, they did not.
Men have always gotten drunk and fought each other, but in front of a lady, they did not.
Men were always illbehaved, but in front of a lady, they knew to behave properly.
Today, who even realizes there is a woman in the group? In fact, even women talk dirty and use vulgar language to talk about sex. They get drunk, fight and are illbehaved.
That is, even women nowadays do not respect themselves... ... Today? Today is euphemism, because when I was a teenager it was already so. I miss the teenage days of my mom.
Sunday, January 04, 2015
New Year's Resolutions - What for?
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
We are insignificant.
I don't know when. I don't want to live as if I did. I don't know if I will live till tonight. I don't want to act as if I did.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Water downhill
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Mr. and Mrs. Penny Pincher
It was a lovely sunny day and I really wanted to go bike riding. But I wasn't the only one who realized the day was lovely. Every 2 blocks there was a tag sale.
Dean and I joked about it, and I started asking him questions about tag sales.
When I realized he had no idea how to prepare a tag sale, I had to come to the conclusion: "You've never done a tag sale in your life, have you?"
"Not really."
Oh, that's right. I had forgotten I was talking to Dean Winters.
Dean never gives anything away. He uses it until it breaks. When it breaks, he fixes it and uses it again. When it breaks again, he fixes it once more, and uses it until it breaks again. And he fixes it one more time, and uses it until it crumbles into a million pieces. That's when he will shop for a used replacement.
Oh, dear ...
...that's why I married him.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Try correctig an ESL student
Here's the drill:
They say a word wrong.
I try to figure out what the heck they are saying.
When I figure it out and repeat it to them - hoping they will repeat it back to me - all they say is "yes."
I repeat the word, cuing them to repeat it after me.
And they say - Yes.
And in my mind I go, "Heavens help me."
I say, "You're supposed to repeat it."
They look at me with a blank stare.
I repeat the word once more, and signal to them with my hand, "Now You".
And they go, "yes."
I collapse.
Wednesday, August 06, 2014
Bhutanese Rice
We had lunch at the Monument to the Forefathers. It was a nice place for a picnic. Students sat on the shade, on the sun, on the tree branches. We had fun.
But this was not the best part. The best part was what they made me do.
The drama queen of the group, a girl from Puerto Rico - I called her Drama Queen, and she said "not me", but later she wrote a poem called "I am a Drama Queen" - well, she was walking around with the Russian girls holding a plate of Nepali spicy rice (or Bhutanese spicy rice).
The Bhutanese rice is something the Bhutanese kids make every time wehave lunch together. It is really spicy. They tend to share it with everyone.
The Puerto Rican girl was eating a sample, but was less than excited about it.
I didn't know she wasn't into it. I was super excited. "Ooh! You have Nepali rice!!! May I have a bite?"
"Yes."
I was worried when she said yes, bc it sounded as if she didn't want to share. And to make things worse, I didn't have a spork. Darn. She will be angry.
"Well, do you mind if I use your spork? I don't have anything."
"Actually do you want the whole thing?"
"Do you not want me to use your spork? I can find one for me."
"No. I don't want it. it's too spicy."
"WHAT!!! Give it to me, woman!"
"You're gonna eat it?"
"Heck, yeah!"
Than this little Ukranian girl challenges me, "Eat the red pepper. Eat the red pepper."
This is a tiny little Ukranian girl, who always wears her long hair in a braid. She is the cutest little thing. So picture this little thing jumping in front of you saying, "Eat the red pepper."
And I say, "Hm, okay. I actually will eat all the hot peppers in this plate in one bite in front of you if you go down to the bus and bring me a box of milk." (yes, milk - I knew what I was getting myself into, and I knew I would NEED milk)
"Are you for real?" Asks wide-eyed Little Ukranian girl.
"I'm tellin' ya. Go get me a box of milk."
There goes Little Ukranian girl down to the bus and back with a chocolate milk in less than 30 seconds - I could swear it was less than 30 seconds. How do kids do certain things so fast is beyond my comprehension. It's all about motivation.
"Here. Now eat the peppers."
I pick all the peppers from the plate put them all on the spork, and shove them into my mouth right in front of them all.
Okay - here is what happens when you bite a red hot chilli pepper - nothing ... a first. It's when the thing starts spreading in your mouth and down your throat that things get ugly.
So I waited a few seconds. And so did everyone else. When I finally felt the burning, I asked Little Ukranian Girl, trying not to lose my mind, "Milk. Quick."
She hands me a closed carton of milk.
"No, girl. Open it. I have no hands. Oh. My eyes. They are watering already. Quick."
She opens it, and as she opens it, another Ukranian girl is pointing at me screaming, "Mrs. Winters is crying!"
I shove the milk down in one gulp. Wow. No use. It is still burning pretty bad.
Me to Little Ukranian girl, this time, "Quick! Go get me another milk!"
And as she hurries down, laughing her pants off, I'm whining, "Two cartons of milk! There goes my diet down the drain!"
After I chug down the second carton of milk, I proceed to finish the rice - the amazement of the Ukranian and Puerto Rican children.
"You're going to eat the rest of it?"
"Of course, people! I'm Brazilian! Spicy is my middle name."
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
My mission in life: Chocolate NGO
This is so sad and awful.
I believe I found my mission in life:
I must take chocolate to every person in this planet. no one should have to go through life without chocolate.
I must start up a non-governmental organization to take chocolate to all the peoples of the earth.
Who will join me in this effort?
Sunday, July 20, 2014
I'm an immigrant
I don't mean I hate my home country, my language, my name, my accent, my history, my traditions, my pride.
I didn't intend or and I have not signed a contract saying that I would leave any of the above behind (in my heart) in order to embrace those of my new country instead.
The first immigrants to this country didn't leave their traditions behind, did they? I'm talking about the Mayflower pilgrims.
Their home country was evil to them. Their home country had become dangerous to them. They fled because they saw no other way out. They had to leave the only place they loved, because that place had become hostile to them.
However, you can take the person out of his land, but you can't take the land out of the person. They came and they brought their country with them.
They named their new country New England, New York, New Jersey, New Britain. They brought their religion, their games, their clothes, their tradition, their history. They even kept their names, instead of adapting them to the local native languages.
They learned new things from the native people, but they didn't leave their culture behind.
And that was okay. Right? We honor those men today.
So why would you, child of those first immigrants, expect us, the new immigrants, to hate or want to do away with our culture? Our language, our accent, our history, our food, our traditions, and even change our name?
As much as our country might have pushed us away, nothing it did will necessarily make us leave what we are behind, or make us stop loving it.
Why can't we, the new immigrants, simply add to our culture the culture of our new land? And add to the culture of our new land our culture? Why would you expect us to replace one for the other?
Are you jealous because you think you only have one?
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Cell phone at the wedding
Bride and groom in the middle of their wedding. The priest there, talking about God and marriage, when the bride looks down, pulls a cell from her boobs, reads the message, puts the phone back in her boobs, and continues to look the priest.
Groom is still there - looking like a total idiot.
Many people commented on that post. Everyone found it absurd.
But here I was thinking to myself - this video was made up. There is so much made-up stuff on Facebook? It is so easy to make these things up. Especially when the video camera is tightly focused on the bride and groom - only on them.
Think with me. What kind of a woman is this? On her big day (the wedding) all dressed in white (the dream of every girl's childhood). Marriage happens only once in life. Could it be that a woman dressed as a bride would do such an idiocy, on camera, as to bring out a cell from within her boobs?
Well, here we are - back from vacation. Missed weeks of my birthday and my vacation, but now I'm back - on this awful final game of the world cup that I do not want to watch.