No No No!

Carrie Underwood's "acting" ruined Christmas the first time.

Now, CNN just tried to argue that Love Actually is in the same category as It's a Wonderful Life. CNN, you are dead to me. Christmas is cancelled. They did this segment in the form of a debate. It must be a slooooow news day.
The only thing from this bit that I appreciated was the Love Actually argument made by the guy who took the this movie sucks side-"They try to take just the endings from a bunch of romantic comedy movies and put them into one movie, without any dialogue or real story development from the middle part of the movie." Well said, sir.
Yes, I hate Love Actually. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some gifts to return.

People shopping

Princeton. Even though both the Taco Bell and the Hardee's closed down, it's still a nice place. I'm not biased, I promise. But most of the other small towns I've been to are seriously lacking the charm of my lovely hometown. Here are some pictures, courtesy of Google image.

Princeton High School

North Main Street

Princeton's most famous landmark/where every engaged couple get their photos taken, the Red Covered Bridge

I was born here. I lived here the first 23 1/2 years of my life. Technically I lived at ISU 4 of those years, but since I came home whenever I had more than a 3 hour break from school, I'll go ahead and put those years with my living in Princeton total. I lived here for another year and half after leaving Chicago, and I've lived here the past two years. That's a lot of years. This is, and always will be, home. Therefore, I am allowed to say whatever I want about it. However, when I hear non-Princetonians smack talking, I want to bust their kneecaps. Now that I've cleared that up, I'll continue. 

While marriage and kids are still not on my radar (traveling to South America and living in Thailand are though, I just need to figure out how. Any how to suggestions are welcome), it would be nice to date. Living in Princeton, this presents a bit of a problem. The dating pool here is slim slim slim. My standards aren't that high. Sure, I'd love a James Marsden lookalike who speaks a few languages, likes to run, has a college degree and a passport, sings like Andrea Bocelli, and cooks like Wolfgang Puck. But here in Princeton, I'd settle for a guy who knows the difference between your and you're, has a working muffler and normal sized tires on his vehicle, doesn't have a jam jar goatee, and doesn't list his favorite book as "I don't read." I'm pretty sure there are no unmarried guys in the county who fit that description. Luckily, Princeton is located an hour from Peoria, an hour from the Quad Cities, a little more than an hour from the Chicago suburbs, and two hours from the city itself, all of which have considerably larger dating pools. The next problem is of course, how do I meet these chaps?

I know a lot of people who have had great luck with online dating.  Many people suggested I try it.  My exBF used online dating sites with gusto, one of the many reasons why he now has the title of ex. Online dating...sure, why not? But so many sites! Which one? 

In addition to being cheap, I fear commitment so much that I can bring myself to sign a real cell phone contract or an apartment lease. So I first eliminated any sites that weren't free. I'm not serious enough dating to pay for it. I'm not shelling out $30 for Match.com until I'm looking for a husband. 

Over the summer, I saw half of a "news" story about a new dating app called Tinder. I should have gotten the whole story before trying that one. I learned quickly it's more or less a booty call app. The messages I received via Tinder were all along the lines of  "U down?" "Ur place or mine?" and so on. No thank you. 

Next up-OkCupid. I learned quickly again. This time I learned that OkCupid is used for basically the same purpose as Tinder, except that with Tinder, both users must "like" each other before communication can be made. That's a point for Tinder. I signed up for OkCupid, left my computer, came back a short time later and had at least 30 email notifications that I'd received messages on OkCupid. 

"Sure, guy I don't know and have less than zero physical attraction to, whose two profile pictures are you with a giant truck and you with your children, I'd love to go over to your house sometime when your kids are at their mom's." But I kept with this one for a few days, thinking maybe not all guys on there were dirt bags. I finally deleted that account when I received a message from a guy with the user name "PoundUgood" and whose profile picture was him, sitting pantsless in a recliner, full on willy shot. Why, guys? Why? Does that work for you, ever? If so, why ladies? Why? Where's the self respect? 

Finally, I landed on Plenty of Fish. While not as legit as Match.com, it seems ever so slightly better than the first two sites I used. Don't get me wrong, I still get  messages of the "U down?" variety, but there seem to be ever so slightly higher numbers of guys on there who at least have some morals, in addition to a higher number of  "young, fun, professional couples, who've never done anything like this before, but looking to try some new things...u down?" Sigh. 

Using online dating sites is making me think maybe my standards actually are too high. Call me picky, but if your profile picture is you with a wad of chew in your mouth, holding a gun, while standing next to an animal you shot, I just don't think it's going to work between us. 

I've kept with Plenty of Fish for a week or so now. I have received a few messages from guys I'd probably be interested in if I knew them outside of their computers. But I'm realizing I'm not entirely on board with this idea. There are a few reasons why.

1. I watch way too much Investigation Discovery (informative murder porn...South Park...anyone?) which has caused me to not trust strangers. Or people I know. 

2. After tonight's Mega Millions drawings, I'm going to be a millionaire. So I have to be more careful with who I meet. I don't want someone to be using me for my money. 

3. Intense fear of rejection. Way before the days of online dating being normal, I remember someone saying something to my mom about a soon to be married couple who'd met on a blind date. I asked my mom what a blind date was, and after she answered, my immediate thought way "NO WAY WOULD I EVER DO THAT!" The scenario in my mind played out something like this: I get all gussied up. I arrive at our agreed upon location. My date is already there, and when he sees me, the disappointment in his face is impossible to hide. I was about 10 years old when that first came into my head. And it never left. It still plays out when I think of both blind dates and meeting someone I've found via an online dating site. 

4. I'm 31 years old. I work in a restaurant. I live with my parents. I need to get some other things in order before I think about dating. But then I think, I have no social life in Princeton. As long as I live around here, why would I not live with my parents?  If I were to get my own apartment, I'd spend the majority of my free time at my parents' house, because I never go out, go to dinner, do anything with anyone besides them. The few times I have a Friday or Saturday night off of work, I spend the evening in my pajamas, and am usually sound asleep by 10 pm. Any movies that my mom doesn't want to see, I end up going to see alone. I'm okay with that though, because then I can eat as much popcorn as I want without feeling judged. So I'm going to keep my apartment money until I live in a slightly larger area, with hopefully a more active social life. Then I think, when I'm in a larger area, will I even need to use online dating sites to meet people? Maybe. Maybe not. 

My plan is to flee Princeton sometime in the first half of 2014. Maybe then I'll become a more serious online dating site user. Maybe. But don't expect a wedding invitation from me anytime soon, unless of course my James Marsden lookalike with the Andrea Bocelli voice reads this and comes a calling.

Laura, 2014 edition

Two years ago, I made my 2012 resolution. In case you don't feel like rereading, my resolution was to not give a *expletive* if people don't like me, because their opinions are worthless to me anyway and that I'm rad.
I stand by that resolution. I'm still rad, and if someone doesn't like me, his/her opinions are still worthless to me.

This year I decided to make another resolution, and it's a shallow one. In 2014, I'm going to spend more time on my appearance. On a good year, I get my hair cut once. Some years, I don't get it cut ever, but rather trim up tangled bits myself. I rarely wear makeup. I don't wear jewelry, belts, or match my purses to anything. If you see me in the summer, I'm probably wearing a dress. Why? So I don't have to match a top with a bottom. A few months ago, I wore my slippers to the movies. I thought they'd pass for shoes, until my dad told me otherwise, and asked that I please walk a safe distance behind them.  Here's a secret-if I'm going somewhere in the winter where I know I won't be taking my coat off, chances are good I'm not wearing a bra. And also in the winter, chances are good that my legs look like a dude's. I'd love to be able to say I'm making a statement. Women don't need to fit into society's idea of beauty blah blah blah. I agree with that to an extent, if you want to shave your legs and wear makeup, good for you. If you feel better not shaving your legs and don't own any mascara, good for you.  But I'm not making any kind of statement. The reason for my appearance is that I'm lazy.
Although it's not obvious to strangers, I've actually come a long way in terms of my appearance. When I was in middle school and junior high, I was the smelly kid. My ideas on personal hygiene were straight up 16th century. Shower? What is this, a holiday? The cure for body odor is clearly perfume and lots of it. Or if things got really bad, I'd break out the baby powder scented teen spirit deodorant. My ponytail was always perfectly smooth, because my hair was so oily. Combine all that with my festively colored braces and the oboe case I carried to school each day, and I was quite the catch. It's a modern day mystery that no boys asked me to the junior high dances.
By high school I'd started bathing on a regular basis and fixing my hair, though I did still have the braces/retainers and the oboe case. But I've never been fully on board the makeup train. I can't match a top with a bottom to save my life. The thought of accessorizing makes me break out in a cold sweat. If you ever see me wearing a belt, it's because it came with the outfit.
So step one of my resolution is to wear more makeup. And I'm not talking like Nicki Minaj levels of makeup to go to the grocery store. But when I go to work, dinner, etc, I'm going to make more of an effort to put on a little. I have nothing against makeup. Nor am i saying people have to wear makeup. Personal choice. But I do enjoy wearing it. I think it's fun to mess with. The main reason I don't wear makeup more often is because I don't want to take the time to wash my face when I get home from wherever I was. Lazy. PreFrance, I did okay about wearing it to work. Fact- people tip better when I wore makeup. But since going back to work at le restaurant, my makeup wearing has been scarce.

Problem. I'm realizing I don't really know how to apply it very well. And I don't know what colors I should be wearing. When I was a teenager, young, stupid, and first starting to put makeup on, my thoughts were along the lines of  "Well, today I'm wearing a purple sweater. Purple eye shadow it is!" Bam, makeup done. The cosmetics currently filling my makeup bag are all at least 3 years old and are either things I took from Eliza, or products I bought in Seoul because I liked the color. Do the colors work for me? I dunno. Am I applying it correctly? I dunno. Fortunately, we're living in the age of instructions for anything being just a Youtube video away. So I've been watching a lot of videos I found searching for "pale skin green eyes makeup" or other things along those lines. They are helpful, except the girls who make these videos seem to have bottomless piggy banks and can spend any amount on top of the line cosmetics. The videos start with "Go to Sephora and buy this $30 makeup brush to apply this $25 eye shadow." Right... I have no problem buying top of the line, if we are talking about important things, like Parmesan cheese. But makeup? Come on now. This girl's on a budget. I need a Cover Girl and Rimmel makeup tutorial video.

Maybe once I figure out makeup, I'll work on accessorizing.  Maybe. Or else maybe I won't do anything.  If you see me in February, and I'm still wearing makeup, you'll know it was a success. Makeup is a lot of work. And haven't we already decided that New Year's resolutions made to be broken? But I will try my best to wear proper undergarments when I'm out and about, and put on actual shoes, not slippers when I go to the movies. Baby steps. 

Color

On the first full day in India, we were on the tour around Delhi and the driver mentioned that we'd be in India during Holi. He warned us to be careful, men drink too much, have been known to be too friendly with females, etc.  Call me the ignorant American. I had no idea what Holi was, but made a mental note to ask Anya about it later. I continued hearing talk of Holi, as we worked our way through Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. When were in Udaipur, I started noticing the street vendors were selling packets of brightly colored powder. 

From Lonely Planet India, I learned that Holi is the color festival, celebrated each year around March, to say farewell to winter. Hold the phone. They hadn't yet said goodbye to winter? Winter? The sun had been beating down mercilessly on me during the days, and the nights I'd spent tossing and turning, kicking off my covers in the non air conditioned hotel rooms where the ceiling fans did nothing but move the steamy air around and I'd wake up in a puddle of my on sweat. I repeat, winter? Oh India, how wrong you are. Indians' confusion about what winter is aside, there are of course some religious and other meanings behind the holiday. Feel free to google it. 

Shashi talked a bit about her plans for Holi during our cooking class, and Udaipur seemed even more abuzz as we made our way back to the hotel following the cooking class. I would not have thought it possible for India to become more insane. But I was wrong. Think of the most hyper child you know, now imagine giving that child an IV drip of caffeine and Pixy Stix. It was like that. 

As evening fell, Anya and I walked back to where the festivities were taking place. We knew the festival started with a bonfire. There were some smaller pyres along the way, and as we got closer, there was a string leading to the main pyre. Traffic was sort of blocked and there were loads of police. A stage was set up behind the main pyre and people were already starting to gather. What had we gotten ourselves into? 

We found a place to stand, slightly off to the side, away from the traffic that was still pushing through the gathering crowd. Behind the stage was Jagdish Temple, and the stairs of the temple were being used as bleachers. Sitting on the steps was the Polish couple we'd met at the cooking class. They called us over to them, so we decided to go find a spot to sit on the quickly filling bleacher stairs. This ended up being a mistake. We were behind the stage, so our view was not great. But worse than the view was the pain. Spending a few hours on a cool fall night, sitting on a cold metal bleachers, watching a football game is one thing. Spending a few hours on a sweltering "winter" night in India, crammed so full of people that your knees are up around your face and there's no good place to put your feet is an entirely different beast. And the stone steps were so hard they'd make the aforementioned cold metal bleachers feel like a la-z-boy. I tried to shift my weight around, as much as I could, but it was difficult because the stairs were so full of people that it was hard to move. 

After sitting for a while, they starting doing some things on the stage. Due to the obstructed view, and the fact all the announcements were in Hindi, I didn't understand a lot of what was happening. The dancing was done by Hijras (Indian transgendered, though Wikipedia tells me Hijra is sometimes derogatory so maybe I shouldn't say that?). After the ladies did a few dances, they started pulling a few foreigners up on stage, and before long, the stage was full of foreigners doing their best to dance to Indian pop songs. Though I didn't join in, I felt embarrassed. Some of the girls on stage seemed to thing they were at a club, sticking their hands in the air, gyrating, etc. The whole thing kind of felt like an inside joke for the Indians. And it took forever. I was tempted to go join in, for the sole purpose of trying to regain some feeling in my backside. 

Sitting to my left was an Indian woman and her adorable young son. Several times throughout the dancing, confetti was shot into the air. The boy tried to grab a few pieces. I gave him the pieces that hand landed within my grasp.  The mom whispered something into his ear, and he shyly turned to me and said "Happy Holi" Heart melted. 

Dancing and confetti

Hijra busting a move

Solid people

They made quick work of dissembling the stage. The energy in the crowd grew. I still had no idea what was happening. People on the stair bleachers started standing. I stood, happy to not be sitting on the stone stairs anymore. A few minutes later, I heard what sounded like explosions. The crowd gathered around the pyre started scrambling as the explosions continued. The crowd on the stairs started pushing back. The lady with the son grabbed my arm and pulled me back to a higher step. My thoughts were along the lines of "What's happening? India's safe right? There's no bombs here, right? This isn't Pakistan. I don't want to die in Udaipur." Then the pyre burst into flames. I failed to notice that the string laying along the street leading up to the pyre was covered in firecrackers. I'd never felt like more of a clueless tourist. The crowd cleared away from the fire, and it was hot hot hot. I could feel the heat, despite not being that close to it.

Fireworks started getting shot off from completely random locations. Everyone was smiling, dancing, and happy. 

A few people started throwing colored powder on each other. 

When it was clear the festivities were mostly over for the evening, Anya and I decided to brave the crowd and make our way back to the hotel, as we had a looooooooong next couple of days. Shops and restaurants are closed during Holi, so we stopped at a shop on our way home to get some food (cookies and chips) and water. 

I have to admit I was very curious about the second day of Holi. Supposedly, the streets are a free for all color and water fight. Anyone is fair game. I heard in Varanasi water from the Ganges is used in the water fights. Gross. 

We had to check out of our hotel that morning. We had a late afternoon train to Delhi. That train would get into Delhi around 6 am. After a 12 hour layover in Delhi, we had another late afternoon train, that would get us into Varanasi around 8 the next morning. So for over 48 hours, we would have no place to change clothes, shower, etc. Spending two nights in a train, covered in mystery powder and water from who knows where did not seem like the best idea. So as curious as I was, Anya and I decided it would be in our best interest to avoid the color and water fights. 

After packing up and enjoying feeling clean for the last time in a few days, all we could do was wait. Nothing was open. We had to check out of our room.  We couldn't leave the hotel, because we'd no doubt be covered in color (I heard foreigners were a favorite target). Luckily, the hotel hide a nice back yard. We sat there for a while, and this guy came into the yard from somewhere. 

We watched as other hotel guests came back, covered in color. We watched as they returned from the shower, still covered in color. That stuff doesn't come off. We sat upstairs at the (closed, of course) rooftop restaurant, and wondered about the strange character who lived in a little room right off the kitchen of the restaurant. We read, wrote, took advantage of the most of the time working internet, ate cookies and chips (it's hard to buy healthy snacks when you are advised to not eat raw produce) and spaced out. 

Finally, it was time to leave for the train station. Luckily our train was late enough in the afternoon that the color fights had mostly calmed down. Our entire time in India, we couldn't take more than 10 steps without someone asking if we needed a rickshaw. We walked a nervous several minutes before a guy finally pulled up in a rickshaw and we were off to the train station. 

I really wanted real food, and the smell coming from the train station restaurant made my mouth water. But, I didn't want Delhi belly at the start of this two day journey, and the restaurant definitely looked questionable. So I got some more chips and cookies for dinner on the train, used the station bathroom where I shared my stall with a rat, and we were off. The train hadn't been moving more than 5 minutes, when a child sitting a few compartments down from us barfed all over the aisle. Perhaps he'd made a bad choice at the train station restaurant. Either way, 'twas a gross start to our 12 hour journey back to Delhi. 

So, because a lot of people have asked: I decided on Friday not to take the job in Korea. I love that country more than I can put into words. However, I couldn't think of a good enough reason to validate going back for another year. I need to make getting my teaching degree priority one. I don't want to put it off for another year because I want to eat delicious food and feed my travel addiction. I feel like I broke up with a boyfriend, where I know in the long run this will be better for me, but right now all I can think of is all the good times and my future without it. So like any break up, the last few days involved a few tears and a lot of junk food. And if I hadn't been fighting a migraine for the past several days, the weekend would have also involved some wine. 

Maybe after I get certified, I can teach at one of the DODD schools there...

Cooking

Anya and I are both huge fans of food. I knew I'd made a friend for life when shortly after we'd both moved into 5 Rue Marengo in Bordeaux, she suggested we try to make caramel sauce. I don't remember the ingredients we used, but I do remember we cooked it in a quiche pan, set on top of the stove. And one of our favorite ways to spend our paltry assistant earnings was to eat at either of Bordeaux's two Indian restaurants. So naturally when she suggested taking a cooking class while in India, I was on board with the idea. Since we were staying the longest in Udaipur, it seemed like a good place to do it.
We booked a cooking class on our last full day in Udaipur. The class was ran by a woman named Shashi. I regret not getting a picture of her, but because her cooking class is so popular, it was not hard to find one online.

Taking the class withus was a Polish couple. They were about my age and both lawyers, or some respectable job back in Poland. I don't remember if they'd quit, taken leaves, just finished exams, or what. But, they'd borrowed one motorcycle, and bought another. They were riding their way all through India and Nepal on their two motorcycles. They'd been/were going everywhere (north, south, east, west). I got scared walking down the sidewalk in India. I'd never felt like such a wuss. 

Shashi started her cooking class by giving us a brief bio. She was widowed at the age of 31, with two young sons (notice the black bindi).  Because she's the highest class, she's not allowed to remarry, and there were also some rules about what jobs she was allowed to do/not do. Her husband's family sucked, and didn't help her out. Didn't help her out is an understatement, they were flat out nasty to her. She lived with her two young sons in her husband's family's house, and for a long while they even turned the electricity or water or some important utility off because she had no money. They did laundry (secretly, because her class is not allowed to do laundry for a living) for local hotels to make money. Her cooking school is now very successful, and written up in a lot of tourist guides for Udaipur. As I've said before, by this point I'd been in India long enough to feel like everyone just was scamming me for money. So part of me wondered if Shashi's tale was truthful. But she seemed nice, and her face looked worn, like someone who'd had a tough go of things for a while. I like to think Shashi was telling us the truth. 

Either way, I loved this cooking class. Shashi had no problem pointing out all our shortcomings in the kitchen-not stirring fast enough, cooking something too long, not kneading dough the right way, etc. At one point, while using a mortar and pestle, a bug came crawling out from somewhere, and into the mortar. I don't know if she didn't see or didn't care, but she crushed that little guy right up into the garam masala. I thought about it some, as we were sitting down to eat. But the food was so delicious, what's a little bug going to hurt? I couldn't not eat it.  I'd been staying away from meat for the most part while in India, so I needed the extra protein, no doubt. We made chai, a few snacks/appetizers, bread, and few different main dishes. There was so much food, the four of us could barely make a dent in it. I spent $10 on a tin of spices. I wasn't super jazzed to have to haul it around for the next week, but it was a super good price, and included stuff that would be a bit difficult to get in Princeton. Plus, she threw in a big container of chai spice, which my mom and I enjoyed several times during last year's winter that would not end. I left Shashi's feeling like I'd just eaten Thanksgiving dinner, in a full on food coma. 

A sign hanging in Shashi's kitchen

 pakora with mango and cilantro chutneys-be jealous

Our feast, and Shashi resting in the background

Spices 

 This guy...One of the best things about our hotel in Udaipur was that the trees surrounding the building were always full of monkeys. We got a bit too close to this fella, and he made it clear he had no interest in being our friend. This picture was taken shortly before he chased us up the sidewalk, while growling.

From the safety of the hotel room, I saw this. Heart melting. 

 Friends helping friends

Fickle as a pickle!

So, haha, I posted my last entry too soon. The school I wanted to work at in Seoul was supposed to contact me by Monday. Monday came and went, and I didn't hear from them. I contacted them. They didn't respond. I wrote that last blog. I contacted the recruiter. He offered me another job. I didn't want it. I spent a week trying to come to terms with being done with Korea. Then last Monday, a week late, the school contacted me and offered me a job. Decision time. My current background check expires December 26th. If December 26th comes and goes without a visa, I will be unable to accept this job. Think Laura, think.