s'more

first of all, i'd like to commemorate the consumption of my first chocolate-covered strawberry in spain. i have now literalized my blog title. chachi.


second of all, i have a new metaphor:
madrid is a deranged barber.
yesterday morning i woke up to chainsaws hacking away the hair of all the trees surrounding my apartment complex. as of now i can not say i live in a pleasant tree-lined neighborhood. no señor. i live in a neighborhood lined with roasting forks covered in burnt marshmallow goo. i hope the woody perennials grow their hair back soon, otherwise i am going to start going to the trees with an openfaced graham-cracker chocolate sandwich hoping that they deliver the missing s'more ingredient.


en tercer lugar, i don't advise translating green-day songs from english to spanish with 12-year-olds. you will end up with ridiculous drawings instead of definitions
to describe vocabulary such as 'redneck'.

you will laugh however when finally, your student pulls a confederate civil-war hat from mini-hollywood in almería out from beind their bedroom door because they have understood 'rebel' from your explanation.



lastly, i need to find a support group for people against the 'ch-ch' catcall. no offense guys, for you have come far in your evolution, but there are still some of your species who resort to whispering senseless stoneage sounds to express their attraction to the opposite gender. the filtering-in of spring heat waves and the appearance of my "exotic" long strawberry-blonde hair in the outdoors have punished my head lately with with the 'ch-ch' aches. where is the ch-chibuprofen?
please, por favor and vã rog ch-ch-ers worldwide, find your oo-oo's and choo-choo your trains back to 'a little respect' elementary.
leave the ch-ch for the dogs.