An Ode to the Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich

Oh Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich

you are THE BEST SANDWICH EVER

to desire

what one cannot have

tis painful

the spice

-iness

the fries

the

ice

cold

coke

and mayo

your protein

which gives you

the value of health

your breaded

and deep fried

deliciousness 

it just is

so there is

no point

to list reasons why

I love you

one always wants what 

one cannot have.

A Social Experiment in Paris

True Story

In Morocco, men I don't know often make comments at me for no apparent reason.  This means that I literally cannot leave my house without some guy busting my balls.  Sometimes the "bonjour", "ca va?", "hey sweetheart", "ciao bella!", "bueno seara", and "I want to f**k you in the ass" comments don't bother me.  Sometimes they make me want to punch someone in the face.  Needless to say, busting my balls EVERYDAY.  

I am actually more confused than anything about these comments.  I mean really?  Really.  Are these comments supposed to impress me?  Make me want to date you?  What EXACTLY are you trying to get from me with these comments?  Honestly, I want to know.  So when I was in Paris I did a little experiment to find out exactly what the benefits of randomly yelling greetings at people of the opposite sex on the street are.  I decided to do my experiment in Paris and not in Morocco because first, I was on vacation and wanted to have some fun, and second, because given the relative equality of men and women in France as opposed to Morocco, a woman yelling at a man on the street in Paris is probably as normal as a man yelling at woman on the street in Morocco.  MAYBE.  So whenever I was sitting in a cafe or walking down the street, when I saw an attractive man I would say in the sweetest most obnoxious voice I have "Bonjour! Ca va!?"  And this is what I discovered...

1. The men in Paris are EXTREMELY attractive with their blue eyes and I don't care but I do care street style.  

2. Parisian police officers can fill out a uniform like you can't BELIEVE. 

3. The men you yell at will ignore you or be confused as to what you are doing.

4. The police officers will respond with "Bonjour Mademoiselle" because I think they are legally obligated to do so?

5. The one group of men that turned around and validated that what I was doing actually worked were drunk...yet attractive!  

6.  I did not make out with any French men or police officers. Sad face.

Moral of the story is that randomly yelling at people from the opposite sex on the street in the hopes of getting some action doesn't work. If you want people to give you strange looks it works.  If the other group of people are drunk it partially works.  If it is a police officer it works because of the law, but all you get is an amazing smile, nothing physical.  

While discovering that randomly yelling at people from the opposite sex on the street in the hopes of getting some action doesn't work, my experiment led me no closer to finding out the reasons why some men in Morocco feel the need to bust my balls.  However, I do know that someone once said that constantly repeating an action that has been proven by science to not work makes you an idiot, so that is comforting.

My First and Only Attempt at Being Insightful

This post will be my first and only attempt at being insightful and giving "advice" on serving in the Peace Corps.  I didn't create this blog to bore people with cliches discussed in a study group of an Intro to International Development or Intro to Philosophy course and how I understand them and you don't.  So as promised, I have stuck to mainly embarrassing moments where I make a fool of myself.  

But one day, on a train ride though the misty wild flower covered hills of Fez (ahhhh CLICHE ALERT)  I was listening to Baz Lurhmann's remix of Mary Schmich's 1997 Chicago Tribune column "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" and was feeling the ebbs and flows of nostalgia weigh on my heart (damn it, I did it again) so I decided to at least attempt to write ONE insightful post.  Actually, ok, lets be honest here, so I am not actually going to WRITE it.  I am simply going to highlight some of the most insightful things Mary Schmich wrote and comment on how they relate to life in the Peace Corps.

"Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blind side you at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday."

So, no one came to your English class.  Your counterpart was late to a meeting, again.  You can't seem to get anything done and your Peace Corps service is not as fulfilling as you thought it would be because no on here is "poor enough" to need your help.  YOU WERE LIED TO so you wrote your frustrations out on FMPCL (F*** my Peace Corps Life).  Listen pancakes, cry me a river, build me a bridge, and GTF over it.  People will come to your class eventually, you will start showing up late to meetings and end up being right on time, you will eventually get something done, and your service will be fulfilling because whoever doesn't leave Peace Corps a better person was a POS to begin with.  Fact.  So why worry about it?  Ultimately the trivial day to day going ons are the things you should be enjoying (even if you don't understand them or they frustrate you) as they prepare you for the real troubles that come your way. 

"Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself." 

Please do not compare yourself to other Peace Corps volunteers or be jealous of their projects.  I have yet to meet a normal Peace Corps volunteer, including me, and abnormalities can't be compared with other abnormalities.  That is what makes them abnormal, it is science.  Anyway, you think I am normal?  No, I am not normal.  I should show you my W2 form from 2011 and compare it with my W2 form from 2012 where my only "income" was from the Peace Corps...WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE!?

Also, GET OFF FACEBOOK.  The volunteers who are on Facebook all the time talking about how great their life is, is it really that great if they are always on Facebook?  I mean, where do they get all the time to do their amazing projects if they are always writing about them on Facebook?  And let's be real, the only reason people on Facebook think I am cool is because I take all my pictures using Instagram. True story.   

Listen, we should all take the time to share our stories and celebrate our accomplishments, whether that be on Facebook or somewhere else.  But please don't be THAT volunteer.  You know the one that I am talking about, the one who ALWAYS talks about how amazing their life is and how much work they are doing.  Are you really enjoying that one sided conversation.  I mean really?  No, you aren't.  It is like blah blah blah blah bladdiblah for HOURS and you know they are only doing it to make themselves feel better.  I mean, do you honestly even believe the words that are coming out of their mouths.  No, you don't.    

"Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's."

First, I will literally de-friend you if one more annoyingly self-aggrandizing or ignorant comment shows up on my news feed.  I swear to it on a box of Mike and Ikes that I will do it.  Wait, I shouldn't be on Facebook...

Second, cut yourself some slack.  Honestly, do you have any idea what is going on around you right now?  Honestly?  Literally, every single day I have no idea what is going on around me and I have been here for a YEAR AND A HALF.  I should know better, but I don't. I pretend that I do, but I don't.

Finally...

"Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth." 

The most important thing I have learned in Peace Corps is that no one knows what they are talking about.  They might think that they do, but they don't.  You know why they don't, because they aren't you and ultimately can't tell you what to do with your life or what to do with your service.  Take people's advice, don't take people's advice, but remember that advice can sometimes be someone else's insecurities coming out, and you don't have time for that s**t.  Actually, sometimes advice can be someone sharing their vast and well earned wisdom.  I honestly don't know the difference.  But I suppose never trust someone with crazy eyes.  

The end.

For Mary Schmich's full article go here: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/columnists/chi-schmich-sunscreen-column,0,4054576.column

For the Baz Lurhmann remix go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTJ7AzBIJoI

The Mystery Man Anass

Once upon a time, a man named Anass somehow got my number.  For six months he texted and called me in the hopes I would respond.  His calls were insistent and his texts, strange.  The first time he called he said he wanted to meet me to learn more about what I do, he lived in my site and spoke very good English.  I asked if he was a reporter, he didn't respond, I asked if he worked for a local association, he didn't give me a clear answer but simply said he just really wanted to meet me.  I told him to go f**k himself and that if he ever called me again I would hunt him down, rip his balls off, and shove them up his a**.  I think that is when he fell in love with me.

I ignored his calls and texts for the first three months.  My phone constantly buzzed with messages of how we don't know what destiny holds and we should meet, how he knows we have a secret connection, or that I should email him at fabio234@hotmail.com.  All the while calling me is sweet Loshia.  It took all my strength for me not to reply with "I know what destiny holds, it says that one day my foot will be up your a** if you don't stop contacting me", "F**k.You.", or "hotmail, you have to be shitting me." But I never did, and my silence only increased his love for me.

The next three months I would occasionally answer his calls and bark in the phone, not only wasting his minutes, but hoping to give him the impression I was CRAZY and to leave me alone.  My barking only added fire to his passion and his calls and texts kept increasing at a rate that I began to wonder what this guy does for a living?  During those three months, I went from being outraged that this guy thinks I am so f**king pathetic or stupid that I would actually be interested in a creeper like him to absolute shock that a guy actually existed that was so horribly pathetic.  

It finally got to a point where I had enough.  He texted me another plea begging me to give him the pleasure of meeting me.  I responded that if he contacted me again I would give him the pleasure of meeting with the local police and the US government.  This made him mad.  He was indignant, didn't I know he wasn't scared, and he had his own important friends?!  Yeah, sure, a man with the email fabio234@hotmail.com is DEFINITELY an important person with important friends.  So I let PC know and gave them all his information, and they tried to call him to tell him to back the f**k off, but he never picked up.  Our love was lost, or was it?

A week ago a group of tourists came to my site to visit local associations, and one of the places they visited was my center.  Accompanying the group was a man named Anass and we had the following conversation...

Me: Anass it is a pleasure to meet you.  You are the music teacher who played at the Gnoua Festival right?
Anass: Yes, that was me, the famous music teacher.
Me: Hahahaha. You have really good English.
Anass: Thank you.
Me: And your name is Anass?
Anass: Yes.
Me: And you live here?
Anass: Yes.
Me: You know something really funny?
Anass: What?
Me: There was this creeper named Anass who had really good English who lived here who somehow got my number and wouldn't leave me alone, I had to get my organization involved...
Anass: (awkward silence)
Me: Wouldn't that be really funny if you were the same Anass, because then I would have to punch you in the face!  Hahahahahahahahahaha, sigh.
Anass: (awkward laugh) I don't use my phone.
Me: Lucky for you! Hahahahahahah
Anass: (awkward silence)
Me: Well it was a pleasure meeting you Anass.
Anass: Yes, you too.
Me: (f**king a**hole) 

I am an idiot, part 2

Recently, there was a death in the family that I live with.  To show my condolences in this difficult time I wanted to find them a really nice bouquet of flowers.  I was thinking of getting them one of those great assortments of chocolate covered pretzels or even one of those really delicious cookie bouquets that my mom once got me for being great, but they don't have those in Morocco.  Turns out that buying a bouquet of flowers isn't really a thing in Morocco either, which means there are literally no places to buy a nice bunch of flowers in my site, not even the gas station.  Sure, I could have gone to Marrakech, but time was a factor here.  I knew from my Peace Corps Community Based Training (CBT) that the typical gift for a funeral was giving a huge cone shaped block of sugar, pictured above.  But a large number of the neighbors had come over the day before and each brought one of these cones of sugar.  They were literally given 100 cones of sugar, I mean, what are you going to do with 100 CONES OF SUGAR!  So I wanted to be original and get them flowers...but I gave up, and gave them sugar instead.  

I was so proud of myself walking back from the store with my cone of sugar.  They will know just how much I integrated and that I am giving them a culturally appropriate gift to show my condolences for their loss.  I finally figured it out!  Go me! They are going to start thinking I am competent, this is going to be great!  At least that is what I was hoping...but expectations do not often meet reality in this crazy crazy thing we call life...

I walk into their kitchen, tell them that in America we usually buy flowers but since we are in Morocco I got them some sugar and that I am so sorry for their loss.  Silence.  Then they all started laughing at me.  For literally like 10 minutes, they all laughed at me.  It was great, except that it wasn't.

So, it turns out that buying sugar is an indirect way of giving someone money.  Wish someone had told me that part of the giving sugar as a gift during CBT.  One of these cones of sugar can get you 20MAD.  So what, you say, might someone do with 100 CONES OF SUGAR? They would sell them, for 20MAD a pop.  So what my family found so funny is that they had sold all the sugar the night before, which means I most likely bought one of the sugars they sold and gave it back to them, like an idiot. 

An Open Letter to Christopher Columbus

Dear Christopher Columbus,

I wanted to say congratulations!  I see you joined the Peace Corps!  I am sure one of the reasons you joined was to go off on another adventure.  No doubt, your Peace Corps experience will be full of adventures and life changing experiences.  

I just wanted to let you know, in the nicest way possible, that based on personal observation you might need to wiggle around a bit, get a good hold of your shoulders, and pull your head out of your ass.  Perhaps doing some yoga, or getting kicked in the kidneys a few times, will help loosen you up a bit.  It turns out your head is pretty far up your ass and you are going to need to learn about the real world before you pull it out, or you will make a huge mess of it.  

Now, I really hope I haven't offended you, but there have just been some things you have been saying and doing recently that have me concerned.  Being a Peace Corps Volunteer myself, I understand that the organization is only as professional and effective as the people in it.  Therefore I thought I would start by asking about all those pictures you have on your Facebook page smiling with, how you lovingly call them, "the native children."  All those pictures really make me think that you have integrated into your community, I mean look at all those smiles!  And obviously you are doing great work because without you, those children would not be smiling.  But, I suppose what I want to ask is, do those children or the parents of those children know you are hawking their picture on your Facebook page to make YOU feel better about YOURSELF?  Or perhaps even to show off a bit?

When I see your Facebook page with the constant updates about your amazing classes, or listen to you talk at trainings or other Peace Corps events about how integrated you are and the amazing projects you are doing, I can't help but be reminded of a story my good friend once told me.  In order to be a counselor at a particular camp, she was required to do a Child Sexual Abuse Training.  What I found most interesting about her story was the discussion about hugs.  The training emphasized that hugs are good, but only if you are giving out hugs for the good of the child, and not for your personal benefit.  Now, now, ok, I can see I made you angry.  I am not calling you a child abuser.  I just simply want to point out that your behavior seems to be more for your benefit than the greater good.  You are doing quite a bit of strutting, and I am finding it distasteful. 

I find it distasteful because of your attempt to fool me into thinking you are exceptional.  I am in the same Peace Corps Morocco as you, and let me tell you, we are all ultimately replaceable, some people will never fully understand why we are here, and most likely the most sustainable thing you do here will be introducing UNO to your students.  I am not bitter or writing this with regret.  There is nowhere I would rather be than exactly where I am.  But lets be honest shall we?    

It is obvious you came here because you were under the impression you could "save" people, or perhaps because you thought you could show "the natives" the "right way to do things" and help them from their poverty and despair.  I have met quite a few people in Morocco, people who in addition to being human are also Moroccan citizens.  I can tell you that none of them have been fools, idiots, or lack the sense to get shit done or figure out how to.  I have not met one person who needs my help.  If you have been following my blog, you will see that if anything I am the one who needs help.  

Positive change is happening in Morocco, and it will happen with or without you or I, dear Christopher Columbus.  Competent Moroccan citizens are leading that change, but, as the great President Bartlet once said in West Wing Season 4 Episode 18, "change comes in excruciating increments for those who want it.  You're trying to move mountains.  It takes lifetimes."  Ultimately you are here for 27 months, so please get over yourself.  Oh, and your snide comments about how horrible the "Moroccan way of doing things" is makes you look like a huge a**hole, just an FYI.  I think it would be wise for your to remember that you are here on a cultural exchange promoting public diplomacy.  Nothing you see is wrong, nothing you see is right, it is just different.  Learn from it, grow from it, and share.  Hopefully along the way a few people will even start to like you.    

It would be hypocritical of me not to admit that one of the reasons I am writing you this letter is that I sometimes fear that I too have a little of you in me.  Did I join the Peace Corps for myself or for others?  When I do projects, am I thinking about how good they are for the community or how good they will look on my resume?  I don't know.  But I guess what is important is that I am constantly asking these questions of myself.  I try at all times to be painfully honest about what I am doing here and the realities of Peace Corps.  Perhaps that is where your true benefit lies, as a warning to other Peace Corps Volunteers of how not to look like a complete a**hole.    

I know that deep down inside your have good intentions.  But intention is not enough, you need to remain honest and realistic.  I believe you are a good person, and if your head wasn't so far up your ass I might even like you a little more.  So please take my letter as constructive criticism, in the hopes that your head will one day be out of your ass, and you will in your own small way, do something truly good.

All the Best,
Lucia

    

A Penny Saved is a Penny Earned

Unless I have gone completely around the bend (which isn't totally out of the realm of possibility) there is no penny like currency in Morocco.  There is change that equals 10, 5, 2, 1, .20, and .10 but no .01 (aka the penny).  Now you may ask why I am writing a blog post about this.  I often ask myself why I write blog posts about things, and the only answer is that it was either something completely hysterical that happened to me (can someone say penis sighting in Marrakech) or that I am so completely bored and lacking in inspiration that I blindly stumble around until I hit something somewhat interesting.  So, the penny...

Sure, .01 in change means nothing if you go shopping at the local market (souk) or corner store (hanut) given that everything is priced so that you can actually properly use the money that is made in Morocco, eg. Milk 3.40MAD, water 5MAD, a Meredina bar 2MAD, that delicious looking pastry 1MAD, 1 kilo of cookies, 35MAD, etc. etc. etc.  Things get tricky though when you go to a supermarket like store where some things are priced at 7.99MAD (toiled paper) or 15.46MAD (strawberry juice with the vitamins that are not contained in bread or that potato and carrot tajine you eat EVERY DAY).  

Now things get confusing when you check out and give the cashier 100MAD and the change comes out to, lets say, 52.18MAD.  Sometimes the cashier will give you 52MAD, sometimes she will give you 52.10MAD, sometimes she will give you 52.20MAD, and if you are lucky she might give you 53MAD.  When she "short changes you", you stand there staring at her and are like, "YO lady, where my change?!", and she is all like "why are you staring at me you crazy crazy American?!", and you are like "YO lady, you owe me like .08MAD, what gives?!", and she is all like "(eye-roll) crazy, crazy American, it is literally IMPOSSIBLE for me to give you exact change", and then you turn bitter because you think that lady is cray cray and is short changing you like .08MAD, which is really nothing, BUT IT IS THE PRINCIPAL OF IT!  Then one day you buy some stuff and she gives you 53MAD (instead of 52.18MAD) and you stare at it and are like, "should I say something to her even though she ALWAYS short changes me?!", and she is all like "why the hell is this American just standing there? This girl is totally out of her mind", and then you are like "YO lady, you gave me too much change back", and then EVERYONE in line starts laughing at you because there is no .01 cents and she LITERALLY CANNOT GIVE YOU EXACT CHANGE...crazy, crazy American.  

Then you are all indignant because you are NOT crazy, you just understand that a penny saved is a penny f***ing earned, all Benny Franklin style (but not, because it turns out he never really said that, MIND.BLOWN.).  But you know what IS crazy, pricing things at a supermarket that can literally not be bought with exact change.  THAT IS CRAY CRAY.