my roommate and i's conversation a couple of minutes ago. (background: she threw up this morning after drinking one sip of her tea):
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says:
at the risk of sounding like *****, is it possible that i have a worm and just don't know it
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says:
i know i haven't really lost weight, but maybe i am eating enough to support us both
Marianne says: muahahaha
Marianne says: possibly.
Marianne says: we need you on cipro. STAT!
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says: stat
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says: yes stat
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says: and with it all I am still hungry
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says: which just annoys me
Marianne says: the worm needs to be fed!
Marianne says: and it does not like tea!!!!
nicolettegrams@yahoo.com says: feed it!
Marianne says: get it straight zicolette
Marianne says: when else in our lives will our conversations go like this.....?? lol + sigh.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
on being famous...
this morning as i was brushing my teeth, i got a text from an ex-pat friend saying that one of my roommates and i were pictured in the paper. we had been anticipating this as the paper photographer took our photo on saturday night when we were out with friends. when we got into the office, one of our co-workers started talking about how he had seen us. we proceeded to investigate online to see if we could dig it up. the great part (at least to us) was that in a joke on the press, who had caused some serious trouble for us last time we were in the news, we had told the reporter a fake name for my roommate, and that we were from mozambique. as we were perusing the world wide web, our landlord, of all people, texted me and said, "nice to see you guys in the paper this morning". we found the article which included a photo of the two of us-the three guys we were with had been mysteriously cropped out, and a small column on the reporter's take of the place we were at that night. some of the highlights included:
"A lot of ex-pats were seen tapping their feet to the music. Some of the people spotted include Anita, Nichola, Marianne, Peter, and Eric."
so funny...my life here is just funny sometimes.
this morning as i was brushing my teeth, i got a text from an ex-pat friend saying that one of my roommates and i were pictured in the paper. we had been anticipating this as the paper photographer took our photo on saturday night when we were out with friends. when we got into the office, one of our co-workers started talking about how he had seen us. we proceeded to investigate online to see if we could dig it up. the great part (at least to us) was that in a joke on the press, who had caused some serious trouble for us last time we were in the news, we had told the reporter a fake name for my roommate, and that we were from mozambique. as we were perusing the world wide web, our landlord, of all people, texted me and said, "nice to see you guys in the paper this morning". we found the article which included a photo of the two of us-the three guys we were with had been mysteriously cropped out, and a small column on the reporter's take of the place we were at that night. some of the highlights included:
"A lot of ex-pats were seen tapping their feet to the music. Some of the people spotted include Anita, Nichola, Marianne, Peter, and Eric."
so funny...my life here is just funny sometimes.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I ventured to the airport this week to pick up my roommate as she returned from her two week trip to the states. Pick ups from the airport are a special process here, as are many things. We have to hire a car to take us, and the cheapest cars do not have air conditioning. So, around 11:00 pm I got picked up from my flat and made my way, windows down through the city to the airport. I had sprayed myself with bug spray in anticipation of the mosquitos, brought a bottle of water because the lows these days are in the 70’s, and my trusty iPod. After my driver tried to drop me off for departures (wrong, I do not have any luggage even!), and then circled around once before he understood that I meant park and wait, we finally slid into a parking spot sandwhiched between other people waiting.
I texted my roommate in hopes of her phone being charged enough to respond back to me, and waited in the back seat of the car until I knew she was close to coming out. She called me once she made it to baggage claim, and it was time for me to move.
I now needed to make my way up to the arrivals section of the airport. It is entirely outdoors, there is nowhere you can go inside the airport to meet arriving people. There is a long guard rail that lines about 100 feet of the arrivals area, so its kind of like a Hollywood Premiere type of walk from the exit door of the airport to the end of the section where you can finally greet your friends and family-except it is far from the glamour of Hollywood. A world away both literally and figuratively.
The rail to the airport walkway of fame was lined by about 300 people, and 98% of them were men as it was around midnight, and most women are in by about 9:00 here. I of course, was the only Westerner on that side of the rail. I managed to make my way up to the front so I could easily spot my roommate and we could find each other among the masses. People looked on in bewilderment at my lone white face in the sea of south asian skin tones.
My front row spot proved to be the highlight of the night, as I watched all of the bewildered Western businessmen clumsily making their way down the walkway in a jet lagged, culture and climate shocked condition, while the flight crew knowingly makes their way down the concrete carpet and into their travel van.
The business men meanwhile frantically searched for their names on all of the placards, and listened as men would call out, “Mr. Frieberg, Mr. Frieberg!”. I could not help but be amused by this process, as well as feel glad that after being here for about six months I am comfortable on the side of the rail that I was on. I have crossed over. I am no longer the Westerner walking around in a constant state of confusion and shock. Rather, I feel comfortable in my own skin here.
I texted my roommate in hopes of her phone being charged enough to respond back to me, and waited in the back seat of the car until I knew she was close to coming out. She called me once she made it to baggage claim, and it was time for me to move.
I now needed to make my way up to the arrivals section of the airport. It is entirely outdoors, there is nowhere you can go inside the airport to meet arriving people. There is a long guard rail that lines about 100 feet of the arrivals area, so its kind of like a Hollywood Premiere type of walk from the exit door of the airport to the end of the section where you can finally greet your friends and family-except it is far from the glamour of Hollywood. A world away both literally and figuratively.
The rail to the airport walkway of fame was lined by about 300 people, and 98% of them were men as it was around midnight, and most women are in by about 9:00 here. I of course, was the only Westerner on that side of the rail. I managed to make my way up to the front so I could easily spot my roommate and we could find each other among the masses. People looked on in bewilderment at my lone white face in the sea of south asian skin tones.
My front row spot proved to be the highlight of the night, as I watched all of the bewildered Western businessmen clumsily making their way down the walkway in a jet lagged, culture and climate shocked condition, while the flight crew knowingly makes their way down the concrete carpet and into their travel van.
The business men meanwhile frantically searched for their names on all of the placards, and listened as men would call out, “Mr. Frieberg, Mr. Frieberg!”. I could not help but be amused by this process, as well as feel glad that after being here for about six months I am comfortable on the side of the rail that I was on. I have crossed over. I am no longer the Westerner walking around in a constant state of confusion and shock. Rather, I feel comfortable in my own skin here.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Matt: i was like..marianne is getting interviewed on the internet...it looked like you were on cnn
ha. if only.
this weekend, south asia is winning in our ongoing battle.
1. i got incredibly sick last night, and didn't go to bed until 7:00 am this morning.
2. my atm card would not work.
3. my atm card does not work because unbeknownest to me, it expired yesterday.
4. there were riots/protests yesterday. i had to stay inside my flat all day until it was over.
argh.
ha. if only.
this weekend, south asia is winning in our ongoing battle.
1. i got incredibly sick last night, and didn't go to bed until 7:00 am this morning.
2. my atm card would not work.
3. my atm card does not work because unbeknownest to me, it expired yesterday.
4. there were riots/protests yesterday. i had to stay inside my flat all day until it was over.
argh.
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