(Written 8/31)
DE-JUICED

My kingdom for some juice. And some fruit. They have some gorgeous looking globe grapes here. The pears are fantastic and the apples are divine. And some of that juice they make out of boysenberries. Fuck. That was good. I want juice and fruit. And fresh baked starch (bread or whatever). Someone gave me some of this really good flat bread with anise seeds baked into it. It’s like really thick, slightly more flour-y, drier, denser and harder pita. (They really like their anise seed here, by the way. Someone gave me a “wedding candy” called “Milkcandy” that is supposed to bring me good fortune and marriage. It’s pumpkin seeds coated in a salty anise seed shell mixed with sunflower seeds and peanuts still in their shells as well as various fruit flavored candies and, my particular favorite [in concept; the flavor is too precise to be very good] “corn candy” that is shaped like a one inch long husk of corn complete with kernel markings.) And yogurt. A fellow teacher gave me this really great yogurt drink with freshly pureed strawberries that comes in a pouch. I would kill for some of that. I really, really, really want to go grocery shopping and I think if I can’t find someone to take me tomorrow, I’m going it alone. I think I scoped out a few markets today and I’m going tomorrow if I can’t get anyone to take me.

I’ve been warned not to go shopping alone so I don’t get ripped off (apparently, they’ll think I’m, and I quote, “foreign” and thus give me jacked-up prices; I argued that I am “foreign” but my hosts seem to think I am something other than that) and I’ve been trying to be good but I’m from the States and, frankly, I need what I need when I need it. I don’t want to have to use an (extremely lovely) escort. Fuck “the States” I’m from New York Fucking City. We get what we want when we want it, even if it’s crack, a tire iron, milk and panty hose all from the same corner bodega at 2 am.

Oh no. I just had an evil thought. Iced Chai. Fuck. I want a venti iced chai from Starbucks. Actually, I want forty of them. Or a venti mocha frap. With malt. Say what you want about Starbucks, they’re consistent, reliable and they make some mean adult drinks. I’m actually choked up at the moment thinking about my pilgrimage to the original Starbucks in Pike’s Market when I was going to school in Oregon. I wanted to see two things in Seattle: the Sound Garden from which Soundgarden got its name and the original Starbucks. (That’s right, I’m a grunge girl at heart; more Pearl Jam than Nirvana. Got a problem with that?) Starbucks, I love you. I miss you. Starbucks, will you marry me? It’s no wonder you were named after a siren.

Homeric rapture aside, I’m really intimidated to walk alone into a store here. I just kinda have to pray that the things I’m purchasing are what I want. Alone, I’m completely reliant upon pictures and the occasional shoddy English phrase (ie one of the stores in my complex is named “Show Facing.” What the hell does that mean and exactly how am I not fucked if that’s the level I’ve got to go on?). The thought of having to negotiate that while managing someone speaking Chinese to me is enough to have deterred me thus far. I can handle one or the other, not both at the same time. In New York, people leave you the fuck alone and you can blow people off if they don’t, but I can’t do that here, especially when I’m as visible as I am. I’ve put so much effort in towards making a good name for myself and the school by saying hello to everyone who stares at me, that it would suck to blow it now by being bitchy.

But fuck, I feel bitchy.

And fuck, I need some apple juice. Cold, clear apple juice. Mmm, I think I could drink three cartons of that right now. My fridge is bare and I’m having hallucinations of juice. I want it so bad I could weep. And as you may have guessed by now, I’m not really a weeper. Is it bad when your longing for apple juice makes you relate to the angst of the Smiths? “I am human and I need to drink juice… just like everybody else does. I am the son and the heir of a dearth of juice that is criminally vulgar. I am son and heir of no juice in particular... There’s a club if you want to go. They could serve juice that really loves you… See I’ve already waited too long and all my hope is gone.”

I’ve been eating a meal or two at the cafeteria for the past few days and dude, the food is good (especially by cafeteria standards) but it’s salty and savory and there are no drinks offered short of a tepid water based soup with chopped tomatoes and tofu in it. And, for the record, I’m never drinking Coke again. Everyone here thinks Americans drink Coke like water and I’m tired of being offered a drink I had little interest in in the first place. I find it a generous gesture that people try to make me feel at home but the marketing people at Coke should have a plague, on both their houses. They’ve brainwashed the rest of the world into thinking Americans imbibe little other than fizzy candy. Down with Coke! Coke embargo!

All this crapness has converged, resulting in me doing little but drinking water and making tea from my water cooler. And I’m running out of water too, but I’ve got at least another day or two of water.

Can’t wait until I’ve got to find tampons. That should be a hoot.