Yesterday morning I woke up with the lyrics of "Learn to be lonely" running through my head. Specifically, I woke up with "Learn to be lonely da da da da da" running through my head because it's one of those songs with a memorable chorus and a lot of filler words.
I started to think about the words. Learn to be lonely. What exactly does that mean? If you're lonely, you're meant to give up on relationships with the people around you and learn to accept it? Or is it a lover's lament – without me you must learn to be lonely? Lonely people. I began to think about Hitler. Was he lonely? I stopped this train of thought when I remembered that multiple friends have described me as the type of person who would defend Hitler. Nope.
So I'm leaving the song to its context. It belongs to a disfigured child who is taunted and abused for being different. He grows up in solitude, grasping for power and significance, haunting the halls of an opera house, watching the merriment from afar – from his shadows. He falls in love with a beautiful young singer with soft eyes and long dark hair, singing to her and training her from a distance. She responds to him differently than anybody ever has; with curiosity and – affection? She is his. All he wants and needs and desires. But she chooses another. And now he must learn to be lonely.
**
According to my father, the word for snow in Farsi is "barf." During his childhood in Iran, one of the major laundry detergent brands was "Barf," named after the pure, white, cleanliness of snow.
**
It turns out that Taylor Swift is quite the figurative little lovechild. I tried to maintain continuity in one of my classes by using another of her songs as a listening exercise. I have three of her songs on my iPod which helped narrow my choice to: Teardrops on my guitar. Drew ______ at _____ I fake a _______ so he won't _______
etc.
The problems started early. "Who can explain this first section to me?" I asked. "Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see." Stefan volunteered. "Drew is...like this," he made a scribble on his paper.
"Yes," I agreed. "But in English it's also a name."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is. Drew is looking at her and so she fakes a smile so that he can't see she's in love with him." They stared at me. We moved on. "'Drew talks to me. I laugh 'cause it's just so funny, that I can't even see anyone when he's with me.' What does that mean?"
"She's laughing because he's funny."
"No...she's laughing because it's – sad." More like ironic. But I wasn't going there.
"What?"
"Look at it. She laughing because it's sad because she loves him so much that she can't see anyone else when she's with him." They stared.
"It's a metaphor," I added (yes, I went there). "It's not that she can't actually see. When she's with him, he's the only person she can see in the room," I mimed blocking them all out and focusing somewhere else. Clearly my kids aren't old enough to understand the depths of love Taylor has experienced. At least not in English. **
I've discovered the key to the craziness of the Swedish language: word stresses. In English, each word has onestress. "If you hear two stresses, you hear two words." (Englishclub.com). In Swedish, they throw around stresses like Bjorn Borg underwear ads.
(This one is all over the SL Metro Stations)
Seriously. And they don't just throw a couple of stresses into three or four syllable words – where there's a syllable, there's a way: they stick them into two syllable words. I have several students named "Karin" and couldn't pronounce it for the life of me until someone told me that I needed to stress both syllables.
**
Speaking of Swedish Tunnelbanan ads, some of my latest favorites are ones titled "The many ways of sisters." This is a series of (what I'm assuming are) clothing ads with the same girl duplicated several times in each photo. Yes, she looks like she could be sisters.
(on the ads, they have "The many ways of sisters" in black letters across the image) After the sister campaign started, they launched a "Brothers" campaign. Just...Brothers. Apparently there is only one way of brother.
These men look nothing like brothers except that they both share a "concerned but slightly bored" brooding look. Amadeus loves these ads. I haven't figured out why.
The girl I was tutoring today told me about her fear of the dark, scary movies and haunted houses. I made fun of her until I remembered that during college my friends and I would do scary movie nights where we pushed couches together, fought over good seating (not on the crack), grabbed each other and screamed throughout the entire movie. Except Shawnie. She always laughed.
**
Aside from tutoring Swedish children in English, I tutor a few American boys, usually helping with their homework (mostly Math and Science). Today I had the pleasure of reading "Lancelot the Gigilo" which the ten-year-old had written for English class. The assignment was to write an editorial defending the position of Lancelot as a Gigilo or a Giant. Fun times.
**
Amadeus walked into the kitchen as I was eating dinner tonight and announced that she was sick of having trivial conversations. Instead, she wanted to use cards with pre-messaged answers to hand out to anyone trying to talk to her.
"Aren't 70% of your conversations dull and taxing?!" I told her no, only the ones I had with her. She found this extremely witty and amusing and took everything back. Or something.
**
On It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Dennis, one of the main characters, explains his system for dating women. It's called the Dennis System, and he describes how he used it on his latest conquest.
The Dennis System
D: Demonstrate Value. He does this by pretending to help a fake sick grandmother. E: Engage Physically. Yes, this is step number 2. N: Nurture Dependence. He makes threatening anonymous phone calls to the girl so that he can then go to her house and tells her he will protect her. N: Neglect Emotionally. He stops talking to her completely. I: Inspire Hope. He calls her and apologizes profusely, telling her he had been scared of how strong his feelings had been. S: Separate Completely.
Sunny is Christophe's show, which he occasionally convinces me to watch (by telling me I remind him of Dee. And a bird.) After this episode, I couldn't help complain about what ridiculous jerks the characters always are. Christophe told me to think about all the relationships I or my friends have had, because they probably followed this system pretty closely. Maybe in Missouri Christophe.
"Hi, I'm ----." "Hi -----." "I own a shop." "What do you sell?" "I sell ....."
This is a game I play with the kids to practice their vocabulary. Each person has to say all of the previous for sale items and make a new one up.
Today's lesson went something like this:
"Hi, I'm Karin." "Hi Karin." "I rown –" "Own. You own." "I own a –" (asks her brother a question in Swedish) "Store." "What do you sell?" "Uhhh." A minute goes by. "It can be anything." She exchanges some more words in Swedish with her brother. He finally says "Draugoon." "Draugoons." "Dragons?" "Yes."
Then it was Sven's turn. He was pretty excited. "I sell RPGs." "Rocket propelled grenades?" I asked incredulously. "No," Stefan butted in. "Rocket propelled grenade launchers." "OK. Stefan's turn." He listed a very specific shotgun. "Where are you getting these words from?" "Call of Duty 4." "Well you can't use it. No more weapons." "But everything can be a weapon. A house can be a weapon." I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Sell pillows." "A pillow can be a weapon." "How?" "If you hold it to someone's mouth so they can't breathe."
I eventually convinced him to stop listing weapons. Our list turned out something like this:
Dragons, RPGs, Half Life 2 episodes 1 and 2, butterflies (mine), humans, hair...
Sounds like a store I'd definitely want to check out.
I'm still going strong with my genius idea of printing out incomplete lyrics and having the kids listen to the song and fill in the gaps.
A couple weeks ago, I asked one of my classes if they wanted to do a Taylor Swift song. Reality check: Not everyone in Sweden has heard of TayTay. Weird. But they have heard of Michael Jackson, and asked if we could do something like "Thriller." I rejected this on the basis that it's probably the worst song in the world to have 7-year-old ESL students translate. The only words I remember in it are "nnnnnn THRILLER nnnnnn."
Being the flexible teacher that I am, I tried to think of another MJ song that had decipherable lyrics. I came up with Billy Jean. I had a mental image of something like this:
Billy Jean is not my _________ She's just a _____ who thinks that I am the ____ . The ___ is not my _____.
This idea was quickly nixed; I wasn't enthused at the prospect of explaining "lover." Actually, I wasn't enthused at explaining anything about that song to my 7-year-olds, or their parents.
So: Taylor it was. We did Love Story, and I lucked out – the boys were absent. Olivia asked me if it was I who was singing the song, and I told her it wasn't. My classroom isn't always a den of lies.
**
Amadeus has recently convinced me to join her in watching an extremely dramatic television show. I initially refused on the basis of not wanting to turn my mind into flubber (I'm a firm believer of guarding your mind – "Eat fat, greasy food, become a fat, greasy dude" – etc.), but I soon caved because television is our bonding time (sad?) and I'm weak (more sad?).
No, this isn't interesting blog fodder, except that I've become so wrapped in the drama that Amadeus and I discuss the characters like they're real people. And I've started dreaming about them. I'm mostly wondering what information in my brain was deleted to make room for the dramatic secrets, lies, plots, and character analysis that are now residing in my head. Oh well, I don't really drink, so maybe that cancels it out?
Could we please invent a way to organize mind information? I'm pretty sure the phsyics formulas I memorized in high school are ready to come out. They're only useful with the metric system anyways.
Speaking of; the U.S. has been trying and failing to convert to the metric system since '75. This cracks me up. They call the process "metrication." This also cracks me up. It reminds me of matriculation. Funny words with dull meanings.
I got rejected as a volunteer today. This is a fun form of rejection, as they are essentially telling you that they don't want you even though you're free.
Or, as Emma Cole put it:
"You're like a box of kittens on the side of the road that nobody wants. You come with your cage and food and shots, but nobody wants you anyway."
Thanks Emma Cole.
**
In the English lessons I teach, I've started having the kids listen to songs and fill in the blanks of a lyric printout.
Next week I'm doing "Yellow Submarine." I took out all the "yellow"s. I'm really excited.
Today I walked into Carl and Edvin's home for English tutoring. I was met by a very hyper Carl and his equally hyper grandfather who sang at me something along the lines of, "Sheevon, we've been waiting. I'm so happy I got to be here today."
Carl was doing a funky little dance while holding an iPhone playing "Hotel California."
"What are you doing?" I asked, laughing.
"Guess what song this is?!" Carl exclaimed.
"Hotel California."
Both Carl and his grandfather were ecstatic over this reply. Apparently they had specially chosen the song because I had come to Sweden from California. It was really adorable. I was glad they had chosen The Eagles' California song over Katy Perry's.
**
A church friend of mine recently online posted her need for a dog sitter. Christophe, who does not know her, replied to the ad and she figured out that he was my brother. With a bit of information I supplied her, she replied to him with this email:
With some of the details you gave me, I was able to do a bit of research and I do have a few additional questions...I talked with someone who seems to be well acquainted with you and he mentioned that you are really into Animal Collective and Vampire Weekend? I don't know much about those bands, but the names make me a bit nervous? Also, the Robert Plant poster? My dog really prefers a quiet environment and is very low energy, so I am not sure if this is a good fit? What do you think?
He got a bit spooked. Sho 1, Christophe 0.
**
I occasionally think about horrible ways to break up with someone. Mostly these ideas are from the experiences of various friends and acquaintances. But noone plans a breakup, right? They just happen. Wrong. I recently had a conversation with a friend who told me she had not only planned her breakup, she had planned it with her boyfriend. As in they negotiated a date ahead of time.
OK, fine. My odd friends aside, I've started compiling a list of ways to "win" your breakup. This means breaking up with them in a horrible "Got you last!" way.
How to Win Your Breakup: 3 Ways to Dump Someone
1) Associations. A few weeks before the breakup, start creating strong memories with their favorites: Start making their favorite foods for dates, start wearing their favorite scents, start playing their favorite band, etc. When you eventually break up, make it a messy one and these favorites will be ruined for them: they won't be able to smell lavender without hearing your screaming voice, or eat pork without seeing your angry face, or listen to Coldplay without wanting to throw something.
2) Pick a good date. Birthdays, Valentine's Day, the day before Prom, the day after they get into a motorcycle accident: these all work. Personal suggestion: April Fool's Day. Because then the actual breakup lasts for at least two days in their head.
3) Don't Actually Break Up. Just get really half hearted about everything and avoid confrontation like the plague. You could actually make this last for years.
(Right, so the last one doesn't really fit in the list, but I had run out and it was donated by someone who said it worked for him.)
**
OK, so just to let you all know that I'm really a good person – I don't actually suggest any of the options on the previous list. Think of it as a social commentary. Also, I've seen all of these happen in the personal lives of my friends/family members. So you could think of it as an extremely vague piece of history.
A couple of the Swedish kids I tutor are nine-year-old boys. This means that they are far beyond me in all video/computer game knowledge, even with their limited English. When discussing video games, their voices speed up, their eyes brighten, and their hands start gesturing.
They introduced me to Steam (not 'Stream' which I, understandably, thought they were saying), and explained their love for Half Life, Oblivion, and various other sequeled games (Dark City 4?). I tend to be fairly unenthused about any gaming, mostly because I'm terrible at everything except Tetris, but also because it doesn't seem like the healthiest of addictions for little boys. However, these boys also have other hobbies (they love reading), and it's hard to condemn something that brings so much excitement into their faces. I did make an attempt at addressing the possible violence exposure.
"So do you guys use guns in these games?"
They looked at each other in a half 'what planet is this lady from,' half 'I can't wait to answer this question' way.
"Yes! In lots of them. In '.....' and '....' and '.....' "
"Maybe you should go around hugging instead of shooting. Or giving flowers." (Yes, I tease. I'm so cool.)
"But...we kill Zombies."
"Oh. Well I guess that's OK then." Really, there isn't any other way to deal with Zombies.
**
In my experience, Swedes have odd taste in American media. Ammadeus tells me that the kids at her school constantly sing Toto and other random old bands. The radio stations keep us entertained by playing Dusty Springfield, Billy Idol, Gnarls Barkley, Guns&Roses; all in a row.
My kids have funky movie taste too. Their list of favorites include Men in Black, Star Trek, Star Wars, I Robot, I am Legend, Ace Ventura Pet Detective, and the Scooby Doo movies.
**
Life Advice: Don't take public transportation home at midnight on the night of a Beer and Whiskey Festival in Sweden. Piles of puke. Stumbling, staggering, sickly people.
A mid 30's pale man with curly blond hair, glasses, zigzagged his way toward me and sat down too close, mumbling something in Swedish.
I smiled and shrugged until it became clear he expected an answer. We switched to English – he was fairly incoherent, but this might have been his extreme intoxication, not his language abilities.
"I'm so stupid," he looked distressed.
"Oh." I tried to sound sympathetic as I put a few more inches between us. I don't mind having these conversations as long as they maintain a certain distance.
"I only listen to my own things."
"Ah. That's alright."
"Nooo. I am so – " he said a foreign word I didn't recognize. I looked blankly at him.
"You are not Russian?"
"No," I shrugged. "American."
He spent the rest of our conversation trying to convince me that we were the same age (I denied), and telling me that he liked music. Just...music.
"You are...nice," he leaned to touch my arm. I stood up. "My train is here."
"Sorry!" He called after me.
I got home and told Ammadeus the story. She said I should have gotten his number and texted him in the morning about all the stupid things he had said. I think that would have been 1) harsh or 2) completely ineffective. (ie he would have found it funny.)
**
"Lady Gaga sings strange songs, but she doesn't wear many clothes." Tristan (age 9). Quite well put.
Try explaining "tacky" to an English speaker. Then try explaining it to two eight-year-old Swedish girls who don't know the months of the year in English.
This is what I ended up with (after many faces and half started sentences):
"It's like if you go to a birthday party, and everyone brings beautiful gifts. –– Do you bring gifts on birthdays here?"
They nod.
"Right, and everyone brings a beautiful gift, but you bring a stick."
They giggled.
"Kind of like that."
I told mumsi and Ammadeus about definition.
"But that's not what tacky means!" Ammadeus said.
"I know! But kind of. And how would you do it?"
Mumsie chimed in: "Read them "Tacky the Penguin!"
"That's what I was doing! That's what got me into this!"
**
Inevitably confusing explanations aside, Tacky the Penguin is a marvelous book. It follows the adventures of Tacky, a back-slapping, funky marching, belly-flopping penguin, and his friends Goodly, Lovely, Angel, Neatly and Perfect.
**
"So how are you liking Sweden?" This is one of the first questions I get when people learn that I'm a foreigner (the moment I open my mouth) and fairly new to the country.
My general response is "Oh I really like it here, it's so beautiful." True.
If they ask more questions, I delve into my appreciation for the extensive public transportation, the glittering lakes, accessible nature.
"If you like it that much, why are you leaving?" They never ask this question because I never tell them that I'm planning on heading out in the Spring. It would be a fair question though.
**
Ammadeus is 17 and in her final year of high school. She is at a Swedish school, and constantly makes silly complaints about how it's hard to understand concepts in Physics and Higher Math when taught in Swedish. Apparently the symbols used in the math here are the same but have different meanings. What a complainer.
She keeps changing her mind about college. And when I say "changing her mind," I don't mean the way normal people do it – getting enthused about an idea for a few days and then switching to another one.
No, she gets dead set on an idea and dives headlong into researching and understanding it. First it was chef. She bought cookbooks, started making recipes from scratch, set up a profitable homemade pasta business, and researched the New York Culinary Arts school.
Then she decided Neuroscience. She would be a doctor and help people. She constantly brought up questions about the function of the brain, and came to dinner with the weirdest facts. She declared it as a desired major on all of her college applications, and chose schools with appropriate programs.
Two days ago, she announced that she wants to go to business school and has to rewrite all of her essays extolling the merits of neuroscience.
The problem is, I can't make fun of her. Well I can. But six years up the road and I still daily change my mind.
**
I'm currently tutoring a 4 year old named Buster. This is very difficult for me, as I am a huge Arrested Development and have certain, indelible, associations with the name. Also, maybe name the dog Buster and name your kid Jack.
I am house sitting for a beautiful Schnauzer named Bob. He is smallish and soft with lovely gray fur that shimmers like a silk pashmina (his face is darker as per photo). He is quite comical looking after a recent shearing which left a buzzed body, long curly-haired legs, and a face covered in extensive furry eyebrows and an adorable dog-beard.
I'm pretty sure Bob loves me more than any person ever has – when I'm on a couch he isn't allowed on, he whimpers and looks up at me, begging me to sit somewhere closer to him. Also, his entire body shakes with excitement when we get ready for a walk. Sure, his affection is based solely on the fact that I feed him, but people have gotten married for worse reasons.
**
Today one of my 5-year-olds managed to cut a hole in the crotch of his jeans before I grabbed the scissors out of his hands.
**
This week I had some of my older kids write out "I can" sentences. They started with "I can play," and "I can read." A few minutes after writing "I can read" perfectly, Carla erased it and wouldn't tell me why. I then remembered that she had told me she can't read, and had probably erased it because she didn't want to write a lie.
**
On Monday, I gave Carl and Edvin a career vocabulary list. I started running out of ideas, but decided against garbageman and bus driver in case their parents thought I was encouraging underachievement. Instead I used jobs like doctor, dentist, and lawyer.
"What is lo-yer?" Carl asked.
"A lawyer? Well..." I tried to think of 1st grade ESL descriptors. "You know the man with the big thing he hits?" (I made a gavel-like gesture.)
His eyes brightened. "Oh! It's him?"
"No. That's a judge. But he's in the same room. He's one of the ones who talk."
"Oh. Does he...make the ––what are they called?"
"Laws?"
"Yes!"
"No."
He looked confused.
"Ummm. Okay, do you know what a criminal is?"
He shook his head. "No."
"A criminal is someone who does something bad. Like murders or steals."
"Okay."
"And then the police catch the criminal."
"Yeah."
"And then the lawyer is a man who says "No! This person did not do that. He tells the man with the loud thing (another gavel gesture). Do you understand?"
He scrunched his nose and shook his head.
"Oh well, that's OK. Maybe you can ask your parents later."
I think I'm going to start ending all my conversations with that line.
**
I'm writing this from the house of a little boy and his baby sister who I'm babysitting – Benjamin (4 yrs) and Lila (11 mos). It's been a little odd hearing Benjamin chatter nonstop; I've been used to Swedish children, who, if not naturally more reserved than Americans, certainly are quieter simply because they don't know much English.
I feel a bit like my ex-roomie Rebekah who couldn't get over a friend's verbose toddler sister after working with deaf children every day.
Benjamin's parents were a bit nervous about how he would act with a babysitter because he's only ever been watched by family members, and not at all since moving to Sweden. Turns out there was no need to worry; he was so excited showing me his toys that he barely said goodbye to his dad.
"And these are my trucks! And this opens like this! And here are some cars! And here's an engine!" His words were tripping over themselves in his excitement. He laughed like crazy while he talked for five minutes straight.
He looked at his baby sister, sitting in her bouncy seat. "Lila is very interested in watching me. She loves me very much!"
I realized that I had called him Ben even though his parents had referred to him as Benjamin.
"What do your friends call you? Ben or Benny? Or Benjamin?"
"They call me Benjamin, because that's what I like to be called."
"Oh. Why's that?"
"Because that's my name. It's the name God gave me."
Hard to argue with that. And probably not my place to be giving nicknames, so Benjamin it is. He is an energetic sweetheart with sandy brown hair and vivid blue eyes. Tonight he is wearing a green NotreDame Fighting Irish shirt (which he says is big enough for a 6-year-old), and he is reluctant to change out of it into his pajamas. I convince him that it is necessary, and step out of the room for privacy.
"Miss Siobhan, I have to go potty!" he bursts out of the room pantless.
"Okay," I say. "You can do that on your own right?" The last time I helped a boy go potty turned into quite a literal mess.
"Yes." After potty, he washes his hands. He then uses the towel to mess up his hair because he "doesn't like it at night." Then he decides he wants his hair nice, after all. Water is applied – "to make it straighter" – and he runs a comb through it.
I finally get him into bed, where he informs me he must say his prayers, but that we aren't going to cuddle. An Our Lady, Our Father, and ? later, and he's done.
"I won't tell you my sins because I'll tell mom and dad."
"Okay," I smile.
"I threw a temper tantrum at breakfast."
"Ohh," I say seriously.
"But I'm not going to tell you the rest. I'll tell mom and dad."
I assure him that this is fine and bid him goodnight.
"But we haven't talked about the day." No, we haven't. I sit down.
"Well I woke up. And went for a walk. And had breakfast. And then didn't have no lunch. And then played. And then dad went and picked – what's your name?"
"Miss Siobhan."
"Shu-von?"
"Shivon."
"Shivon. Shivon. Picked Miss Shivon up."
"What a fun day," I say (or something to this effect). "Well, goodnight Benjamin."
**
The rest of the night passes without incident, aside from baby Lila squirting pee right when I take her diaper off to change her. How can her timing be this terrible? Also, why don't mothers go on Fear Factor? They deal with a lot of grody stuff.
I'm trying to slow down on here. I've been mildly successful this month, but I can't help share a bit of my latest happenings.
I met a boy. Two actually. And they are wonderful, adorable little fairy creatures who talk to me with ready smiles and big, confused eyes. AND they have the best names – Carl (every male in Sweden is or wants to be named Carl), and Edwin (pronounced EdVin). They are six and eight and have been teaching me that I take the English language for granted.
I decided that we would talk about our emotions today – heavy first date topic, I know – and I drew 10 blank circles with a different feeling written under each. We were to discuss what each feeling meant and fill in the circle with an appropriate face.
The first three were pretty easy to draw: Happy: Smiley Face Sad: Frowny Face Angry: Eyebrows slanted, teeth bared
Unfortunately, Edwin didn't know what "angry" was, and I was fairly incoherent in my attempted explanation.
"You know..." I made an exaggerated mad face. "Like that. Like if you don't like something." (By the time I'm done with them, they will be fully acquainted with English filler words.)
He stared up at me.
"Umm...like if you're watching football" – I wildly banked on the European football fetish – "and the other team scores a goal against you and you're like 'No!'" I shook my fist.
In retrospect, if he didn't understand the word "angry," he probably didn't understand my extended explanation. I console myself that it was good for him to hear the words anyways.
**
Angry was the beginning of my definition problems. I also found it difficult to define excited: "Like if you're really happy!" I used my enthusiastic, cheering voice. "Yay! Like if your football team scored and you're really happy!" Hopefully he's a little sporty boy and not a little bookish boy. (Yes, he has to be one or the other.)
Then of course, there were the last few emotions that I stuck in to make an even ten: hungry, calm, hyper.
Hungry = not really an emotion, but very easy to describe/communicate.
Calm = Very hard to mime/act out. "You know, it's when you're like this," I leaned back and looked around, mentally deciding not to use the word "chilled." I'm teaching English, not American teen slang.
"Umm...you know. The opposite of excited. When you're excited, you're all crazy and energetic - you know what energy is? No? Okay well it's like when you have a lot of movement. But this is the opposite. You know what opposite is? No? Okay it's like a different thing. Like happy is the opposite of sad." And so on. I kept reverting back to my actions, except it's pretty hard to act out calm.
As it turns out, it's also hard for a six-year-old to draw "calm" in a smiley face and make it look different than "tired," "hungry," and "confused." It's also hard for a college graduate.
Hyper = The last word on the list, and the one I used because the only other one I could come up with was "depressed" and I wasn't sure how that would go over with mum and dad. And, honestly, I didn't want to attempt that explanation. "It's like when you're sad for a long period of time and lose interest in activities that you used to enjoy, and everything seems meaningless and you can't stop thinking about death..." Hmmm.
So Life Advice: It's hard to describe basic words without synonyms. Especially when your vocal expressions appear to be less universal than you thought.
**
I have also found my dream job: someone who wants to pay me to talk to him in English for an hour every week. Why yes, I'll take your money while you fulfill my need for human interaction. Thank you.
My father, naturally, is displeased at the notion of my meeting a strange man for English lessons:
"No. You are not doing this. I don't like this." "I'm an adult." "How many adults have been mutilated and butchered? What kind of an answer is that?"
A few minutes further into the conversation:
"What's his name?" "(name)" "What does he look like?" "I don't know I haven't met him." "Well you're going to meet up, you'll need a description." "He told me he was a gangstery looking guy with a knife." "That's very funny ha ha ha ha ha. I'll tell that to the cops when they ask for a description."
