Home Sweet Home

I am home. I have just started to dive into the laundry and cover my 3 babies in kisses and hugs. I am so glad to be back. I have many many embarrassing, crazy, sad, and tickle your ribs stories to tell over the next few days. I will leave you with my first NYC experience and then I must get back to the laundry. Indiana Jones says so ... Whip Whip...

So I stepped off the plane and made my way to baggage claim. Instantly it seemed like I was in another country. So many different languages, ethnicities, and cultures swirled before me. I welcomed everyone with my southern drawl and "Howdy." I attracted quite a few stares. It must hae been my new lip gloss. I think I was the only one with just my ears pierced. Everyone had their own symbol for style...piercings, hijabs, burcas, tattoos, mohawks. I had my Coach luggage to set me apart. I am such a rebel. I bet they all were in awe of my craziness.

I am use to traveling in Mexico. I have been on numerous mission trips and am quite accustom to answering back in short Spanish phrases. So when I stepped out to get cab this man walked up to me, obviously from a foreign country. He was like the Taxi Pimp. He controlled all the taxi drivers and took you to the next one in line. He began to ask me where I was going. I had studied where my hotel was so I would not look like a tourist when I gave directions. I began my "local" talk and was telling him how to go north here and east there and then blah blah blah...

He said, "Oh, you mean the Blah Blah Hotel?"

"Si," I answered back.

He looked at me very intently with a smile about ready to break through and said, "I am from Pakistan, we do not speak Spanish there."

"Oh ho ho. Hee hee hee. Giggle Giggle Snort Snort. I know that. I am just so cultured and bilingual that I often speak in both languages. Yep, that is me Ms. CULTURE. In and out of different languages because I am so CULTURED. Yes siree Bob."

So I get in my taxi with a man from Ecuador. Okay. They speak Spanish. I was all ready for this one. He had no interest in talking. He popped in a cassette and set it to repeat. For 30 minutes he sang to me in broken English...

"Babee dote hut me, dote hut me, no moe... Wat ee love? Babeee dote hut me, dote hut me, no moe..."

He even added some dance moves at stop lights.

When we pulled up to the hotel, I spoke to him in his native language, "Gracias, Tu singo bien." I bet he appreciated me being able to to communicate to him in his language. It is so nice to be so CULTURED.