A Little Less American

Today I am a little less American. I don't know how or when Brazil did this to me but it has officially started happening. 

I splurged on Doritos cheddar cheese dip and dipper chips at the gas station while on my way home from teaching. I have made it through half the medium sized bag of chips and not even a fourth of the fake cheese and am already full!

Let's not even mention how I can't eat McDonalds anymore without getting sick to my stomach. 

I am going to go check my email to see if the Consulate has written asking for my passport back. 

Are you American?

I just met a fellow American at the grocery store. I was perusing the pasta selection when I finished my cell phone call and heard an "excuse me." You learn as an expat in a non-English speaking country that when you hear English at close range it is usually being directed at you, the foreigner. This little fact also makes me quite rude in Portuguese as the person has to say it about 3 times before my head wakes up and I turn around. 

Anyway, I turned and there was a friendly American face. "Hi, are you American?" 

Me: "Actually I am." 

Funny enough, this was the second time I had this same conversation today in my neighborhood (and no I do not live in Leblon or Ipanema). 

So we exchanged expat pleasantries of "what brought you here?" and "How do you like it?" Of course a few minutes had passed and we were heading in different shopping directions. I had my eyes on the leafy greens and he was headed towards the bananas. It was time to part ways. We said a quick nice to meet you and went about our way. 

Strangely enough, I felt like I owed this new acquaintance more than that. It actually crossed my mind that maybe it was rude that I didn't suggest we exchange emails or something.

What the hell is that? Just because he's American? Why would I feel a hint of responsibility to stay in touch just because a person is from my Motherland?

But there is a sense of automatic connection when you meet someone from your country, though it is not full proof. I must admit that I have adapted enough to where I have muttered "annoying American" to Mr. Rant on occasion. That being said, I still have a lot of my annoying American traits as well. What can I say, you can take the girl out of the trailer but you can't take the trailer out of the girl!

Did I just compare the US to a trailer park? I think that's a sign that I should be logging off now. 

10 Ways to Tell Your Children are American

After receiving good feedback on my 10 Ways to Tell Your Children are Brazilian post, I decided to take a reader's recommendation and write one for Americans. Don't worry, I'll be nice. 

1. They know how to use the microwave by 3 years old.

2. They are fed, bathed, and ready for their bedtime routine by 6:30pm.

3. A PB&J is one meal you can always get in them.

4. They've been to Disneyland at least 2 times already and own all of the memorabilia.

5. Target is their happiest place on Earth.

6. They are taking Ritalin, Prozac, and Allegra.

7. They play Wii for exercise.

8. Your baby, toddler, and preschooler are all on a routine, as well as you.

9. Their DVD collection has past rivaling yours and now encompasses then entire entertainment center.

10. When you say their cousin is coming over to play you have to explain what a cousin is.  

One of the Beauties in Being an Expat...

There are many beauties in the lives of us expats.  We get to learn about new cultures, travel, and sometimes learn new languages (yes this is a blessing). One of the unexpected beauties for me came in the form of all the other great expats I would meet. I mean, we are drawn to each other like Mr. Schwarzenegger's hand to an ass! And let's not forget that he's an expat in his own right. 

Take today for instance. This American expat went to the home of a Mexican expat and learned to make real corn tortillas from scratch! Mexico, your secret is out of the bag! And you know what, it's not that hard if you don't count the fact that they don't sell the flour you need in Rio de Janeiro. 

And I had a blast! Good company, fun activity, and it ended with a damn good snack. Throw in the adorable baby cheering us on and you have got yourself a great afternoon away from the kids... mine anyway. 

The thing is, we expats kind of end up sticking together. There's a comradery there because of our similar situations. We are all far from home, we are learning about the same new culture/lifestyle, and we can speak to each other in English (or whatever language is your preference)!

It's a part of expat life that I've only just started exploring in the past couple of years or so. And I love the random mix of friends from different places, backgrounds, and lifestyles. At the same time, I think I'm making some friendships that will last a lifetime.

I know I'm getting corny. Don't feel bad for getting nauseous, I just threw up in my mouth a bit too. 

But the point is, I like this part of life here. It's fun to know and meet a new group of people.

By the way, you get total brownie points if Mexican food is involved! 

The Drunk Girlfriend

As an expat, I am finding that we women from other countries have different symptoms of drunkenness. Let's take me for example, I hang from the trees like a retarded monkey. If I start talking about penises or how I'm horny, I'm drunk! I also have a special move of my hips, which I think is sexy, that makes me look like I'm going to fall over.

I'm charming, aren't I?

So as an American I am quite taken aback by how subtle people of other countries can be when under the influence. Last night a Scandinavian friend of mine randomly looked at me and said she was drunk.  The conversation went something like "Rachel I am quite drunk. I really am. I think I could possibly fall over."

Talk about being civil and eloquent. And let's not forget that English is her 3rd language!

It's amazing how where you are from can have influence over the littlest things.  As an American it would have come out "heloahlkehre FUCK helkehwlke FALL hethkel Druuuuunk OVER!"

Oh the little lessons Rio de Janeiro will give you. Along with my Finnish friend, my British friends are also quite dignified while drinking the nectar of the gods. When a bit drunk, my closest Brit friend will put her hand on her chest and say something along the lines of 'Oh golly, I'm a bit tipsy.' The others will continue their drunken state with no indication, minus a slight roll of the eyes. It's almost as if they get more dignified with each drink!

With some of these ladies you can't even tell if they've drunk an entire bottle of wine, popped a Valium, or are having an internal debate about the which country provides the best cheese!

And I have to say, I like that! It is something to aspire to, although I doubt my genetics will ever allow me to behave so properly. Then again, maybe the way of the Brazilians is better. While drinking their jokes get louder, their dancing sexier, and then they make out with one another.

Of course, I will save the making out for my husband but still not a bad way to end an evening.

How are you after a few beers?

Are you Annoying or Am I PMSing?

The world was out to irritate me today. I have no idea why everyone and everything decided to be so annoying. Obviously I was the only consistent factor in the steady stream of annoyances but that's not significant.

No no, I'm bright and chipper today. It's that special time of the month where women are extra kind and sexier. I'm just feeling the love.

Before you go and scream Too Much Info, it's kind of obvious that I menstruate. I mean, I am a woman and have procreated twice. No virgin Mother here. The machine is working 100%.

Per protocol, I woke up and announced the arrival of Mr. Rant's archenemy. I'm a fair wife and like to give him a fighting chance.

So it came as a huge surprise that Mr. Rant decided to be short with me today of all days. I mean, I have to be semi-pleasant 3 whole weeks a month. Today semi was off the table.

And that is when close quarters and an overly friendly culture get to me. You see, the first day of this special week I'm 110% American. I need space, silence, people not to say hello to me on the street, and to overeat without being asked if I'm pregnant.

Really, is it so much for a woman to ask for a full day to be a complete snatch, eat their significant other out of house and home, and then to make them watch a chick flick while complaining about the type of pizza that she herself ordered?! 

The Foreigner in Disguise

Vendors are overcharging me and I'm really starting to get offended. You see, I live here. I speak your freaking confusing language.  I know the game. Do not try to play me!

It is not helping that I'm with my Super Gringa Mother. She is adorable with her white skin, blonde hair, and super duper blue eyes. You just want to pinch her cheeks and then grab her butt, she's so darn cute.

But there's a price to this cuteness.

It first started at the Hippie Fair in Ipanema. I know the Hippie Fair is quickly becoming a tourist trap these days. It's sad to see it get to this point, not that it ever was the place to get a particularly fair price on anything.  But this incidence was insulting.

Mom and I were looking at a dress she thought was cute when a guy came up and mumbled "R$95."  I looked at him and asked "for what?" I was honestly confused. He stated "for that" and nodded towards the dress.

I just looked at him. I'm sorry, I've yet to see a Hippie Fair dress actually worth anything near that, thank you very much.  I smiled and told him "No thank you." FYI, this entire transaction, or lack there of, happened in Portuguese.

Then he did the most insulting thing, he called me cheap! He called me cheap and knew I would understand!

That's when I busted out a kick to his head!  No, not really. I'm a pacifist and too uncoordinated so I walked away.

You see, my husband taught me early on not to get into arguments on the street, especially with men. The argumentative American did not like this advice but I am in a different country. Sadly, it stuck with me, even in situations where I could totally call the guy an ass and have it be within my right.  But there was no point. This ass had made up his mind about me. I was some stupid, rich Gringa. Bummer he's wrong about the rich part...

The next incident happen right in my neighborhood.  My 2 yr old asked for popcorn so I got some from a vendor next to the metro station.  No biggie. As I went to pay I had a momentary laps in memory and asked "R$1 right?" In Laranjeiras, that's how much a small bag of popcorn costs. At least it did 7 weeks ago before my trip. She hesitated and then said R$2.

You know, I expect this kind of treatment at the Hippie Fair but not in my neighborhood.  I looked at her, in front of her two little friends, and asked "Is this that price for Gringas or has the price for everyone gone up?" Her friends laughed in her face. She held back a smile and said "Everyone of course."

What could I do? I'm a pain in the ass but I wasn't about to rip the popcorn out of my 2 yr olds mouth over R$1.

But this does make a girl ask, what is happening to my city?!  I really used to feel that Brazilians were equal opportunity opportunists. The overcharged everyone, not just the foreigners. That was, of course, unless you were at a Gringa ripoff point like the shops near the trolley in Santa Teresa.

But Largo do Machado! Do we no longer have our messed up little standards?! I fear for the times before the Olympics. I'm going to have to work on my accents and declare that I'm from Florianopolis or something.

That's it, this Gringa is going undercover! Oh the insanity.

Tiger Mother vs Monkey Mother

Tiger Mother is currently the talk of the town.  People can not get enough of her hardcore nature. It's kind of like a car accident, you can't look away. Only, it would have to be a highly organized and educated car accident. Violins must be involved!

It got me thinking about myself as a Mother and how my culture has inspired me. My children are obese, watch a lot of TV, and can't tell you where the United States of America is.  Whoa Rachel, low blow. I know. I just couldn't help myself.

Anyway, you all know this blog is a bit Rio/Brazil centric. What better than to compare Tiger Mother to Middle Class Brazilian Mothers?

For the sake of this post, I will be referring to Brazilian Mothers as Monkey Mothers.

So the Monkey Mother is just as playful as she sounds. She doesn't have what Tiger Mother would consider control over her children, but her children do laugh.  There's a lot of dancing around and fun to be had.  Monkey Mother's children throw fits but not too often.  That may be because the children usually get what they want in the first place.  Don't misunderstand me now, I'm not saying the Monkey Mother is a push over, although she is a little bit.

Monkeys are clever by nature, and Monkey Mother knows how to happily co-exist with her children. Sure, she may be drinking her cold beer with a baby biting her ankle at 10pm but to each their own.  You see, the Monkey Mother uses a little bit more finesse than the whole I'm the boss thing.  Personally, I think the monkeys live in a bit more of a democracy than a communist nation.

Of course, a democracy with pre-school aged monkeys gets as loud and messy as you would imagine.  But the kids go to school and take classes. Many of these little monkeys dance, play instruments, and speak a foreign language.  They may have never heard of a time out and no is almost as foreign as the Chinese Language itself, but that's just a cultural thing. It works like organized chaos and never ceases to be fascinating.

I find myself somewhere in the middle of this crazy jungle we call Motherhood.  But if I had to choose one of the two, I do believe I'd have to stick with my opposable thumb friend, the monkey.  I mean, if you've ever seen me groom, I kind of look like one. 

What is Bluntness, really...

I noticed, last night, a little difference in bluntness between Brazilians and Americans.

Now, I know I've been quoted as saying that Brazilians are passive aggressive when it comes to interactions with others. You can ask a Brazilian friend to come to your party and they will ALWAYS say yes, or some derivative of yes.  That does not mean, in any sense of the word, that they will actually show up. 

"Come to my party on Friday!" Brazilian answer: "Of course! That'll be great! Let's totally do that!  I do have to check with my husband but of course we will come. We may have a dinner at my parent's house but we could swing by afterward.  But sure! We'll be there!"  And then they never show up...

And it works with everything.  Brazilians hate the word no, so much so that it was actually suggested to me that I don't use the word no when disciplining my children.  I should rephrase everything because the word no would squash their little psyches. 

Yeah, I'm American. That's not going to fly. No comes out of me before I even consider the question. Once that no is stated, I have space in my little brain to consider the other options.  And if I am going to say something, it's going to flow out as blunt and disorganized as my thought process. 

I can't help it.  We Americans can be verbal vomiters.  We say what we think. If you invite us to a party and we don't want to go, we politely say 'No, I can't. I've had a hard week and need to rest.'  or 'Maybe we could get together next weekend.'  Don't get me wrong, we aren't rude about it. But we're also not leaving people waiting. That's because Americans will wait, will get pissed, and will call you out on it.  But then that's a whole different blog post.

But there is one area in which there is a switch.  A total trade in bluntness and directness between Americans and Brazilians.  It happens when discussing personal issues.  Take this situation for example:

My husband and I were at a street party with a group of his friends, my Mother-in-Law, and a couple of her friends. We were sitting around the table having beers. This was soon after my move to Brazil and I understood little to nothing of what was going on. 

That's when my husband's friend turned and asked me in his broken, yet very understandable English "So how are you feeling? Mr. Rant says that you have a bladder infection" 

Call me insecure but I was embarrassed at the time. If only I had half the indifference I do now, I would have replied "I'm doing well. My doctor suggested to stop having so much sex with my husband and to urinate afterward when we do."

Of course, the shock of the fact that they were all discussing my bladder infection over beers, right there at a street party, was a bit much for me. 

I just couldn't see that happening at home. 

And the Brazilian personal information bombs can happen at any time!  I have heard "We never have sex anymore." "I have this itch." "Do you think this is weird..." "It's just ______and he/she is so embarrassed by it." "Do you guys like anal?" "I think I'm going to leave him" etc etc

And this is not with close personal friends. Just people I know.  

Personal information overload. And personally, this does not help me at all. I already suffer from sharing Too Much Information.  Now, I'm just a walking billboard sharing anything and everything going on in my life.  Hell, I even have a blog.

And I love that.  I love that it's ok to actually tell people the nitty gritty. Heaven forbid you say you don't want to go to beers but you can bust out that you have to get your hemorrhoids cut out.  I bet who ever you tell will even visit you at the hospital. 

There's just something almost romantic about it.  Still playing hard to get and yet sharing at the same time. 

It's like the matrix of conversation. 

Brazil in New York City

The Hubs and I decided to take a little break from small town America and go up to BIG town New York to visit his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins.

I have to say, the moment we entered into their New York apartment, we departed the US of A and entered Brazil, if not by geography, then in heart.

For starters, it was like 90 degrees in there.  I felt like I was in one of those habitats at the zoo. It may be 25 degrees outside, but the people of this habitat only flourish at 85 or above.  Somehow, I do not find that surprising when it comes to Brazilians living in cold climates.

Not only was the place hot, it was full of people.  I don't think Brazilians are allowed to have personal space.  They will freak out and run into the first crowded plaza.  But it was no problem.  Everyone was anywhere and everywhere and was happy to be there. So NOT American, at least the country I know.

Then there was the food. There was no grazing, to my spare tire's dismay.  There were meals, 3 and a half to be exact. The half being a Brazilian snack session called a 'lanche,' which has enough snack food to be considered a meal in some cultures.  Seriously, Brazilians can eat.

And they can cook.  I forgot, in my two minutes in the US, how much I love Brazilian food. My husband's Uncle is like a Tasmanian devil in the kitchen, swirling and twirling at speeds invisible to the naked eye.  He made amazing creations in the kitchen.  A shrimp would offer himself up to be cooked by this man.

But don't be fooled.  You can't live in my country and not have a little something sneak in. You may not learn the language.  You could only shop at shops of your native lands.  You could even refuse to buy our footwear.  But you can't avoid everything.

The American in that home was the simplest form of American,  yet one of the most highly debated.  The television. Oh yes, 3 tvs in the house. One in each bedroom and one in the kitchen.  And 2 were on almost all the time. The one in the kitchen blared each and every time someone was in that room. It may have been Brazilian soap operas, but it was still being shown in an oh so American way.

So what did I learn? I saw a lot of me in this. I had a mini, baby, very adorable, expat chip on my shoulder. You know because I am so well adapted.  Bullshit!  I'm such an American living in Brazil that it's ridiculous.  No adaptation required because I have created my mini-America right there in my house.

"Sorry, The national language in the house of Rachel is American. You are going to have to speak your Brazilian outside in the hallway."

On a serious note, I must say that as much as we Americans miss the conveniences of our country, I think expats to our country may have it harder.  We complain about Brazilian bureaucracy, but at least they are open to immigrants.  Americans seem to have their panties all bunched up their nether regions when the subject comes up.  Have we really forgotten where we came from and what we have fought for?  Are we becoming exactly what our ancestors ran away from?

Food for thought American friends and readers.  Where are we going with all this and what are we really accomplishing?

Christmas and Family

We look forward to Christmas and getting the entire family together.  That goes double for us expats because it's rare that we get to have these family get-togethers with our own families.

Then the novelty wears off.

You see, we Americans, a chunk of us anyway, don't live near our family. We don't have weekly family lunches like the Brazilians. We aren't used to the in-your-face comfort that family members have with each other. You know, the one that allows us to say 'You look kind of fat in that sweater.'  

Brazilians have it down.  You become less and less sensitive to your family's idiosyncrasies when you are faced with them, at the very least, on a weekly basis.  Uncle's never-ending conversation topics, Aunt's annoyance at the invasion of personal space, or Grandpa's gas just doesn't bother you as much when you are around them constantly.

Now look at my family for instance.  My parents produced 4 offspring during their bedroom fun time.  Each one of us live in a different city.  We are close by American standards... I would dare to say that we are even close by international standards.

So you take us, our parents, our spouses, and the couple of babies we have produced and put us into one house.  There will be a bit of bickering. Someone is ALWAYS going to be too sensitive. My brothers are always going to say I'm over-reacting.  Annoying, really. I could be bit by a rabid squirrel while being beat by the UPS guy and they'd still give me shit if I complained.

And the thing is, I love it. Yet again, call me a sadomasochist but it just melts my butter to be able to bicker and laugh with my family.  I enjoy gossiping with the 10 adults (usually on a one on one basis and about another one of the group), rolling around with the 4 kids, and celebrating the joint need for a drink because of all the "festivities".

Call me crazy, but it doesn't seem like Christmas if someone isn't getting smacked in the back of the head or mocking one or all of the siblings.  What kind of Christmas doesn't have people debating meal choices, spilling coffee or wine, and general chaos of all kinds.

I think Christmas with the family is like a good Broadway play.  It requires laughing, crying, drama, an obstacle, spontaneous song, and a happy ending.  And we'll have met all the requirements this first day, that is, once we get the Karaoke set up.

Merry Christmas!

Coffee Wishes and Caviar Dreams

I didn't love Brazilian coffee from the first sip. Hey, in my defense, it was a bit alarming when the full chest hair popped in right after. I was very Miami Vice cool.

But, not only did I get used to it, I started to like it.  Hell, I can even make a mean cup of it.  Oh yeah, Mother-in-law stamped and approved.

Now that I'm home, I'm left unsatisfied each morning. It's like my coffee has erectile disfunction and, while it meets some basic needs, lacks the tools for the grand finale.

Like any good woman, I'm left attempting to make this relationship work.  Because I love coffee. Because living in Brazil has already ruined my relationship with Starbucks, yet strangely that improved my relationship with my wallet.

And yes, I still drink it like an American.  Big cup with a little milk and sugar.  I am American so, the more the merrier. Yes that phrase also works with food and drink.  But when I do this with American coffee, it's like drinking stale water mixed with slightly soured milk. Sure, that'll wake a girl up, but not in a good way.

I know what you are thinking, why didn't you bring your own Brazilian coffee. I did. I swear I did!  But once I arrive, I am enthusiastically patted down in search of the ground Brazilian goodness.  I wouldn't put it past some of my family to shake out my clothes in hopes of finding some lost droppings.

So I am trying to make the best out of the situation.  My Father was a bit alarmed with the amount of coffee he saw me use. And I was being good knowing he was watching.  As I told him, it's about quality, not quantity.   If that means that I have to use half the bag of coffee he bought, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

And while the coffee here may never make me spontaneously grow body hair, but it can be made so it doesn't make me want to cry.  That will be my goal for the day.  

House of Midgets?

I'm living like a queen this holiday season. Ok, it just feels like it.  While my parent's house is considered a good size in Maryland, it would be a mansion in Rio de Janeiro.

I find that part of Americans funny, the need for space.  That need bit me in the ass when I first arrived in Brazil. My Father-in-law picked my husband and I up at the airport.  I was told to dress nice for the flight, as we flew with buddy passes. That meant heels in my book.  3 inch heels to be exact.  I was exactly 3 times the size of my Father-in-law.

We got to the apartment and were greeted by my Mother-in-law and Brother-in-law.  It was official, my husband was from a family of midgets.  Ok, maybe I just really needed to take off the shoes.

But honestly, it felt like everything was smaller than it should be, including my husband's family. I felt HUGE. Then again, maybe it was just my American ego getting the best of me.

I was given the tour of the apartment and started out my adaptation then and there.  There was NO alone time.  There was no privacy or space for it.  I even came home one day to find my Brother-in-law and his friends listening to music and sitting on what was supposed to be my bed.  Mine.  Of course, it was his bed, in his room, that he was lending to me. But it was supposed to be my space.

My mind was blown.  How can people be together this often and enjoy it?  All the chatting, touching, kissing, and co-existing.  I can clearly remember feeling somewhat violated by all the togetherness. It was exhausting.  Can you believe that I came of as slightly cranky.

Now, I can't imagine it any other way.  I feel like all this space is a waste. You really don't need it.  And my kids are turning out even more Brazilian in that way.

My Father went in to relieve himself in the bathroom connected to his bedroom. My 4 year old charged in and asked why he closed the door.  Then, upon realizing that my Father didn't have a book to read on the toilet, a crime to my oldest, he ran out to get one.  Grandpa was a good sport about having his privacy intruded on and also enjoyed reading The Magic School Bus.

As awkward as some moments can be, I don't think I'd trade for the bigger place. First off, I'd hate to have to clean it. Secondly, I kind of like the extra closeness.  So what if our entire Brazilian family knows I'm somewhat gassy.  It's that kind of thing that brings people closer.  Not the gas.  The knowing of odd realities about each other.

But don't get me wrong, I do enjoy a good visit home and being able to hide away from everyone else, even if it's just for a few minutes.

Missing jeitinho

I am having a serious case of the missings.  What am I missing?  Jeitinho!  Jeitinho, if you do no know already, is a sassy Brazilian way of bending laws, rules, and boundaries.  While it's not always the best thing for a government, it's pretty awesome using it day to day.

You see, I'm in the US, the consumer capital of the world.  I would like to buy things. Normally, that is not a problem, unless you want something you need a prescription for.

I, myself, would like to stock up on contacts. I can save a pretty penny buying them here. I basically get 4 boxes for the price of 1 back in Brazil. Awesome! So, I talked to my Brazilian Optometrist and got him to write my Rx out exactly like Americans do. Everything was perfect.

That was, until, I spoke with 1800 Contacts. It appears that the contacts prescribed for my right eye are discontinued.  No, they can not switch it to another brand. No they do not want my money.

Helly! Jeitinho? Switch it. What's the big deal!  I even went into Walmart and asked there. They were going to just switch it but the computer wouldn't let them add my doctor. Again, Jeitinho! I don't know about them, but when I worked in sales, I made the sales happen.  Get creative. Put a local number.  Mess with the address a bit.

Of course my All American family reminds me they could get in trouble for doing that. Why?  Because I'm going to get high off my contacts? Oh no, wait, it was an excuse to charge me $200 for another check up, just to make sure they could switch to an equivalent.

Youuuu Whoooo, I'm the buyer here.  My Doctor isn't the one who should decide the brand, I should. I should be able to switch based on saving a dollar or getting a free sticker if I want.  It's like prescription and generic.

Oh well. 1800 Contacts, you can kiss your $100 goodbye.  I'm taking me, my crappy eyes, and my Brazilian Rx to a small local Optometrist and see if I can Americanize the jeitinho and get me some cheap contacts.

Brazil, as seen by 60 Minutes

Jim, my source for news, recipes, culture, and drink ideas posted a great piece done on Brazil by 60 minutes.

I watched it with my husband who was a bit confused. "Isn't this stuff obvious. You guys (Americans) don't know this?"

I sometimes see him as an innocent. He's one of the few who refuses to believe that most Americans know nothing about the rest of the world. Thankfully, he has not tested me on World Geography. That will be a sad day.

Anyway, check out the video. I'm going to post the youtube version for those of you who, like me, feel the need to fast forward, pause, and rewind. I put the ADD in vADDeo watching.

Got to love Lula and his smack on European perfectionism or whatnot. And yes, you can invite people over, they accept, and then they don't show up. It happens and it's socially ok. Again, I love me some Sass and Pizzazz. I guess I picked the right place to settle down.

Home, it does a Body Good

 I'm heading stateside to my native land to celebrate the holiday season and then some.  I'm excited for all the obvious reasons and some not so obvious.  Rule #3 of survival living abroad, I don't allow myself to focus on the things I miss. That goes out the window when a trip home approaches. 

Here is my mental list so far:

1. Drink milk!  Milk does a body good and it is one of the #1 things I miss about home. I don't know if our milk farmers spoon their cows at night, but they do something that works.

2. Curl up in a blanket on the couch.  I plan to abuse my Mother like the stepchild I never had, or at least don't know of yet.  For 1 hr out of the trip, if not more, I plan to curl up on her wonderfully soft couch in one of her amazingly soft blankets and let her run after my boys. Oh my, it'll actually be cool enough to curl up in a blanket without my husband calling me crazy! 

3. Good bad TV.  I've had so much good conversation, culture, good movies, and books while here in Brazil, it's time to drain the brain. You know, Celebrity Fit club and How'd you get so rich.  Good stuff that will just suck the brains right out of me, what's left after children anyway. 

4. Eat. My goal is to not put on the normal 10lbs (5 kilos) this time around. The more realistic goal is to only gain 10lbs (5 kilos). Let's think Christmas. Restaurants. Candy that I can't get here therefore eat by the truckload.  Salty snacks I also eat by the truckload. My theory is that if I eat as much as I want, I will eventually get sick of it and not miss the food/snacks when I come back to Brazil. It does work. I leave thinking if I see another Poptart I'll barf... not that Poptarts really count as food but I eat them anyway. 

5. Not be aware of my surroundings. I know I'm aware here but I never really get how much so until I get home. That's what happens when you live in Rio de Janeiro. You are blissfully unaware of how aware you are. It's very Born Identity how you can walk along with your kids, chatting and scolding, yet still know there are 3 people behind you (2 are men) and 4 in front.  And it's not stressful, it's just how it is. The moment I land stateside, I get my symbolic cup of Starbucks coffee, which I don't even like anymore after living in Brazil for 5 years, and I let it go. Let the totally unaware American way flow with my laptop falling out of my backpack and my kids playing with my itouch while I barely pay attention. 

Of course there will also be many trips to Target, certain stores to buy items I only buy stateside, grocery stores to stock up on bring to Brazil items, and many other things. 

I'm the most excited about seeing my family. Being involved in the family gossip and trash talk. Seeing my nieces, annoying my brothers, and hugging my parents.  I'm even excited for the criticism and the inevitable 'If I were you..."  There's a beauty in living abroad.  Even the annoying things are charming. 

What do you look forward to when you go home for a visit? What are your favorite things about home?

Bra Science

For those of you non-bra wearers or males, finding the correct bra is a science. It's like the neuroscience of the breasts.  And finding one in Brazil is even more of a headache.

I had only just figured out bra science of the US. The whole cup and rip cage stuff. Imagine my surprise when I came down here and saw that bras were in one size and that was a 40, 44, or something like that.

What about the cup? Isn't the actual boulder holder part of the bra the most important? And there is no size for that?!  

I think that is why many women in Brazil suffer from the ever serious problem called Quad-boob.  As much as most of you males think that 4 boobs would look great. I mean, the more the merrier, right?

Wrong! It's like S&M of the breast, only no pleasure... not that I imagine S&M is pleasurable in and of itself.

These poor breast look like caged tigers trying to escape the circus.  It's a horrible tragedy, especially in the eyes of this small breasted woman.  If I had girls like that, they would be cupped and caressed by their bra, equally balanced between display and support.  

But this bra plight is not just with the large breasted Brazilian woman. The bra of the small breasted is even worse. We're talking fields and fields of cotton being used to fill the mounds they call cups.  They are so padded I can hardly fit my half sized girls in them.  And we can all tell it's all stuffing. I really don't feel comfortable walking around looking falsely aerodynamic.

Of course I could go into the fancy underwear shops in the mall. I did once. I had the same problems and I really didn't appreciate a R$200 price tag. The girls did, however, look fabulous. The stuffing is made of much better cotton in the fancy stores.  It was one of those bras that would make a guy pick a girl up in a bar and then wonder where her breasts went once he took her home. Gosh, that brings me back to my twenties...

Anyway, this girl has stopped her half-assed Brazilian bra hunt and judgments over quad-boob.  It's not their fault!  They are only a product of their bra surroundings.  Luckily, I get to go home and buy overpriced bras in my own country.  It's ok though, I'm willing to pay extra for the cup size and professional sizer.  A girl only gets one set of breasts, until she manages to save up to buy some new ones, so it's best to take care of them.

Insert Foot Here

In the post Free Hug, I got all touchy feely about the Brazilian way of caring.  What can I say, it seems I've adapted after 4 years down here.

But there is a little bit of a backlash to that adaptation.  So let me ask you, what do you get when you take an ex-pat and evolve her into the Brazilian definition of caring? 

Answer: A very inappropriate ex-Pat indeed! 

The problem as an ex-Pat American is that I'm blunt.  Combine that with the Brazilian openness and you got yourself some foot in the mouth conversations. 

For example, it's not uncommon for your Mother-in-law to have mentioned to your husband's best friend that you have a bladder infection and then for him to ask you how that infection is going when you all meet up for beers.  Totally socially acceptable. 

Not acceptable is when I asked my husband's cousin why his wife hadn't come to the family lunch.  He was elusive, which is not normal down here and that should have been my hint to shut up. Of course I missed it and persisted, to which he announced their separation.  Ouch!

Of course there were no hard feelings.  Got to love the forgive and forget attitude down here! Of course, I think our friends and family really all remember and just think, 'oh that Rachel, putting her foot in her mouth again.'

You know, as long as my awkwardness is openly accepted and we all have a laugh.

Candy Culture

So I was lucky that I didn´t get attacked by strangers carrying candy bags on Saint Cosmo and Saint Damien day (Sept 27th).  As an American Mother, this is one of the strangest days ever in Brazil!  Even British Mom blogger Become Brazilian blogged about it.

This afternoon my husband´s Aunt dropped off a couple of bags of candy from the saints´day and it got me thinking.  On this particular day, strangers come to you and give you bags of candy for your kids. Ok, as an American you just don´t accept candy from strangers. Big no no.  To make it even better, the vast majority of these bags are full of homemade treats.  Aka. no wrappers.

I think my dead Grandmother just had a heart attack.  No wrappers! 

To make it even better, these bags are offerings to the saints.  Apparently, the people who give out the bags make a deal with these particular saints and, in return, they must give out candy to children. They are the childrens´ saints after all. 

My husband tells me it´s ok.  People wouldn´t give bad candy to kids down here.  I see his point. I really couldn´t imagine getting suspiros stuffed with razorblades in Rio.  


Of course, stateside, my childhood Halloween booty was thoroughly checked by both parents.  I can remember the good old days when you could get popcorn balls or homemade candied apples. I also remember when that became NOT ok.  I was told not to accept it, well, except from that one little old lady in the neighborhood that everyone knew.  We all know she´s saving the good drugs for herself, not wasting them on candy apples for the already hopped up neighborhood kids. 

So what gives?  Why do we have to worry about gun carrying, glue sniffing, drug dealers but can eat homemade candy handed over by their mothers?  Why can I walk down most US streets holding my laptop, listening to music on my ipod, and answering calls on my bluetooth but can´t take a tootsie roll without x-raying it first? 

A little game of would you rather. Which is it?

Oh you Americans

I remember when my oldest turned 1 year old. We went in for his 1 year check up and my pediatrician laid down the law.

Translated "Stay away from peanuts until Luka is 3!"

I was like, say what?  I´ve read the books. I know the rules.  But why is my super mellow pediatrician actually breaking them down for me when he never has before.

"Americans love peanuts and love to give them to their kids. No peanut butter!"

I didn´t realize he was a mind reader.  Honestly, I was planning on waiting until he was 2.  Three seemed a bit much.  So I ignored his request and gave him peanut butter anyway... at 2.  And you know what, it was fine!  Actually, my youngest sneaked a taste of his brother´s peanut butter sandwich at 9 months.  I was shocked, a little panicked, and sat and watched. If his throat didn´t close we´d be good.

5 minutes passed. Nothing. Sweetness, no peanut allergies in this house.

So when my going to be 4 years old this week broke out into hives a month ago,  I thought it was the cough medicine.  The Pediatrician suggested the peanut butter sandwich he ate for lunch. Impossible.  Plus, we all know he´s a peanut butter hater anyway. HATER.

When he started to break out into hives this evening, I started thinking.  The only thing he ate both times was a peanut butter sandwich. 

Damn it.  Maybe the pediatrician was right. Maybe the pediatrician was lucky.  Maybe peanut butter is evil.  I don´t know. All I know is that until an allergist proves otherwise, I´m mourning the quick lunch/snack that is the peanut butter sandwich.  One time screwed, shame on the sandwich. Second time screwed, shame on Mommy.  Until proven differently, I will give him rice and beans instead.