Unbeliezable: An Ethnography

My friend, Tatiana, g-chatted me today about her recent trip to Belize:

Tatiana: They have a new law in Belize where if you get someone pregnant who isn't 18, you have to marry them or go to jail for one year!

I have a story for you. When I think of a wake, I think somber, but no. The wakes have loud music, sometimes a DJ, a bar, it's loud and crazy. The body was just right in the middle of the yard and everyone was getting drunk, listening to Bob Marley.

Anyway Ja Rule's (nickname) sister that I was staying with wouldn't go to the wake even though it was her cousin, because she has a baby. Who cares, you ask? Well, apparently if you look at a dead body, and then at a baby, evil spirits will enter the baby and the baby will die.

Miss Jill: what who has this happened to?

Tatiana: Good question. She made me promise I wouldn't look at it and her brother who came the next day wouldn't even come into the house because he had looked at the body.
OH! I have another one!
Her baby has a swollen belly button, like it's herneated or something.
Her doctor told her it's from the gas that built up in the baby 4 months earlier when the mom didn't eat for 2 days before her c-section. So what she's doing is taking a coin over the belly button because that is supposed to heal it.

In Which Miss Jill Shares Hard Earned Economic Advice: Part VII

I have previously mentioned that wherever I go, I quickly become a member of the city's tourism board. Meaning, I am constantly accosted for directions. I once drew a Hasidic man a very detailed map to LaGuardia from South Brooklyn, because he didn't want to believe me when I told him that he couldn't make it there in 20 minutes to catch his flight. Since I have only been a resident of the DC area for 8 days, I have not been very helpful recently.

On Thursday as I was exciting the metro, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw a middle aged woman sporting leopard print pants. "Ma'am, could you tell me where to go to cash in a lottery ticket? I won $100.00."

"Wow, that's awesome. But I have no idea where to go."

"Do you play the lottery?"

"No," I replied, remembering how scandalized we were when my cousins bought lottery tickets during a family reunion at Nauvoo in the early '90s (you know who you are). "I've never tried it."

"Ok, girl, I'm going to tell you something that you need to remember. When were you born?"

"February 11, 1981."

"Ok, there you go. Always play 0211. Or 0281. Or 1181. Trust me."

"Ok, thanks!"

"No, really, I have already won twice this week. Never fails." Then I followed her, bought some tickets and went on to live a life of dissolution. J/k, Mom.

I'm Ghana Need To Buy Some Headphones

Until Hurricane Irene, I have been traveling between NYC and DC every weekend and the bus is starting to get a little old. Last week I found myself sitting by an affable tourist from Ghana in traditional dress. Usually I am all about talking to whoever, but I had been sleeping on couches all week and I needed some sleep. A few minutes into my peaceful slumber, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I drowsily responded, "Uhh?"

"Miss, when I came over on the plane from Ghana, I didn't go pee once."

I forgave him for not knowing my aversion to that phrase, but it didn't really seem like time sensitive information. Especially since the the bus ride turned out to be seven heinous hours long.

When I fell asleep again, I was awakened by a sonorous voice. "Miss, I think that your blonde hair is a real treat."

"Thanks."

At regular intervals, I was jolted awake by, "America is America," "I bought two cars," "America is America (intentionally repeated)" and "once a taxi driver in Long Island charged me $450.00." Ok, the last one was kind of intriguing.

600,000 Random Strangers?

Well, I have a weird announcement to make. I wrote previously that I gave myself a deadline of August 1 to start figuring out my life. I started randomly applying to jobs (I think only five or so) and within a week I had an offer at a Catholic school in DC and I started last week. That is a pretty fast change, even for me. I told my friend what had happened and she said, “Oh, I have a place for you to live” and sent me a link. I clicked on it enthusiastically, but then saw a picture of her couch. It is my current home.

To say that I am despondent about leaving New York would be an understatement, but I feel pretty strongly that it is the right decision. The Catholics have been really welcoming and I think that it will be a good opportunity to learn. So in honor of my move, I would like to host a New York/DC* showdown:

Friendlier strangers: DC. This is not even close. Men open the door for you like it is BYU and I haven’t wanted to have a street showdown with anyone in days.

Hipper Fashion: NYC. Also not even close. Everyone in DC dresses like someone’s mom, which is how I dress, so I feel at home.

More efficient public transportation: DC. Again, this is based on three days. In spite of MTA’s aggressive publicity campaign, I have yet to hear anyone who has a positive opinion about its daily operations. Both seem to employ announcers with diction impediments.

More entertaining public transportation: NYC. Where is DC hiding the break dancers/people reciting Obama poems/homeless people who didn’t make it to the bathroom in time/people yelling at each other about disrespect/evangelists/people of nearly indiscernible gender in fishnets (my tip is to look at their hands), etc.?

Most rats on fertility drugs: NYC

Less people all up in your grill: DC. You can find a seat at Starbucks without intimidating people with your evil eye.

More nationalities represented in your field of vision in any given time: NYC, more specifically South Brooklyn.

Less artistic people wearing a glazed expression: DC

That is all I have for now-I need more experience in order to expand the list. This is the tiredest I have been in my entire life, so bye

* Three days seems long enough to make sweeping generalization about a place.

In Which Amish School Health Classes May Be Missing Some Key Vocabulary Words

I just got back from Amish territory in Pennsylvania a few minutes ago. I thought that you would like to know the name of one of the small towns there:

The Secret Family of the American Teenager

When we were younger, my little brother Ty was ashamed to be seen with the family. This is so unusual because he is definitely the momma's boy of the clan-in the middle of his honeymoon he brought his bride back to the house to say hi and to have some homemade lasagna. Sometimes when there were half days in high school, I would stop by the elementary school with fast food or something special for his lunch and he would not make eye contact or say anything to me. He just grabbed the bag from my hand and kept walking. The funny thing is that I knew all of his basketball friends from the neighborhood and they always greeted me effusively. My mom, the love of his life, met the same fate. But Ty made up for it when he went a school year without spending his lunch money. He put it all in a jar and saved up so much money that we were doing fun stuff with it all summer.

My other brother, Baby Troy, is completely different. He just does his own thing and doesn't care at all what anyone thinks. He could sit alone in the lunchroom at school and wouldn't even care (that would have been my worst nightmare). It took me 25 years to get to that point of enlightenment. My parents decided to enroll him in Catholic School and when my dad went in, the principal told him that they were hiring teachers and asked if he knew anyone. As I am currently looking for a new life path, he told him that he would ask me if I were interested. I can't really see myself moving home to Chicago at age 30, but it would have been an easy solution. For all I know, this blog might be "Miss Jill Madrid" in a few months. Later that day, I received a text from Baby Troy that said, "You gonna be my teacher?" I responded, "Wouldn't that be your worst nightmare?" He answered, "No, not if they like u."