Moroccan electronics and I do NOT get along. And other tales.

Okay so remember how I wasn't talking to Maroc Telecom because they were being super lame and trying to make me pay a year in advance? Well after coercing my wonderful host-sister into co-signing I finally got the internet installed at a monthly rate and only waited, you know, two weeks to use it. Installing is one thing, to make the gosh darn thing work is, apparently, entirely another. Internet password no workie. I'm pissed. I tell them. They don't care. They tell me 'someone will come sometime.' 'Can you be more specific?' 'No.'

So after waiting a week for this 'someone' to show up, my friend's brother-in-law comes over, as he's some computer genius, and attempts to find the fault within this crap-tastic system. I wasn't too hopeful as many friends of friends of brothers-in-laws of dudes down the street had been in an out of my bedroom (so much for keeping that a mystery) in attempts to help the poor white girl. To no avail, obviously. But, by some glorious miracle, out of the corner of my eye I saw the google homepage pop up and I freaked. I was like hip-hip-hooraying in the middle of my house in front of these people. I asked my friend if it's seriously hashuma to hug him as I was presently in love with him. To which her response was 'My sister is pretty in love with him too. Please don't hug him.' So I gave them some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls to go.

So 'yay!' right? I have internet, what could be wrong with my world? My 2400 dirham fridge that's what. It decided to work for three days and then it got bored of being cold. I mean, all of Morocco is cold right now, why should it? It wanted to be cool and different. It's an individual. It can't be forced into some mold society decided to put it in? Freedom! I hate it. I'm dealing with it tomorrow. I told my host-dad, and he was just like, seriously? Yes, seriously. Grr.

On Sunday some random boy knocked on my door. I answered and he was like 'Where's the teacher?' And I was like 'Umm, hi, how are you, I teach at the Dar Chebab? Do you mean me?'... Blank stare. 'Can I help you?' 'Where's the teacher??' 'Ask the neighbor, maybe?' 'Why are you here?' 'Umm, what? I live here? I work here? I'm a volunteer? Who's on first? What answer are you looking for?' 'Okay.' And he left. This was entirely in Arabic so I was curious as to if I was really just a retard and didn't understand the language, not him. Instead, I found out later that day that a local primary school teacher lived in the flat before me. Kid probably thought I had her under the floorboards or something. That would require me to have floorboards, however. Stupid kid.

I now own soy sauce! Thank you Marjane. Oh, and slippers. My feet and tastebuds are happy.

I've taken a shower for the first time in a week. It's just too cold to regularly drench myself in water in an apartment I can see my breath in. So sue me. I forgot how perty my hair can be, though. Thank you Pantene Pro-V and somewhat-pathetic-excuse-for-a-blow-dryer.

Today at the souq my vegetable guy gave me his phone number. I had just finished paying for some potatoes and carrots and he slipped me a piece of paper with my change. I was like 'since when does Morocco give receipts?'. Turns out they don't. He digs me. I think it was in direct correlation with my shower taking. Mm hmm. Yep.

I bought a hoodie today at the souq. It's cold here. It reads: 'Mindless ou Love?' Barf. It's warm, though. And cheap.

Finally got to talk to the mom on Sunday via Skype. She was at the Hoxie's with lots of American Football partying happening in the background. They were of course all excited to see me, but more excited to see my toilet. The main question was 'What happens if you miss?'

After re-reading this for spelling errors, I realize I sound like Don Rickles at a celebrity roast towards the end. Apologies.