Adjusting

I've done a TON since I've come back to the States.

Let's see.

Yesterday, I officially finished unpacking. This means that I dumped everything from my suitcases onto the ground and stood the suitcases up vertically next to the piles, giving the suitcases an encouraging pat on their flat sides and telling them to keep up the good work of keeping me theoretically homeless for a while. A large portion of my day is also filled with me rediscovering the kitchen. My hiatus from the heart and hearth of a home as left a negative impression, as I am now reduced to whispering sweet nothings into the handles of pots and gently caressing silverware before I commence making the worst foods ever. I just get so worked up over having more than the 2 ingredients I had in Rome (salt and basil) that I jump the horse and end up making multiple personality disordered foods. Like the tomato basil pasta with olive sauce and mango chicken. Or the zucchini I made upon which I dumped 3/4 the contents a jar of spices accidentally, because I evidently lost the delicate touch needed to shake dry ingredients onto foods.

So somehow in my busy day, I've managed to squeeze in the scheduled outing here and there into the real world, where it fast becomes apparent that I've got a ways to go if I want to integrate myself into any sort of society once again without being a tourist.

Things Adrianne finds weird being back:
1. Everyone is so damn friendly! I was walking around the potatoes in the produce department when all the way from the apples I heard a bellowed "HELLO! HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?" I looked around super confused. Do onions talk in the States, or is it really that smiling man all the way across the produce section talking to me? Why is he talking to me? Why is he smiling? What is his problem? Is he ill? Does he mean to ask ME how I am doing, or did he mean the tomatoes? What am I supposed to say in return? Oh GOD, should I say something? He must want money. That's it, he wants money. They're all after your money, they're all the same. I bet he works for commission. He probably wants to sell me the Fuji apples and not the Golden Delight apples. DAMN, I made eye contact, LOOK AWAY, Adrianne, pretend you don't speak the language.

2. The selection in stores is immense. I went into the grocery store where the aisles were as wide as the streets in Rome and as long as a small city, and I felt immediately lost. What cereal was I supposed to select? Did I always need all these cereals to be happy? I'm guessing it's an odd phenomenon for Europeans coming over here, and Americans returning. Europeans might think "How could I have been happy with only 4 different types of cereals?" and returning citizens might wonder "Why did I need 45 different cereals to be happy before?" The supermarket stretches on for as far as the eye can see, as does the mall.

3. This has nothing to do with adjustment, but for some reason Christmas seems...worn out...tired, this year. It's like Santa was getting ready for Valentine's day this time, and was all "OOPS, I think I forgot about some holiday between Thanskgiving and Valentine's Day!" and then quickly threw something together. This might be because Christmas appeared in Walmart before the 50% off labels on Halloween candies had the chance to materialize before the fake Christmas trees were being dragged out onto the store floor, but it could just be that Christmas is getting old over here.

I was lazing about in the magazine section of Barnes and Noble, reading about how Lindsay Lohan doesn't actually do drugs and about Brittany Spears' recent partying binge. Entirely absorbed in news of international importance, I didn't notice a lady approach me from the side.

"Excuse me," she said "are you from around here?"

I was flattered. I was about to tell her "Oh GOD, am I not UNBEARABLY European? Please, no photos. I am just like you, but with different shoes and a way cooler attitude."

Instead, I said "Yes."

She was looking for some part-time employees for a company she has here in the area. So instead of wanting my money, I guess Americans want my time.

I have a feeling that in no time at all, I'll be back in the same rut, smiling broadly at every stranger who crosses my path, then putting my feet up on a table and loudly enquiring "WHERE'S MY BEER?"