Let’s start things off right…

I am so fucked.

That is my shallow and profane, but unfortunately accurate entrance into the famed “blogosphere.” Perhaps some further explanation is in order.

As all of you who may read this already know, thus rendering this enthralling introduction completely redundant, I am a 19 year old college sophomore on my way to Ecuador for a semester abroad. Unfortunately, I am also tragically accident prone. No, not in the way that I frequently trip over cracks in the sidewalk, or back into cars when I exit a parking lot, or score terrible own goals. I just have an unyielding tendency to mental errors, or ignore details that are common sense, but of imperative importance. Consequently, I have a penchant for turning the most simple, straightforward situations into unbearably awkward or inconvenient predicaments.

Now, I know what most of you are thinking; “Now Chip. We all do that from time to time. Were only humans.” I’m not going to proceed to make some longwinded, eloquent, cogent, well articulated argument to convince you that I am, in fact, completely incompetent. I am just going to let my actions speak for themselves. For example:

1) I have almost burned down an entire apartment building trying to make Easy-Mac.
2) I have defined someone’s profession as “being a lawyer’s bitch”…to their face.
3) I have unwittingly drunken sewer water, despite the sewage leak being in plain sight not 10 feet away.

These are just a few of the monstrously disastrous situations my lack of ability to apply common sense and basic intelligence to daily life. My latest achievements in this respect, and the reason behind my aforementioned profane entrance into the blog-world?

Well, first of all, I am currently wearing a pair of olive-green Old Navy cargo shorts. While everyone except elitist fashion-snobs, who feel wearing Old Navy should be punishable by public flogging, probably can’t see why this should be a problem, I assure you that it is. See, apparently in Quito, wearing shorts into the city is heavily frowned upon. At best, I imagine it will probably be somewhat akin to wearing white to a funeral. I knew this months prior to my trip, but completely forgot about it this morning. It only dawned on me when I was sitting in the waiting section before boarding my flight to Quito. It was filled with darker skinned, pants clad people, speaking solely Spanish. Meanwhile I sat there wearing shorts, and feeling incredibly out of place. It didn’t help that I am about a foot taller than the average Ecuadorian male. I felt like Gingo-Zilla. I could never remember ever feeling like an outsider in my life. It is really an unnerving and uncomfortable experience, and I have a much enhanced respect and sympathy for the various types of minorities. But what really makes this bout of forgetfulness that much worse is that it will be my first time meeting my host family. From an early age, we have all repeatedly been told about the unrivaled importance of first impressions, and I was really hoping to make a good one. Blatantly disregarding cultural customs does not seem like the best way to go about this. Speaking of that all important first impression…that brings me to gaff number two.

Amidst all the consternation and fretting over whether my host family would like me, I conveniently forgot their names. Un. Fucking. Believable. These are the people who were gracious enough to welcome me into their home, and to volunteer to feed me for the next four months, and I can’t even remember their names. Way to go Chip. It’s not like I had to solve a explain the theory of relativity, perform some Herculean task of mental strength, or even know all that much about them. I just had to remember their names, and I still failed miserably.

Honestly, I want more than anything for these people to know how gracious I feel towards them, and to make my stay an enjoyable experience for them. When I leave, I want them to be a little bit sad, and to feel the decision to host me was a great one. I really did put a lot of work into making them a book about Saint Paul/Minneapolis and picking out other various gifts for them. But, true to form, when it came to one of the most basic, but nonetheless vital tasks, I handled it atrociously. Consequently, I now find myself in mortal dread of the situation that awaits me when this plane touches down.

I know some of you are thinking, “Chip. This is not a big deal. You are not a habitual fuckup and your blowing this way out of proportion.” Spare me. This IS a big deal. And while I admittedly may be a bit heated, stressed, and prone to irrational exaggeration, this is definitely a less than ideal situation that I have landed myself in. A predicament of unbearable awkwardness that I, and I alone, wrangled myself into. At times like this, all one can really do is laugh at themselves. For me, it has been surprisingly easy to do. Every time I look out the window and my mind drifts to my situation, a lightening bout of chuckling inevitably surfaces. I know that’s probably hard for a lot of you to believe, especially Sophia who unflinchingly endured me while I was at my most stressed and unpleasant mood that took hold of me in the days before I left, and did her best to comfort me even when I was unbearably antagonistic. (Thanks so much, that meant a lot, and I really appreciate it.) But really, when it gets to a certain point, it just effortlessly happens. Must be some kind of self-defense mechanism to keep you from stressing yourself to the point insanity.

Hell, I suppose most of my family is now a little tired of hearing how terrible of screw-up I am, not to mention a bit concerned for my personal safety. So, without further ado, I will delve into how my trip has been so far. Just a word of warning; the ensuing summary is going to have all the excitement of a meaningless WNBA game, so those of you who have labored your way this far, feel free to hit that little “X” in the upper right corner of your browser, indulge that growing urge to check your facebook, or get off the computer and make something of your lives. For the rest; don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This morning went as well as could be expected. I forgot to set my alarm clock, but by some divine miracle that of the type that occasionally saves me from my own incompetence, I woke up only 10 minutes later than I had planned. Actually, this probably worked out better because the panic-stricken feeling that results when you wake up without your alarm going off instantly snapped me to attention, which meant I circumvented my customary four sleep-addled lunges for the snooze button. A hasty breakfast, some frantic packing, a quick shower, and I was out the door. And only 20 minutes later than planned! HUZZAH!

My family, Sophia, and I clambered into our car and set off for the airport. I am not going to lie, I was pretty fucking nervous, and a bit melancholy. I just didn’t want that car ride to end. A deluge of second-thoughts poured into my mind like a tidal wave, causing a unpleasant queasy feeling to overtake my stomach. This is customary for me. I never really comprehend the true significance of something until it is on the absolute verge of happening.

I made the goodbyes at the airport as quick as possible, because I was terrified if I dwelled on it, I would lose my resolve completely and break down in the middle of the airport. I had an hour long wait to painfully mull it over before I boarded my first flight, destined for Houston Texas.

Thanks to some crack advice from Sophia, (Thanks!) I had a prime window seat located in an exit row. Great view, no disruptions, and all the leg room one could possibly ask for. The flight went really quickly. I started reading a book called EVERYTHING IS ILLUMINATED, which I “borrowed” from Stevo the last time I house sat for him. (Don’t worry, I’ll get that back to you someday!) Petty theft between friends aside, this book is absolutely hilarious. Daniel, I am sure, can recall fond memories of me keeping an entire 747 worth of people awake with my obnoxious laughter induced my a certain movie called THE RINGER. (please reserve you judgment of me until you can truly understand how terrible of a person I am.) If I hadn’t already made that mistake once, I am sure it would have happened again, that is how funny this books is. I suggest you all read it if you get the chance.

Once I arrived in Houston, I had a five hour layover ahead of me. I grabbed some lunch at a pizza place, and paid $10.00 for some airport internet access that was about as fast as a rush-hour traffic on Snelling and University. Infuriating. I also managed to waste another $15.00 on a tragic trip to the airport bookstore. I had the misled notion that it would be a wise to purchase a couple of those Davinci Code rip off “best sellers” with a fast moving plot and no literary value, in hopes of speeding up the six hour plane ride I had in front of me. I usually avoid these corny, unimaginative suckers like a bad case of herpes, but the misconceived notion that they would help that plane ride just zip by prompted a fatal temptation. Besides, I thought, if they are best sellers, they have to at least have enough artistic merit to make them bearable, and the plot can take over from there, right? Nothing could be further from the truth. I got about 9 pages in before I threw the book down in disgust. There were too many instances of corny and generic dialogue in those nine pages to cite each and everyone, but the one that did it for me was when the protagonist “felt him self harden” upon hearing his wife let out a “barely audible moan” in the middle of a New York City bagel shop. Somehow, when a talent-less hack of a writer tries to add some depth or class to a sexual encounter, it just makes it unbearably raunchy. DON’T MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BUYING THESE BOOKS. It makes me sad that they are best sellers because I feel terrible for all the people who must have endured this feeling.

I decided to practice some Spanish while I waited for flight-time to approach. As the boarding time drew near, the waiting room started to fill up, and I endured the aforementioned uncomfortable experience of isolation and not fitting in, along with the gut-wreching realization that I had ignored a basic cultural custom and forgotten the names of my host family. At last I boarded the flight. As we flew over the ocean, I had a startling revelation; Until now, I never really comprehended how vast an ocean really is. I always have the terribly delusional notion that if I ever got stranded in the middle of an ocean, I would just elementary backstroke my way to shore. I never really realized that I would be little bird-big bird- flapping for years before I got anywhere close. Incredibly insightful, I know.

That pretty much brings things up to this point, at which I am currently writing this as we fly over Honduras. Only a few more hours till I have to face music, which is sure to be cacophonic (Think Stevo playing the drums in Will‘s basement).

I guess its only fitting.