Today was a good day.

I decided to take several hours off work today to be able to be with my dad after his surgery and to head downtown to accomplish the final step of my visa application process, the apostille for the FBI report. Aside from everyone collecting a small chunk of change from each of my encounters, I'm still not quite sure why all these steps (notarizing, notary authentication, and apostille) are necessary. Simple answer: bureaucracy. Anyhow, the point is I battled LA lunch-hour traffic to go downtown for the final apostille seal.

Today was one of the first real days of summer we've had in LA. My car thermometer read 96 degrees and as I was I about to roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning as I made my way onto the freeway, but then I looked down and saw that my gas tank was in the red. Uh oh. I made it to downtown, found the building I was looking for, and then began my desperate search for reasonable parking. If there is one thing I really hate, it's paying for parking.

All the parking lots read $3 for every 5 minutes or something ridiculous along those lines, with flat rates starting after 4pm. I refuse to pay for that, especially knowing that I might have a long wait at the Secretary of State office. I found metered street parking, except they only let you park for an hour. I figured I would pay $3 for an hour of street parking, assess the situation, and run back/move the car, if necessary.

I walked into the stuffy apostille office and saw a HUGE line. I stood behind the last person only to see people staring at me, so I asked if I was at the end of the line. Someone told me I needed to get a number. It's amazing how words can really communicate so much more than blank stares. In any case, I grabbed a number, 315, and waited at the entrance of the stuffy office, fanning myself with the notarized, authenticated, soon to be apostilled paperwork. They called number 241. I was mentally calculating how much time until my number would be called--would I have to move my car before my number was called or while they were processing the document? As I was trying to figure all this out a man was walking towards the exit and stopped in front of me. I always attract crazy people so I tried not to make eye contact, but he continued trying to get my attention so finally I gave in. He held out his ticket and said, "I think my number will be called before yours." I accepted the number and managed to say a quick 'thanks' before he walked out the door.

I looked at the little stub of paper and saw my new number, 272. The numbers were being called pretty quickly and 272 was called within 20 minutes of my arrival. Within the 20 minutes I had arrived, I had already developed mini-relationships with my fellow linemates and offered my old 315 number to the guy behind me. I ran up quickly to the main desk where a young clerk told me I needed to fill out some form before he could process my request. I scribbled my name, address, and other relevant information and handed him my credit card. He told me my name would be called in 10-30 minutes and I asked if I could run to move my car. He looked at me and said that wasn't really an option, but if I could just wait a minute he would process it for me right then and there. And that is how the apostille process took me a total of 23 minutes.

I ran to my car, got in, rolled the windows down, and realized that my tank was on empty. Of course, gas stations in Downtown LA are pretty much non-existent. I start driving hoping I will find one, but to no avail. At this point I'm just hoping maybe the sensor is off and I have more gas than my car is letting on, but alas, as I enter the freeway the gas light goes off. That's how I knew I was really on empty and had about a mile or so left to find a gas station. I turned on the mileage counter and had already reached 0.7 miles and still no freeway exit was in sight. I'm sweating bullets, not only because of the near 100 degree heat, but also because I'm worried I will end up stalling in the middle of the freeway during LA rush hour. Thankfully I made it to the first exit and there was a gas station one block up. What a wonderful feeling to have a full tank of gas and be able to turn up the air conditioner on full blast.

I made my way back to the hospital and my dad was just recovering from a successful surgery. Notarized, authenticated, and apostilled documents in hand and a full tank of gas in my car, I couldn't ask for too much more. My mom and I were in the family waiting area when a lady came up asking if we would consider giving blood donations. I try to donate as often as I can and so I felt like fate had been so kind to me today that I should give a little back. And that's when I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day. The lady was pretty adamant about my giving blood that day, I guess they are desperate for donations, so she walked me down to the cafeteria and made sure I got something to eat. As I was being ushered into the cafeteria she asked what my name was because she was going to check up on me and make sure I went (at this point I started to question whether I was actually volunteering). I told her, "My name is Natalia." And then this young guy behind me said, "Natalia, you have a beautiful smile." I know that sounds weird and potentially awkward, but it wasn't at all and I was appreciative of the compliment. I ate and went to the Blood Donor facility.

The nurse pricked my finger to test my hemoglobin count, 12.2, 0.3 away from being eligible to donate. She asked if she could prick my finger again to see if we could get a different result (because like I said, they are desperate for blood...so if you can, donate!). Sure enough the second try a second later came out to 13.9. I donated my pint of blood and after some apple juice and cookies made my way back upstairs to the waiting room. My dad had been transferred to a room with a view of the Hollywood Hills in the distance. Not too shabby.

In any case, I'm exhausted from all the excitement of the day, but all in all today was a good day.

51 days and counting

A total of 5 people at my job know I'm leaving at the end of August to move to Spain. Okay, maybe 6. Mostly because Thursday Ray came in to get the update of his study's status and proceeded to tell me to leave directions on putting together a study before I leave for Spain. I raised one eyebrow and was like, "huh?" And he's like, you know, before you go to Spain so the next person knows what to do. Of course I fell for it and ended up asking him who told him. His response was something like, "Nobody, but I'm a surgeon and I always go in with confidence." Touché. So, 6 people know. Actually 7.

Yesterday I finally told the main doctor I work with (and the only immediate person I work with who didn't already know). My friend and coworker, Jaime, gave me the pep talk I needed to finally muster up the courage to tell him.

"He probably went home already, so go downstairs and see if he's there. If he isn't, tell him on Monday, if he is, tell him today. Just do it."

At 3:38pm I decided to go downstairs to tell him. While I usually take the stairs from the 8th floor to the 4th floor (tangent: I read somewhere that French women are skinny not because they don't indulge in tasty goods, but because they take the stairs and walk everywhere, which has since inspired me to take stairs whenever possible) I chose to wait for the elevator. 5 million years later the elevator came. And stopped on every floor. When I finally got to the 4th floor, I walked off, made a sharp left around the corner (the kind I hate when other people make because it's a blind curve at that angle) and ran right into the doctor who was on his way home.

Our exchange went as follows:
Me: "I was just coming to see you."
Him: "About budget?"

*Prior to continuing, I should mention this doctor has an accent. I should also mention he is one of my favorite people at work and have a tremendous amount of respect and appreciation for him, which is why it took so long for me to tell him.*

Me: "No, not about the budgets, but you know, I'll just come see you on Monday."

Him: "No, no. Walk with me."
Me: "I'd really rather just come back on Monday."
Him: "No, no."

So there we are, waiting for the elevator in the 4th floor hallway to go down one level to the 3rd floor.

Me: "Well, I just wanted to tell you that I will be leaving at the end of August to move to Spain."
Him: "This a joke?"

We enter the elevator. It's crowded, but yet we continue our conversation.

Me: "No."
Him: "You getting married?"
Me: "No."
Him: "You're sure?"
Me: "About getting married or about going to Spain? Either way, I'm 100--120% sure. Well, maybe 100% seeing as I still am waiting for my visa."
Him: "Hm."

We exit on the 3rd floor and walk to the next elevator.

Him: "So, you have about two month left. Where you going?"
Me: "Sevilla."
Him: "Where that?"
Me: "In the South of Spain, near where your daughter is, near Granada. I, uh, just wanted to tell you because even though I haven't resigned yet and no one really knows, I just thought you should know."

The elevator comes and he steps in.

Me: "So, yeah, I'll get those budgets to you on Monday. Have a nice weekend."

The doors close and I go back upstairs. All this happened within about a 5-7 minute period of time. Jaime says, "He wasn't there, huh." I told her that I ran into him (literally) on his way out and managed to tell him. I'm nervous for Monday, but feel great otherwise. One step closer.

The World Cup has not made keeping things a secret any easier. As the resident Hispanofile everyone keeps asking me about Spain, the Spanish soccer team, and when I am going back to Spain or when will I be moving there. I keep hemming and hawing saying things like, "Hopefully soon, but it's too expensive, plus I've already been back so many times this year." At least it probably won't come as a shock to anyone when I do make the announcement at the end of the month.

After work Friday I took the next small step in finalizing my visa application by taking my recently received FBI report to the UPS store to get notarized. The UPS store is located on Beverly Blvd. a few blocks away from the hospital, but I wasn't quite sure if I'd be able to find parking or not, so I ended up deciding to walk the half a mile (1 full mile round-trip). Imagine all the french pastries I can indulge in now. Anyhow, now I have the affidavit notarized that says my FBI record is legit ('cause I say it is and paid someone to stamp it). Luckily, the LA county registrar doesn't need me to be the person to take in the documents to authenticate the notary so my wonderful mother will be driving to Norwalk to get the authentication for me so I don't have to miss more time from work to deal with more bureaucracy. Then after that I have to figure out a time to make my way Downtown to the Secretary of State regional office for the apostille. And then find a time between 8am-12pm to drop off the FBI report, notarized affidavit, authenticated notary, and apostille to the Spanish Consulate. But step by step. Only 51 days to go.

Tomorrow is the World Cup final between Spain and the Netherlands. Paul the Octopus predicted Spain will win...or he thought the mussel in the Spain tank looked tastier. Either way, viva España!

Sevilla Te Esta Esperando

I was reminded by Rebecca, my close friend and coworker, that I have less than two months left in Los Angeles. 2 months feels like an eternity, except when I begin going through my mental checklist of all the things I need to do and accomplish within those 60 or so days. Working full time makes it a real challenge to actually accomplish all these things, especially since my job still doesn't know I'm leaving yet (although I think the fact that I've gone back to Spain 3 times in the past year has raised my manager's suspicions of the inevitable). In any case, I'm trying to get all my visa paperwork done, finish the TEFL certification course, complete 20 hours of observation for the TEFL practicum, maximize my incredible health insurance by seeing every type of doctor imaginable, help Korinne with her wedding planning, and organize everything for the trip. All of a sudden 2 months just doesn't seem like enough time to get everything done. But it will be and I can't wait.

I love that feeling of anxious anticipation right before a big transition in life where you're still in your old comfortable setting, but with the knowledge that life as you know it is going to change drastically.

Initially I figured I would work until the very last minute possible to amass as much of a financial cushion as possible (seeing as I am taking quite a considerable pay cut and still have wonderful graduate loans and car payments to make), but in the end I decided that I'd rather not kill myself working right until 3 days before my program orientation. I'll be going a month early, arriving September 1st, which will give me some time to get things set up and adjust to being back in Andalucía.

Today Alison treated me to a special day of poolside lounging at the Viceroy, complete with mimosas, burrata salad, and french fries (with truffle oil and manchego). Days like today remind me of how much I love LA...palm trees, blue skies, sunshine, and wonderful people. And how even if I complain about 70 degree weather in the summertime, I'm thankful I'm not in Sevilla during the summer...been there, done that and it was not pretty.

I'll leave you with a short video I recorded at feria this year. I was in the caseta getting ready for lunch with the family when I was introduced to Angelita. Everyone kept saying she had an incredible voice and maybe she'd sing for me later, but I didn't really think much of it. Right before the food came, several people decided they wanted to dance and so Angelita began singing sevillanas acapella, while people got up to dance (and those who weren't dancing were clapping or doing palmas). She blew me away...what a treat to listen and dance to her song. And what an appropriate song to revisit at this moment in time.

Paseate por Sevilla
y bebe de sus encantos
que con los brazos abiertos
Sevilla te esta esperando.