my hair is screaming infidelities.

my hair is everywhere. it's disgusting. i mention this only for two reasons: 1. i just finished sweeping my floor and vomiting over how much hair i put in the bin, and 2. i had no idea what to call the title of this entry, and the worm in my ear was singing "your hair is everywhere..." for obvious reasons. don't even begin to tell me how lame it is, i already know.

and i know it's lame to be writing another entry just one or two days after the last, but i have to. i just have to. yesterday was too memorable to go by undocumented via my narcissistic outlet.

saturday morning i woke up full of dread: GRE English Subject exam doomsday. i had an awkward encounter with the front desk guy at the hotel, and an even more awkward encounter with an old lady in the breakfast room. without details, these encounters can be explained by locked doors, failure of my "i'm-stupid-but-so-sweet-you-love-me" routine, and my over-enthusiastic love for yogurt. you can fill in the rest with your imagination.

after breakfast, i went to the testing site for a series of more uncomfortable encounters... luckily, i wasn't leading the Awkward Train this time. i walked up to the steps to the room and immediately when i turned into the corridor i heard a group of guys talking and laughing.  they all looked like wannabe Einsteins in varying forms. some had long neanderthal hair and sweatpants, some had old loafers and tattered sweaters, some looked like dan wilson after spending three months in the desert, and all looked like they hadn't gone shopping since puberty. i walked closer and as i approached they all got quiet. not knowing what to do, i employed the "i'm stupid but so sweet" routine (this time quite effectively) and asked "is this where the GRE subject exams are?" one of the guys gave me a "No Shit Sherlock" look and said plainly "yes." their conversation promptly resumed with one guy explaining the discovery of his math genius, "when i was in seventh grade and everyone thought i was bad at math, and then i went to Mathletes and i was the only one who scored higher than fifty percent on the exam." then a guy with curly hair and glasses (and an unfortunate stutter) said "it was cosign a.... uh, and.... co co cosign b (hiccupping laughter), not co sa sa sign a pl.... plus cosign b!" everyone bounced and grunted-- some mathematical form of laughter. one was talking about the math section of the general GRE, laughing about how incredibly simplistic it was (i sheepishly tucked my tail in between my legs). two very classy asians walked in, sporting their MIT water bottles and they purposefully removed themselves from the rest of the group. in total, there were two unibrows, two zit-prone, four hand-wringers, one continual bathroom-runner, one foot bouncer, seven glasses, three lightweights and nearly all (i would soon discover) were pencil tappers. what does that equal? one classic, nervous group of math nerds.

while waiting and relishing this group, i looked at the list of test takers next to the door. on the left were the names, and on the right it listed the specific exam each was taking: "mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, Literature in English, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics, mathematics." needless to say, i was the odd one out.

and how did the exam go? i didn't cry and i finished it.

after the exam, i rewarded myself with walk in beautiful budapest and a little shopping. it was an autumnal saturday at its finest, accompanied with an americano to-go.

my train left at six in the evening, and i was on the train well before it's departure at 5:30. i went early to secure my cabin and do everything i could to make it look like it wasn't available for sharing (i'm a little selfish and high-maintenance when it comes to traveling by train). but as soon as i was closing the door and curtains, a 70ish-old man knocked on the door and asked in slovak "is it open." i sighed. replied "ano, prosim," and opened the door for him (all the while thinking, MY GOD! THE WHOLE CAR IS FULL OF OPEN CABINS! GET YOUR OWN!) and smiled pleasantly. he immediately caught on that i didn't speak slovak, so he started talking to me in english.

long winded fails to describe him. from 5:30 until our train pulled into kosice at 10:00, he talked to me in his broken english. not a single break. i could write a novel about this man. he is a veterinarian and works at the university, and as soon as i said i was from minnesota he grabbed my hand "ah! min knee soh tah! saint pow ol! i was there! yea! i was there!... pockaj, moment... LEE KER! the store to buy al koh hall! it was near the capitol, there slovaks were, special shop, to buy the alcohol!" and he told me about which water is best to buy in slovakia ("the green is with the little of the gas, the blue has the gas"), which meat is best, which cheese is best (and where each cheese is made), how to make good eggs, what brandy is made from, what beer is made from, why tokaj wine is sweet, what are good fruit syrups, where to find the best apples, why the produce isn't so good, why the weather is so dry, why the farming in socialism was better, why slovakia was the first country to get rid of tuberculosis in its farms, why oil gives you cancer, why the mammary glands swollen in cows is a problem, why there is infertility among dairy cows, why the cows in portugal die from bacterial infections.

when we were talking about sausage,  i confessed that i didn't like sausage, he looked at me "but why not!" he was visibly angry, "here it is very good, very good the sausage, many spice." and i said that yes, i know, but in general i don't like salamis or sausage. "BUT WHY NOT! HERE IS VERY GOOD THE SAUSAGE" so finally i said, yes you're right! great sausage! and his smile returned. without pause, he proceeded to inform me how to use pork fat for cooking (oil gives us cancer), how to use pork blood (yes, blood) for cooking, how to stuff food in the pig intestines for eating (like "the english kitchen"). he told me in detail about hunting, where he shot the animal, how long it twitched before it collapsed on its left side, how much it bled... and then, of course, he had photos to show me of his dead animals. many, many photos. we talked about the university system, about his research, about what it means to have good meat "first, we consider the water. is it clean. does it have the minerals. where is it from. was there insects in it. how about the viruses. second, we consider the ground. is it the hay. is it the pelts. is it the mud. how about is it clean. is it the soft or is it the hard. third, we consider the pen. is there room for the sow to stand up. for the sow to sit down. for the sow to go to the water. for the sow to lay down. for the sow to turn in the circle. is the sow happy. is it away from the pain. is it away from the discomfort. fourth, we consider..." and what if he was searching for a word in english that i didn't know? anger! and then he told me the name of a certain grain here in slovakia, and i told him i didn't know it. outrage! "BUT IT IS IN THE ENGLISH! THIS IS THE NAME IN THE ENGLISH! I KNOW IT! IT IS YOUR LANGUAGE! YOUR MOTHER LANGUAGE! YOU NOT KNOW IT!" but as soon as i said oh yes, ok, yes i know it... his smile returned, and he continued without pause.

this man was clearly intelligent, and wildly eccentric. he was quite tall and unmoved by my suitcase straps hitting his head at every jolt of the train. he knew the latin names of everything, from trees to animals to plants (and of course told me). he was an avid hunter. he's literally traveled the world. he hates gypsies and talks about socialism like one talks about utopia. his name is gabriel, his daughter gabriella, and his granddaughter gabrielle. and the man just wouldn't let me rest! he even insisted on taking me home rather than letting me walk in peace.

by the time i was finally in my flat, i went to wash my face and noticed my puffy eyes and shiny hair. but i still had to go and meet some friends. as seems to be my trademark lately, i came looking like i've just escaped from the asylum. my hair was frizzy, shiny and wild (and leaving a trail, it seems). evidence of the crazy day i'd just had.

whew. are you still awake? if not, wake up. this is the end of the entry.

send me some news, dear people from home! i miss you.