I think I need more sleep. Nowadays, when I move too suddenly I get dizzy, my legs get all wobbly and my vision blurs.

Debo admitir, sin embargo, que no soy un ser humano común y corriente. Desde mi perspectiva, los doctores recomiendan dormir 10 hrs. mínimo, so pena de terribles e inmencionables daños a la salud. Yessir!

Work was actually... work. Very odd, really.

Ps hoy si me pusieron a trabajar capturando datos a lo wey. Mi ardua labor consistía en capturar las direcciones de las personas a quienes el diputable le enviará tarjetas de felicitación por su cumpleaños/aniversario de bodas, imprimirlas en etiquetas, pegarlas en un sobre y juntarlas con su respectiva carta via un clip en lo que el Honorable Mr. dip las frima, cosa que no se realizará por un rato, ya que se encuentra en Tabasquito Beach.

Ah, mi linda y amada tierra donde el pozol (not to be confused with pozole) es amargo soberano, el calor es agobiante y los mosquitos tan bien pinche jurásicos. Hate the bloodsucking mutants, I always end up looking like I have chicken pox.

Anyhow, si alguna vez se sintieron especiales o importantes porque alguna figura pública tuvo el detalle de enviarles una carta para felicitarlos por X razón, ps vayanse haciendo a la idea de que los timaron vilmente. Asimismo, recuerden que una pobre "Auxiliar Parlamentaria" (in my case, at least) tuvo que sufrir uñas rotas, dedos magullados, dolores de espalda y dos o tres momentos de pánico cuando las malditas etiquetas se atoraban en la impresora y echaban a perder toda la tira, para que pudiera llegar a sus ansiosas manos tan pulcras cartas en elegantes papeles y sobres membretados.

¿Y eso de que son únicos, irrepetibles e irremplazables? (c'mon, tell me you didn't actually fall for THAT one, did you? DID YOU?). Ps nones. Habían, fácil, como unas 100 cartas, y eso solo para julio. The representative is going to have such a FUN time signing them, though. Should make up for part of my pain.

Later I went "shopping" with my dear girl Zaris for Palm's B-Day gift. But if my mom asks, I was diligently in my political-something class, doing something very educational. I can't believe I have to hide and lie at my age. What I wouldn't give to be independent.

Ya le habíamos comprado un CD de San Bob Marley pa que le entre chido cuando se de sus viajes, y Zaris le trajo un anillo de plata de Taxco, pero faltaba el resto. Así que nos fuimos de compras a las exclusivas pasarelas de Correo Mayor, en el centro. (Give it a rest, I know the ambulantes are bad for established business, but I also happen to know I'm dirt poor).

Todas las cosas bonitas que pensé en regalarle cuando fuimos a comprar el regalo de Zaris (which was true hell, because she is actually into fashion and crap like that) ya no estaban, pero aún así fue más sencillo que lo de Zaris. Le compramos una almohada y mochila de los Pumas (Cachún cachún ra ra... A güevo), unas cosas para el cabello y dos pares de aretes. Un par es de cuentas con San Bob Marley en un arete y el igualmente Santo Che Guevara en el otro. Me encanta, es la versión Palmera de la conciencia. Digo, mis aretes son de un diablo y un angel, Palme tiene a BOB y CHE.

Zaris found the most delightful little plastic handbag. It's green and it has a little chick. We kept on gushing over the bag- "es tan verde y tiene un pollo, ¡un pollo!" Yes, we get excited by chicks. Just like I do over fruits in clothes and accesories.

Debo admitir que tengo un poco de ansias por saber que me van a comprar por mi cumple las niñas. Nos conocemos muy bien (too well, in some cases... we have a reputation for being too "communal") a pesar de ser totalmente distintas. Palmeris es la asidua marxista amante del reggae y el indigenismo, la ropa de manta y el color verde (lo verde es vida). Zaris es la niña fashion, amante de la ropa de marca y los zapatos (con bolsas que combinen), del ballet, la opera, los conciertos y la danza en general, y la que muchos creen es arrogante. ¿Me? ps yo soy la que todo mundo cree es mocha, estudiosa y seria. Hasta que abro la boca. Y llego media hora después de la cita. Y me quito el sueter y ven mi Señor Escote (bra glimpses included- I have no female grace or modesty).

Whatever. So long as I don't get something with Tweety, Strawberry Shortcake, Winnie Pooh, or any other annoying "cute" figure a 5 year old would adore, I'll be happy. If they get me one of said things though, I'll wait until they fall asleep and choke or strangle them with their very own gifts.

Would make a catchy headline for the newspapers.

Ta ta kiddos.

Es tarde, debería estar durmiendo...

After all, I've got to go to "work" tomorrow. At least Mr. Vidal told me that I should leave early, as I'm not getting paid for my valuable aid. Claro.

Today we searched for yet another letter that was sent someday to someone in a galaxy far, far away. This one we could find in the computer though. (Che gente desordenada... perame, eso es como escupir hacia arriba. ajem.)

¿Hay algo mejor que la comida buena? ¡Ah, sí! La comida buena y ¡¡¡GRATIS!!!

I got a piece of free cake though!!!! Yessir, the photocopier/mail guy celebrated the joyous anniversary of his coming into this sad, sad world of ours. They invited basically everybody in the floor, so I went in there, emotively hugged a perfect stranger, wished him a very happy birthday, and sat down and zealously ate my cake and drank my Manzana Lift. ¿Que puedo decir? Soy una pinche tragona.

En todo caso, I found out that the secretaries in the fourth floor are very funny people with a very keen sense of the almighty albur (bueno, Rosi no, she's just sort of a sweetheart). I can't be sure that their mind is dirtier than mine, but they can be tough competence, I'll give them that.

Cada día me sorprende (y aterra) más y más la capacidad de conquista de algunos hombres. Propongo que a esos se les haga la vasectomía y se les niegue así la posibilidad de reproducir más seres con su inusual (e indeseada) capacidad verbal.

Ps after leaving the House of Representatives I went to my clases of Political Marketing, which turned out to have been held yesterday, so I walked into Political Leadership (¿Quionda con ponerle político a todo? Juro que son el ícono de la originalidad). I basically ran into the room for the sake of my chastity and righteousness, never mind my sanity. For it turns out that there is some guy interested in me that kinda works there (never stayed long enough to ask him what he does exactly ...).

How do I know, you ask? Well, I'm kinda guessing and assuming the point. Dunno, I mean, maybe he just likes to get thisclose to people in general and talk to them in a soft, breathy voice (la fantasía erótica de toda mujer, sin lugar a dudas). I swear, when I'm alone he kinda rushes at me and begins talking in a creepy voice reminiscent of Michael Jackson and Jeniffer Tilly's love child.

...

*shudder*

(¿Como que mejor le dejamos ahí, no?)

I am getting a bit worried. Perhaps I'm the one on the wrong here. Maybe I don't quite get the whole human wooing thing well yet. It could very well be that the whole flowers, chocolates, (aunque suene todo choteado), meaningful conversations in a nice, manly voice tone that doesn't require dog-hearing abilities to be able to be deciphered, is a total sham created by the evil corporations in Hollywood.

Perhaps the right way to go around love matters is to make repeating sh sounds and speak in falsetto.

Que engañada he estado todo este tiempo.

Tired, tired, tired.

Bien, se arregló el malentendido de la Cámara de Diputados. Al parecer en periodo de sesiones la gente llega como a las 8:30, pero como eso no pasa hasta septiembre, ps llegué muy temprano. Hoy ya fui a mi primer y muy emocionante día de trabajo voluntario en la Cámara (estoy toda mafufa, lo sé), y ps aprendí a usar los teléfonos. Aunque eso suena como afirmación... bueno, lo intenté.

En todo caso, todo iba bien hasta que llamó el diputado desde Tabasco y pidio hablar con su asesor, que se había marchado temprano sólo mencionando que "iba a una junta", así que hice lo que haría cualquier vil cobarde "auxiliar parlamentaria" en la Cámara: le pasé el fon a Rosi, la secretaria mucho más capacitada que yo.

So, the search for the magical Press Paper Thingy (I sooooo hate myself for using that particularly descriptive word) began. Ps que el diputable quería un comunicado de prensa de quien sabe cuando, firmado por no sé quien, y cuyo texto versaba en algo que tenía que ver con Pemex, Daños Ecológicos y Demás.

Ps nunca apareció el chinche papel, aunque aparecieron otras cosas... y, bueno, sí lo hizo, ps ni me enteré, porque a las 6:00 pm., con todo el dolor de mi corazón y mis entrañas (literally, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast), me salí corriendo pa' mi rancho.

Let's clarify that running towards Metro Candelaria in stilettos while blatantly ignoring catcalls is no small feat.

En serio, ¿Cuál es el pinche problema de los "machos" mexicanos? No voy a generalizar, sé que no todos los hombres son urgidos ni lividinosos. Hay hombres por los cuales daría, ps no la vida, pero sí otras cosas :).

BUT, toda mujer sabe lo tedioso es tener que ignorar a los "galanes" que amablemente nos dejan saber cuan atractivas y bellas somos. Yo no me considero bella, sí acaso sólo atractiva. En ciertas culturas y bajo ciertas perspectivas... ja ja.

No, ya en serio, si me visto como monja (Ok, so I'm kinda know for my affinity to show off cleavage, but when on the street I swear I put on whichever turtleneck, sweater or jacket is nearby, stiffling as it is) y aún así no me salvo de las atenciones de tan gallardos sementales, aún cuando ando en mis días de Güeva, sweatpants and nested hair included, ps ¿Qué será de las pobres incautas en minifaldas?

Si nos va bien, empiezan con el shisheo, ese inspirado sonido musical que emana por medio del aire exhalado a través de bien afinadas cuerdas vocales. Ooooooooh yes, el sonoro sh-sh.

A ver, dejenme ver si la capto. ¿Es a través de tan lírico uso de la lengua española, la fineza, el vocablo poético; el verbo, pues, que piensan nuestros Íconos de Todo a lo que Hombría se Refiere que nos conquistarán? ¿Al grado de caer rendidas a sus pies debido a lo que sale de sus varoniles bocas (tufo no incluido)?

...Corny joke, no surprise there.

Whatever. At least today I wasn't groped y no tuve que escuchar a nadie llamarme mamacita (Dios me libre de tener vástagos parecidos a esa cosa, y no, no esa cosa), mi reina, y demás. Niñas, ustedes se las saben de memoria y mejor que yo.

My back is killing me, I'm off to nappy time.

Working and Memín Pinguín.

Fine, so I'm not really working per se... actually, I'm volunteering, I guess. I mean, I'm not recieving wages, and I'm not doing my social service yet, but still, I expected a bit more seriousness in the situation.

I woke up, during my vacation, no less, at the ungodly hour of 7:00 a.m. after a restless night, got all prettied up (wore makeup, stilettos and everything, too) and had my mom drive me for an hour through the shabby and worrisome colonia La Merced to get to the House of Representatives, where I was supposed to work as an "Auxiliar parlamentaria, a fancy name for a simple gofer, busgirl, chalán, chacha, or whichever way you prefer to call it.

Just my luck, how did I ever think someone would be there by 9? I mean, it's not like they had to work to ensure they were fairly representing Tabasco's society, population and ecological reserves or anything remotely like that. Well, not by 9 a.m., anyways.

So mom and I went for some cofee while we waited for someone to show up and open the office, but of course, they didn't have decaf, so I had to content myself with inhaling my mom's capucchino's fragrance. God, I miss caffeine, and chocolate, and nuts, and coke, and basically everything my doctor stressed I couldn't have. Seriously, I nearly burst in tears when he mentioned chocolate, while someone, somewhere, cackled devilishly at my cruel misfortune.

ANYHOW, point is by ten I called the office (if you think I was going to walk to the B building and take the lift to the 4th floor to check, you are sadly mistaken) and found out that my dear Mr. E. Vidal would probably not show up until 2 p.m. Just lovely.

So, we headed out back to the car where a franelera was steadfastly watching our dear mistreated Platina. I love my car, even if technically it's now mom's.

Only good thing is I found a Memín Pinguín comicbook. Apparently, with all the controversy involving postage stamps, a highly illiterate head of nation who just HAD to say something that sounded racist a couple of weeks back, and now Mexico being perceived as a racist country, Grupo Editorial Vid decided to launch the whole series again, straight from No. 1.

Natually curious, I bought myself a copy, to see if it was indeed racist and politically incorrect.

Generally, I defend Memín's right to exist, but that's because I know that the comicbook played a fundamental role in Mexico's society and cultural history. Most people simply whine about Speedy González, the Taco Bell dog, the whole Minuteman human hunting and the migra shooting immigrants with pepper bullets thing, the building of a wall a la Berlin, the decades of uneven trade laws (think NAFTA), the american embassador's continuous negative comments about Mexico, etc.

Me? Well, I don't really think to defend or justify Mexico's position on this. I know, for a fact and because of past research on the topic, that Memín, just like Los supersabios, Pepín, Paquita, Paquito, La familia Burrón, etc. helped alphabetize the poor and mostly illiterate masses of mexicans who couldn't afford to go to school or buy newspapers. Many poor people learned the basics of reading and writing by reading Memín, and he is a part of our culture.

I had read about the comic for an essay on mexican comicbooks before, how it depicted diferent views of mexican society and it's social class system: the troublemaking and headstrong middle-class Carlos, son of a divorced working woman; The haughty, rich and snobbish Ricardo, son of a diplomat; Sweet, hardworking and gentle, but very poor Ernesto, who can't even afford shoes; Mischievous and poor, though better off than Ernesto, Memín, adoring single son of Eufrosina.

Yes, in the comicbook some people make comments of Memín's skin color, altough he gets more heat because of his short height. However, he seems to take any criticism with humor, laughing and retaliating with his mischievous wit. He seems to win people over easily with just some words and a smile. I have to say that it's the first time I read the comicbook and I'm very fond of Memín now. He's just that cute and endearing.

And he loves his Ma' linda so very much.