Living in México City is fairly surreal.
I've come to such a conclusion after six years of living here. Of course, I HAD realized it before, but it wasn't until Dominik asked me about life here that I began to mull over it much more closely.
Truth is, my life is hardly ever linear or common; usually, all sorts of odd things happen to me on an almost daily basis, be it because of my unique personality or because some sort of omni-powerful, omnipresent being seems to drop cute little plot twists when I'm around. Maybe (probablemente) I just have the capacity to stumble rather ungracefully into the most unorthodox of situations.
Whatever.
Point is, I might just be biased because no matter what I do, or where I go, I always manage to add yet another odd story into my accumulating repertoire. Yet, though I've had my share of experiences in New York, Illinois, Canada and some bits of Europe, I still find day to day life in Mexico City to be absolutely, unabashedly, unerringly, (I could go on and on...) surreal.
I guess it's not so difficult to imagine surrealism in a city that, in full metropolitan extension, happens to be the largest in the western hemisphere and second worldwide, with a population of over 19 million (Wikipedia is oh-so useful. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mexico_city ).
Still, day to day life is more than a bit hectic. We get lots of manifestations, all day long, in any random moment, in any odd corner of the city, for any reason. It's most usual to find traffic blocked somewhere, or avenues closed, or suddenly see a bunch of people jump out of nowhere and run towards your car with no previous warning. In fact, we probably get about 5 days with no manifestations all year long.
Really.
Take the Peje for example: after losing the presidential elections in a rather obscure way (pero si los fraudes electorales son una tradición mexicana por excelencia, a true patriotic tradition, no sé por qué hacer tanto escándalo), he proceeded to set a camp on the Zócalo and Reforma Avenue for a couple of months. He literally had entire families living in makeshift crate beds while he, very happily, kept on living in his Copilco apartment.
That’s a true Man of State if I ever saw one. One who always puts the people before himself.
But on a much more personal note, I found myself in a … interesting … situation while going to work one day. I wore my cute beige heels, (las que parecen patitos, Rose) and when I tried to get on the Metrobus found that Insurgentes was closed off, and that the nearest working station, Insurgentes, was two stops away, which is about 15 minutes on foot.
Now, normally, I love walking (took a special like to it after spraining my ankle and using crutches for two weeks), but I happened to be late for work (como siempre) and I was WEARING HEELS.
Not only that, but I happened to walk through a throng of naked men protesting in Insurgentes. It wasn’t quite the rewarding experience – the 400 Pueblos are not exactly model material. Rather, I had to make my way as quickly as I could while wearing heels amongst a swarm of naked middle aged men who sure could have used a bath, some waxing, a couple of sessions at a gym and deodorant, at the very least.
While they were somewhat respectful and didn’t actually cat call, it was still mighty uncomfortable to avoid the “friendlier” young nude ones. I resorted to putting on my headphones, turning the volume as high as it would go and walked determinedly forward, ignoring everything else –naked or clothed- on my path, singing the Hot Chips’ Over and Over until I reached the Insurgentes station.
After that, I got the particular pleasure of seeing them parade around naked daily on Insurgentes while on the Metrobus for about a month. Seeeeee.
And people wonder why so many Mexicans were willing to participate on Spencer Tunick’s massive nude photograph on the Zócalo. It’s a fairly common occurrence to see naked folks (both male and female) run around our avenues for one cause or another.
And that is just one example of abnormality. Another time, for example, it had rained all day long, and by night, around 2 A.M., it was still pouring. Apparently, there were a couple of guys drinking outside the building in front of my apartment complex, which is something that happens regularly, so I paid them no mind.
Yet, when someone started singing opera, that changed. I was surprised at first, so I kind of just looked around trying to figure out what was going on and went into the room and turned to my little brother, who was playing a game on the computer.
-Juan, ¿Is it just me or is it opera I’m hearing?
He didn’t even look my way. –Sí, es ópera.
I was surprised. -How odd. They must be REALLY drunk if they decided to listen to opera.
He was still engrossed in the game. –No, un tipo está cantando.
-Huh?
So Juan finally turned from the computer and explained. Apparently, they weren’t listening to opera on the radio. Some drunk guy was singing O Sole Mio in the wee hours of the morning in the middle of a dangerous, problematic and crappy neighbourhood in Mexico City while we had a mild tropical rainstorm on us. And he was rather good, too.
-No mames. ¿O sea que un wey se puso a cantar O Sole Mio aquí, en esta colonia; ahorita, en la madrugada; con todo y lluvia casi torrencial; mientras él y sus amiguitos se emborrachan?
Ok, so I had a bit of a difficulty believing it.
-Yeah. Look out.- And he turned back to the game.
So I did. And yes, some drunk guy WAS singing O Sole Mio in my neighbourhood, at 2 in the morning, while getting wasted during a storm.
And he WAS good.
-Canta bien.
Juan did turn to see me briefly, pensive, for that one.-Yeah.
And I lost him to Age of Mythology again.
Not quite a serenade, I guess.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Walked into a pole.
Es en serio.
I was walking from my fac to metro CU, looking at my cell phone (I was about to phone my brother). Two dearly loved classmates of mine (who I was trying hard to ignore, since we're not on speaking terms. Such a socialité I am.) were walking right ahead of me. I can't even begin to guess how many were walking behind me, but surely about 15 in plain sight. Then, the most wonderful thing happened.
I walked into a pole.
Really, one second I was walking and the next I was stamped into a pole. Claro, it was a small pole, and I kinda didn't hit it head on, but rather on my side. Pero aún así, it was freaking embarrasing, and my left knee hurt for all of the trip home. In fact, it's still a bit sore.
I didn't bother to turn around and see who had been witness to my all-too-common act of stupidity, nor hear any malicious snickers behind me (*sob*). I just muttered a modest and lady-like "pendeja" and kept on going my merry way. Walking faster, obviously. Que, pensándolo bien, no fue lo mejor que pude haber hecho por mi maltratada rodilla.
On to other things:
-Saw 300, liked it quite a bit. What's not to like about hundreds of half-naked, sculpted males waving around big swords?
-Went to the stylist. My hair looks like shit. (Y yo que creí que fui justo para tener el efecto contrario. Pobre ilusa).
- My vacations were also shitty. I was in the service up until half my school vacation, while most of my close friends were away on some secluded beach. (Malditos) Only good thing is my baby bro is visiting.
-Though we haven't had all that many adventures lately, there was an episode in which Ale, Rose and I acted like the mature, grown-up adults we are and began running through the metro, from the back wagons to the front. A true fun-filled afternoon.
O, and that wondrous time when we stood up and exposed a dear classmate with the "tangente" episode by turning it into a spot. I (being the paranoid freak in our loving little group) felt everyone suddenly hated us about two levels more for being so heartless with our poor, lexicon-challenged classmate.
Yet, a couple of days after, Tangente-girl went up to us and chatted, smiled, and actually amicably touched Rosie on the shoulder. We were flabbergasted. Apparently, she didn't notice we very obviously made fun of her in front or a classroom full of people.
Will wonders never cease? Some people are even more stupid than I give them credit for.
I was walking from my fac to metro CU, looking at my cell phone (I was about to phone my brother). Two dearly loved classmates of mine (who I was trying hard to ignore, since we're not on speaking terms. Such a socialité I am.) were walking right ahead of me. I can't even begin to guess how many were walking behind me, but surely about 15 in plain sight. Then, the most wonderful thing happened.
I walked into a pole.
Really, one second I was walking and the next I was stamped into a pole. Claro, it was a small pole, and I kinda didn't hit it head on, but rather on my side. Pero aún así, it was freaking embarrasing, and my left knee hurt for all of the trip home. In fact, it's still a bit sore.
I didn't bother to turn around and see who had been witness to my all-too-common act of stupidity, nor hear any malicious snickers behind me (*sob*). I just muttered a modest and lady-like "pendeja" and kept on going my merry way. Walking faster, obviously. Que, pensándolo bien, no fue lo mejor que pude haber hecho por mi maltratada rodilla.
On to other things:
-Saw 300, liked it quite a bit. What's not to like about hundreds of half-naked, sculpted males waving around big swords?
-Went to the stylist. My hair looks like shit. (Y yo que creí que fui justo para tener el efecto contrario. Pobre ilusa).
- My vacations were also shitty. I was in the service up until half my school vacation, while most of my close friends were away on some secluded beach. (Malditos) Only good thing is my baby bro is visiting.
-Though we haven't had all that many adventures lately, there was an episode in which Ale, Rose and I acted like the mature, grown-up adults we are and began running through the metro, from the back wagons to the front. A true fun-filled afternoon.
O, and that wondrous time when we stood up and exposed a dear classmate with the "tangente" episode by turning it into a spot. I (being the paranoid freak in our loving little group) felt everyone suddenly hated us about two levels more for being so heartless with our poor, lexicon-challenged classmate.
Yet, a couple of days after, Tangente-girl went up to us and chatted, smiled, and actually amicably touched Rosie on the shoulder. We were flabbergasted. Apparently, she didn't notice we very obviously made fun of her in front or a classroom full of people.
Will wonders never cease? Some people are even more stupid than I give them credit for.
Movie rundown, part I.
Hello. Hola. Bonjour. Konnichiwa. Etc...
Lately I've been watching movies as if on a marathon. See a couple or so every week instead of other things, such as: do homework, clean up the house a bit, go to school, make something worthwhile out of myself, etc. Osea, la hueva total.
Tons, here goes a brief list of some of the things I've seen these past couple of weeks. May have some spoilers, but whatever.
-----------------------------------
Hotel Rwanda-
The plot revolves around a luxury hotel in Rwanda, which served as a sort of temporal sanctuary during the mid-90's genocide of the Tutsi people and it's manager's heroic struggle to see all refugees -and his family- to safety.
The movie is well done. Nice and inspirational. Gives the general idea of mass-murder horror without being overly graphic, even giving a "happy end". I specially liked that whole "Hello sir. We're about to be murdered by a bunch of trigger-happy soldiers and machete-wielding rioters, but I just called to thank you for all you've done for me and my family" speech.
However, aside from it's take on such a difficult subject as genocide, it's not a film one can't miss. I also get the feel that the main character is seen on too keen a light. Kind of like Schindler, who later turned out not to be as heroic as portrayed in Shindler's list.
Hard Candy-
A cute and smart fourteen year old girl meets with a thirty something year old photographer she met on a chatroom and convinces him to take her back to his house, something any kid should know better than to do. However, little Hayley is not as naive as she first appears to be and the roles of predator and prey are reversed.
I actually liked this movie a lot. The girl is absolutely psychotic, but in such an intelligent, bitchy, even bad-ass way I just couldn't help but root for her. Go Hayley, unleash your righteous wrath upon that pedophile! Oh, and please do wash your hands after you are finished, if you don't mind. You don't know where that has been.
While the plot is quite nice, in my opinion, but there are a couple of drawbacks, the main three being:
1) The movie takes too long to set the story into motion, so the beginning does drag on for a bit.
2) Some things in the plot are kind of predictable, such as the castration stint.
3) Ellen Page's performance is much stronger than Patrick Wilson's.
The Last King of Scotland:
A young Scottish doctor becomes Uganda's president Idi Amin's personal medic. While at first captivated by Amin's strong, likeable personality, the doctor is witness to Amin's transformation into a ruthless, erratic and paranoid dictator.
This movie is actually very captivating. Withtaker's performance is very strong, giving such force to his Amin. McAvoy's character is also well done, acting the part of a fun-loving, superficial and sometimes decidedly stupid young man (really, everybody knows you just don't screw the mad dictator's wife).
Though there are a couple of strong visuals, it's nothing too overbearing. It's a good enough movie, though not excellent.
------------------------------
Bueno, first part done. Will move onto the next when I get some free time. As it is I'm using my homework time at the moment.
Ta.
Lately I've been watching movies as if on a marathon. See a couple or so every week instead of other things, such as: do homework, clean up the house a bit, go to school, make something worthwhile out of myself, etc. Osea, la hueva total.
Tons, here goes a brief list of some of the things I've seen these past couple of weeks. May have some spoilers, but whatever.
-----------------------------------
Hotel Rwanda-
The plot revolves around a luxury hotel in Rwanda, which served as a sort of temporal sanctuary during the mid-90's genocide of the Tutsi people and it's manager's heroic struggle to see all refugees -and his family- to safety.
The movie is well done. Nice and inspirational. Gives the general idea of mass-murder horror without being overly graphic, even giving a "happy end". I specially liked that whole "Hello sir. We're about to be murdered by a bunch of trigger-happy soldiers and machete-wielding rioters, but I just called to thank you for all you've done for me and my family" speech.
However, aside from it's take on such a difficult subject as genocide, it's not a film one can't miss. I also get the feel that the main character is seen on too keen a light. Kind of like Schindler, who later turned out not to be as heroic as portrayed in Shindler's list.
Hard Candy-
A cute and smart fourteen year old girl meets with a thirty something year old photographer she met on a chatroom and convinces him to take her back to his house, something any kid should know better than to do. However, little Hayley is not as naive as she first appears to be and the roles of predator and prey are reversed.
I actually liked this movie a lot. The girl is absolutely psychotic, but in such an intelligent, bitchy, even bad-ass way I just couldn't help but root for her. Go Hayley, unleash your righteous wrath upon that pedophile! Oh, and please do wash your hands after you are finished, if you don't mind. You don't know where that has been.
While the plot is quite nice, in my opinion, but there are a couple of drawbacks, the main three being:
1) The movie takes too long to set the story into motion, so the beginning does drag on for a bit.
2) Some things in the plot are kind of predictable, such as the castration stint.
3) Ellen Page's performance is much stronger than Patrick Wilson's.
The Last King of Scotland:
A young Scottish doctor becomes Uganda's president Idi Amin's personal medic. While at first captivated by Amin's strong, likeable personality, the doctor is witness to Amin's transformation into a ruthless, erratic and paranoid dictator.
This movie is actually very captivating. Withtaker's performance is very strong, giving such force to his Amin. McAvoy's character is also well done, acting the part of a fun-loving, superficial and sometimes decidedly stupid young man (really, everybody knows you just don't screw the mad dictator's wife).
Though there are a couple of strong visuals, it's nothing too overbearing. It's a good enough movie, though not excellent.
------------------------------
Bueno, first part done. Will move onto the next when I get some free time. As it is I'm using my homework time at the moment.
Ta.
Fashion faux pas
Two new embarrasing moments to add to my already generous collection (like that one time I got my bag stuck in the metro doors and didn't realize it wouldn't open until Potreros, in the other end of the city... yeah. ):
(1)
Fui a tirar la basura de la casa como de costumbre: vestida en pijama, con el pelo hecho un vil desmadre, en chanclas; en resumen, como toda buena ama de casa baquetona. Sin embargo, incorporé un nuevo accesorio de moda: una estrella azul en la frente, de esas que la maestra de la primaria me pegaba con babas hace ya algunos años.
Al parecer, Mi dulce hermanito Christian me regaló tal muestra de su afecto mientras dormitaba. El niño lo mencionó, pero como estaba medio muerta al mundo, ni me percaté de ello.
Explains why the trash guy and a couple of neighbors looked at me funny for a while.
(2)
En un raro (muy, muy raro) momento de vanidad, me vestí con mi lindo saco azul (which oddly reminds me of a bellboy's uniform) y una camisa blanca pegada. Para darle un boost, usé mi veintiúnico push-up bra, que resulta ser negro.
La camisa es gruesa, por lo que no se nota el brasier. No obstante, no tomé en cuenta un par de cosas:
-La camisa es pegada, razón por la cual la decidí usar.
-Tiene un botón algo flojo.
-Con el push-up mi tamaño de busto incrementa un poco.
Resultado:
El botón se salió del ojal, por lo que la camisa se abrió en la parte del busto y anduve caminando por Insurgentes enseñando parte de mi lindo push-up negro a través de mi camisa blanca.
And I felt "oh so pretty" too, with all those stares in my direction.
I'm such a dimwit.
(1)
Fui a tirar la basura de la casa como de costumbre: vestida en pijama, con el pelo hecho un vil desmadre, en chanclas; en resumen, como toda buena ama de casa baquetona. Sin embargo, incorporé un nuevo accesorio de moda: una estrella azul en la frente, de esas que la maestra de la primaria me pegaba con babas hace ya algunos años.
Al parecer, Mi dulce hermanito Christian me regaló tal muestra de su afecto mientras dormitaba. El niño lo mencionó, pero como estaba medio muerta al mundo, ni me percaté de ello.
Explains why the trash guy and a couple of neighbors looked at me funny for a while.
(2)
En un raro (muy, muy raro) momento de vanidad, me vestí con mi lindo saco azul (which oddly reminds me of a bellboy's uniform) y una camisa blanca pegada. Para darle un boost, usé mi veintiúnico push-up bra, que resulta ser negro.
La camisa es gruesa, por lo que no se nota el brasier. No obstante, no tomé en cuenta un par de cosas:
-La camisa es pegada, razón por la cual la decidí usar.
-Tiene un botón algo flojo.
-Con el push-up mi tamaño de busto incrementa un poco.
Resultado:
El botón se salió del ojal, por lo que la camisa se abrió en la parte del busto y anduve caminando por Insurgentes enseñando parte de mi lindo push-up negro a través de mi camisa blanca.
And I felt "oh so pretty" too, with all those stares in my direction.
I'm such a dimwit.
Been a while...
Han pasado muchas cosas desde el último blog.
For one, I went to Shakira's Oral fixation tour. Si, así de mal.
My dreadfully childish, useless, womanizing, leeching uncle (un hombre de muchas cualidades; it's a wonder how I still care for the idiot) gave me a ticket as a present. And he looked SO happy and proud, too.
Apparently, he thought that I, being such a good girl and all (de dónde sacó esa idea no sé, pero me hizo sentir culpable por alguna razón) deserved a nice gift as a reward. And, for some reason that I can't fanthom, that gift came in the form of a concert ticket. For Shakira.
Yeah, the belly-dancing, "haría-todo-por-amor" pop-tart. Shakira.
I enjoyed howling (ok, so I can't sing) her latest hits and attempted to belly-dance (nor dance, apparently.) just like the next girl.
When I was 11.
But somehow, my dearest of kin believes I'm still into that, decade notwithstanding and such.
So I just stood there, fake, forced smile on my face, pretending to be delighted over the oh-so-toughtful gift that I knew cost him a lot of effort and money he could use for far more useful things. Como pagar parte del préstamo que le hice.
I tried reselling the ticket, but I was offered less than half it's original price (Si eso no habla de la calidad del concierto...) so I endured the whole thing, money-grabbing bitch that I am. Must say, en mi humilde opinión, it was not worth the 550 pesos.
Much more fun and fulfilling was the trip I made into a glorious male strip-club with my mother and a couple of her friends.
Yessir! I have seen heaven in the form of a barely-clad, dancing, grinding, muscular, tanned, oiled hunk. Y fueron como 8 de ellos. Casi me arrodillo y doy gracias.
It was pure, unadultered fun. We bought the mandatory vodka bottle, and I got a tad bit drunk. I think my mother had never seen me so, and was more than likely very surprised, and perhaps a bit ashamed at the way the fruit of her womb was behaving. Y se supone que soy su roca, la hija responsable y calmada.
Lo admito, I'm no good when drunk. I usually lose inhibition with my, and other's bodies. I have yet to go overboard, but I get a bit naughty.
So couple a drunk version of me and a bunch of entincing, nearly-nude men and you get your regular groping, wanton party animal.
I was like a child in a candy store. Sort of.
I would grope any piece of flesh I could when any of my dear, mouth-watering gods walked by, and screamed all sorts of pleas until my throat was raw. Good thing I wan't the only one, so mother can't place the blame fully on me. Aunque creo que sospecha...
I bought my mother two lap dances, 90 pesos a piece, from the cute, enthusiastic spanish youngster and the decidedly seductive, delicious, experienced Angel. Este último traga fuego y se columpia en telas que cuelgan del techo. And the way he dances is just sinful. Creo que estoy enamorada...
She had no clue what hit her, just felt those scrumptious boys get up close and personnal with her. Since she wasn't participative enough for my likes, I brought her hands to the boys' pert, and wonderfully tight, rears and made her fondle them, declaring "Agarra, aprovecha. Para eso pagué." She got the general idea after that. Guadalupe, her friend's sister, got a bit wilder and made her grope the family jewels.
Mom got naughty. I was giddy with laughter. Those boys seemed surprised I demanded they fondle and kiss my mother throughly. I guess it isn't often a girl roots for a couple of perfect strangers, delicious as they were, to misbehave with her mother. But I'm odd that way.
It was great fun, the most I've had in a while. Dreadfully expensive, but SO worth it. I encourage anyone to try it.
Una experiencia educativa, sin duda.
For one, I went to Shakira's Oral fixation tour. Si, así de mal.
My dreadfully childish, useless, womanizing, leeching uncle (un hombre de muchas cualidades; it's a wonder how I still care for the idiot) gave me a ticket as a present. And he looked SO happy and proud, too.
Apparently, he thought that I, being such a good girl and all (de dónde sacó esa idea no sé, pero me hizo sentir culpable por alguna razón) deserved a nice gift as a reward. And, for some reason that I can't fanthom, that gift came in the form of a concert ticket. For Shakira.
Yeah, the belly-dancing, "haría-todo-por-amor" pop-tart. Shakira.
I enjoyed howling (ok, so I can't sing) her latest hits and attempted to belly-dance (nor dance, apparently.) just like the next girl.
When I was 11.
But somehow, my dearest of kin believes I'm still into that, decade notwithstanding and such.
So I just stood there, fake, forced smile on my face, pretending to be delighted over the oh-so-toughtful gift that I knew cost him a lot of effort and money he could use for far more useful things. Como pagar parte del préstamo que le hice.
I tried reselling the ticket, but I was offered less than half it's original price (Si eso no habla de la calidad del concierto...) so I endured the whole thing, money-grabbing bitch that I am. Must say, en mi humilde opinión, it was not worth the 550 pesos.
Much more fun and fulfilling was the trip I made into a glorious male strip-club with my mother and a couple of her friends.
Yessir! I have seen heaven in the form of a barely-clad, dancing, grinding, muscular, tanned, oiled hunk. Y fueron como 8 de ellos. Casi me arrodillo y doy gracias.
It was pure, unadultered fun. We bought the mandatory vodka bottle, and I got a tad bit drunk. I think my mother had never seen me so, and was more than likely very surprised, and perhaps a bit ashamed at the way the fruit of her womb was behaving. Y se supone que soy su roca, la hija responsable y calmada.
Lo admito, I'm no good when drunk. I usually lose inhibition with my, and other's bodies. I have yet to go overboard, but I get a bit naughty.
So couple a drunk version of me and a bunch of entincing, nearly-nude men and you get your regular groping, wanton party animal.
I was like a child in a candy store. Sort of.
I would grope any piece of flesh I could when any of my dear, mouth-watering gods walked by, and screamed all sorts of pleas until my throat was raw. Good thing I wan't the only one, so mother can't place the blame fully on me. Aunque creo que sospecha...
I bought my mother two lap dances, 90 pesos a piece, from the cute, enthusiastic spanish youngster and the decidedly seductive, delicious, experienced Angel. Este último traga fuego y se columpia en telas que cuelgan del techo. And the way he dances is just sinful. Creo que estoy enamorada...
She had no clue what hit her, just felt those scrumptious boys get up close and personnal with her. Since she wasn't participative enough for my likes, I brought her hands to the boys' pert, and wonderfully tight, rears and made her fondle them, declaring "Agarra, aprovecha. Para eso pagué." She got the general idea after that. Guadalupe, her friend's sister, got a bit wilder and made her grope the family jewels.
Mom got naughty. I was giddy with laughter. Those boys seemed surprised I demanded they fondle and kiss my mother throughly. I guess it isn't often a girl roots for a couple of perfect strangers, delicious as they were, to misbehave with her mother. But I'm odd that way.
It was great fun, the most I've had in a while. Dreadfully expensive, but SO worth it. I encourage anyone to try it.
Una experiencia educativa, sin duda.
Weird...
Most people who know me agree when I say freaky, absolutely stupid things happen to me out of nowhere. En serio.
Take today for example. Iba en una micro con una amiga rumbo al metro Xola, donde veríamos una exposición fotográfica. Como siempre, íbamos comparando desgracias familiares (annoying, tattling, copy-cat counsins, overprotective mothers and such), y me di cuenta que había un tipo en chamarra naranja tras de mí. But since it IS me, iba en la lela absoluta e ignoraba todo menos a Sara. Suddenly, in a creepy whisper, (the kind that makes you wanto to double-check you aren't hearing imaginary things again) escuché que llamaban mi nombre.
-Paola... Paola... Paola.
En serio. Parecía diálogo de mala película de terror. Al más puro estilo de algún filme del Santo. Al principio, como ví que nadie reaccionaba, supuse que sí estaba, de hecho, escuchando voces imaginarias otra vez. Yet, the whispers kept going on and getting louder.
Me empecé a poner un poco nerviosa. Digo, un perfecto extraño puede comenzar a hablarte, pero cuando murmuran tu nombre repetidamente -and in such a manic way, too- uno comienza a asustarse.
En fin, el wey ya estaba repitiendo mi nombre como mantra en un nivel de voz considerable, así que volteé a ver quien chingaba.
Oh sorpresa, era Gilberto; un wey que conocí en la UAM hace dos años y que aún recuerdo como el loser más urgido de la clase de Psicología Social. Seriously, this the guy that periodically went after anything that remotely resembled a female.
Recuerdo aquellos viejos tiempos: él, creyendo que Leo era toda una intelectual, la invitó al teatro. Al negarse cortésmente ella, invitó a Akemi, quien gusta vestir de negro y rojo pasión, a ir a tomar una chelas. La tierna y dulce Akemi lo mandó a la chingada sin más. Digo, Akemi-chan puede ser muy goth y sarcástica, pero tiene una aversión por el licor barato. Sólo buen vino para ella.
A mí, viéndome toda teta, pendeja y persignada (for some reason, everyone used to think that of me; must have been the long hair, glasses and childish looks. Sad thing when you are a precocious, bitchy girl) me invitó a La Feria y a tomar un helado. Yes, he asked me out to an amusement park and an ice cream shop, just like in a 1950's movies. How outdated is that?
He used to write saccharine notes to me in his butchered english. Algo como:
I so happy to have to meet a such nice, prety girl like your for my freind.
No recuerdo muy bien, tiene mucho tiempo. Pero sí me acuerdo de que Cuauhtémoc se burlaba sin cesar de mi infortunio (aw, such a sweet, caring boy he is) y Akemi casí se convulsionaba del horror que le producía el maltrecho inglés de Gilberto. Como profesora de inglés, le era tóxico tal nivel de pendejadas mal redactadas que este wey dejaba surgir de sus entrañas.
Era tan patético. Una vez me llamó para avisarme que no iría a clases (yeah, I too was perplexed as to why he thought I should be notified) y me mencionó que sentía una gran compatibilidad hacia mí, porque yo era una persona espiritual.
-¿Mande?
-Si, usted es una persona muy religiosa, ¿verdad?
-Soy atea (I was, back then).
-¡Ah! Este... usted es una persona con un gran alma. Con un gran amor a la vida.
Funny, and here I thought I was bipolar or something, what with all those continous depressions and suicidal urges I get now and then. You know? like when you are in the metro tracks and you wonder what it would be like if you just jumped in front of the train. Soy de ese tipo de personas.
ANYWAY, el caso es que aquí estaba yo, frente a este wey que no había visto -thank the lord- en más de dos años, en una micro atestada de gente y sin escape cercano.
-¿Eres Paola?
-Este (should I ...?) ¿sí?
-Te conocí hace tiempo.
- ¿Ah si? mira que interesante...
Deseaba que Sara interrumpiera la conversación o algo, pero mi dulce amiga estaba en la lela mirando hacia el espacio y no parecía percatarse de mi calvario. Entonces Gilberto comenzó a hablarme en algo que remotamente parecía inglés combinado con neanderthal, pero yo ya estaba impaciente y lo corté de tajo con un malhumorado "¿Qué?"
Le intentó de nuevo, pero al ver mi cara de pocos amigos se decidió por un idioma que sí pudiera pronunciar. Me mencionó que nos habíamos conocido en la UAM. Yo sabía quien era, pero por mi propia salud mental fingí demencia.
-¿En la UAM? tiene mucho que no voy. (As a matter of fact, I was there last tuesday in cinema class. Nearly a whole week! how time goes by).
-Sí, yo ya no he ido en 2 años.
Estoy segura de que la población femenina de la UAM agradece inmensamente a Dios la bendición de tu ausencia, Gilberto.
-Es mucho tiempo. ¿Cómo dices que te llamas? (Yeah right, like I hadn't remembered his name along with a few choice adjectives)
-Gilberto.
Sara, por fín, escogió ese momento para preguntarme dónde nos teníamos que bajar.
-Oye Gilberto, ¿hacia adónde está Ermita?
-Ya la pasamos desde hace rato.
-¡Vaya!, entonces mejor nos bajamos. ¡Cuidate!
Jalé a sara no del todo delicada por el brazo y presioné el botón para bajar. Mientras bajaba, ignorando los quejidos de Sara, alcanzé a escuchar al perv este preguntarme si vivía en el mismo lugar.
WTF? how the hell does he know where I used to live?
Scary.
Es increible; no teníamos por qué tomar la misma pesera que este wey. Nos subimos a esa pesera porque Sara la cagó y fuimos al paradero equivocado. Íbamos a esperar a unos amigos pero se tardaron demasiado y nos fuimos. Se nos hizo tarde e íbamos en chinga. Sara quería tomar taxi pero yo no quise.
Algún poder supremo conspira contra mí. En una pesera equis, en un momento determinado, Gilberto, un pendejete que no tolero y no había visto en más de dos años, y yo, coincidimos en rutas y nos encontramos (Insert Twilight Zone theme music here).
A la Humprey en Casablanca: Out of all the men in the city, out of all the micros around, HE had to walk into my pesera.
Cuauhtémoc se va a cagar de la risa cuando lo sepa.
Take today for example. Iba en una micro con una amiga rumbo al metro Xola, donde veríamos una exposición fotográfica. Como siempre, íbamos comparando desgracias familiares (annoying, tattling, copy-cat counsins, overprotective mothers and such), y me di cuenta que había un tipo en chamarra naranja tras de mí. But since it IS me, iba en la lela absoluta e ignoraba todo menos a Sara. Suddenly, in a creepy whisper, (the kind that makes you wanto to double-check you aren't hearing imaginary things again) escuché que llamaban mi nombre.
-Paola... Paola... Paola.
En serio. Parecía diálogo de mala película de terror. Al más puro estilo de algún filme del Santo. Al principio, como ví que nadie reaccionaba, supuse que sí estaba, de hecho, escuchando voces imaginarias otra vez. Yet, the whispers kept going on and getting louder.
Me empecé a poner un poco nerviosa. Digo, un perfecto extraño puede comenzar a hablarte, pero cuando murmuran tu nombre repetidamente -and in such a manic way, too- uno comienza a asustarse.
En fin, el wey ya estaba repitiendo mi nombre como mantra en un nivel de voz considerable, así que volteé a ver quien chingaba.
Oh sorpresa, era Gilberto; un wey que conocí en la UAM hace dos años y que aún recuerdo como el loser más urgido de la clase de Psicología Social. Seriously, this the guy that periodically went after anything that remotely resembled a female.
Recuerdo aquellos viejos tiempos: él, creyendo que Leo era toda una intelectual, la invitó al teatro. Al negarse cortésmente ella, invitó a Akemi, quien gusta vestir de negro y rojo pasión, a ir a tomar una chelas. La tierna y dulce Akemi lo mandó a la chingada sin más. Digo, Akemi-chan puede ser muy goth y sarcástica, pero tiene una aversión por el licor barato. Sólo buen vino para ella.
A mí, viéndome toda teta, pendeja y persignada (for some reason, everyone used to think that of me; must have been the long hair, glasses and childish looks. Sad thing when you are a precocious, bitchy girl) me invitó a La Feria y a tomar un helado. Yes, he asked me out to an amusement park and an ice cream shop, just like in a 1950's movies. How outdated is that?
He used to write saccharine notes to me in his butchered english. Algo como:
I so happy to have to meet a such nice, prety girl like your for my freind.
No recuerdo muy bien, tiene mucho tiempo. Pero sí me acuerdo de que Cuauhtémoc se burlaba sin cesar de mi infortunio (aw, such a sweet, caring boy he is) y Akemi casí se convulsionaba del horror que le producía el maltrecho inglés de Gilberto. Como profesora de inglés, le era tóxico tal nivel de pendejadas mal redactadas que este wey dejaba surgir de sus entrañas.
Era tan patético. Una vez me llamó para avisarme que no iría a clases (yeah, I too was perplexed as to why he thought I should be notified) y me mencionó que sentía una gran compatibilidad hacia mí, porque yo era una persona espiritual.
-¿Mande?
-Si, usted es una persona muy religiosa, ¿verdad?
-Soy atea (I was, back then).
-¡Ah! Este... usted es una persona con un gran alma. Con un gran amor a la vida.
Funny, and here I thought I was bipolar or something, what with all those continous depressions and suicidal urges I get now and then. You know? like when you are in the metro tracks and you wonder what it would be like if you just jumped in front of the train. Soy de ese tipo de personas.
ANYWAY, el caso es que aquí estaba yo, frente a este wey que no había visto -thank the lord- en más de dos años, en una micro atestada de gente y sin escape cercano.
-¿Eres Paola?
-Este (should I ...?) ¿sí?
-Te conocí hace tiempo.
- ¿Ah si? mira que interesante...
Deseaba que Sara interrumpiera la conversación o algo, pero mi dulce amiga estaba en la lela mirando hacia el espacio y no parecía percatarse de mi calvario. Entonces Gilberto comenzó a hablarme en algo que remotamente parecía inglés combinado con neanderthal, pero yo ya estaba impaciente y lo corté de tajo con un malhumorado "¿Qué?"
Le intentó de nuevo, pero al ver mi cara de pocos amigos se decidió por un idioma que sí pudiera pronunciar. Me mencionó que nos habíamos conocido en la UAM. Yo sabía quien era, pero por mi propia salud mental fingí demencia.
-¿En la UAM? tiene mucho que no voy. (As a matter of fact, I was there last tuesday in cinema class. Nearly a whole week! how time goes by).
-Sí, yo ya no he ido en 2 años.
Estoy segura de que la población femenina de la UAM agradece inmensamente a Dios la bendición de tu ausencia, Gilberto.
-Es mucho tiempo. ¿Cómo dices que te llamas? (Yeah right, like I hadn't remembered his name along with a few choice adjectives)
-Gilberto.
Sara, por fín, escogió ese momento para preguntarme dónde nos teníamos que bajar.
-Oye Gilberto, ¿hacia adónde está Ermita?
-Ya la pasamos desde hace rato.
-¡Vaya!, entonces mejor nos bajamos. ¡Cuidate!
Jalé a sara no del todo delicada por el brazo y presioné el botón para bajar. Mientras bajaba, ignorando los quejidos de Sara, alcanzé a escuchar al perv este preguntarme si vivía en el mismo lugar.
WTF? how the hell does he know where I used to live?
Scary.
Es increible; no teníamos por qué tomar la misma pesera que este wey. Nos subimos a esa pesera porque Sara la cagó y fuimos al paradero equivocado. Íbamos a esperar a unos amigos pero se tardaron demasiado y nos fuimos. Se nos hizo tarde e íbamos en chinga. Sara quería tomar taxi pero yo no quise.
Algún poder supremo conspira contra mí. En una pesera equis, en un momento determinado, Gilberto, un pendejete que no tolero y no había visto en más de dos años, y yo, coincidimos en rutas y nos encontramos (Insert Twilight Zone theme music here).
A la Humprey en Casablanca: Out of all the men in the city, out of all the micros around, HE had to walk into my pesera.
Cuauhtémoc se va a cagar de la risa cuando lo sepa.
Fue uno de esos sublimes días.
Que día tan maravilloso.... Sólo faltaba que me cagara un alegre pajarillo para que fuera la velada ideal.
Turns out today was a waste of a perfectly good afternoon. First off, I went to get my Psychology homework, but it turned out that the professor had already picked the copies up. Later, my Análisis teacher decided she would not grace un with her presence for my 4 to 6 class, followed by my 6 to 8 Marco Jurídico profa. who did not make an appearance either. Las muy perras…
I was naturally upset, since I could have watched my faculty's movie club picks of the day: Breakfast at Tiffany's and Gentlemen prefer blondes. But noooooooooo, I spent a good 40 minutes in each class waiting for someone to have the decency to show up. Una maldita nota en la puerta hubiera sido suficiente; chingaa, un pinche ladrido desde el estacionamiento de profesores hubiera bastado.
So I met up with up with a couple of semi friends; (de esos que están entre conocidos y amistades superficiales) and actually had an ok time, but one of them got all depressed and managed to get me all antsy just by the woe-is-me vibe she was dumping off in massive waves. The other was getting all sweet and corny with her new boyfriend, which could have been cute, except for the fact I'm a resentful bitch and don't like to see happy couples while I'm single. Que es siempre.. Alguien por favor sáqueme de mi miseria.
Afterwards I went up to my last class of the day, History (which I'm taking all over again, since I somehow managed to fail it by being my lazy self), from 8 to 10, but the damned asshole of a professor I've got wouldn't let me in¸ the uptight bastard he is. I wasn't even all that late, just about 15 minutes. Tomando en cuenta que para mí media hora de retraso es decente, llegué puntualísima. But he claimed they were having an activity or something like that. All I saw were my stupid little second semester classmates (¿era yo así de pendeja cuando estaba en segundo?) playing around with straws. Their minds must have been seriously challenged by such a feat.
Whatever. Not like I missed an unforgettable class or something. Or maybe I did; after all, try as I might, I can't forget that infamous line of my wise professor: "Díganme si no, cuando los españoles conquistaron México se inventó la comunicación en América". How fucked up is that? Ah, but I must remember this is the pendejo that claims information, communication and knowledge are synonyms. Y pensar que en sus cultas manos reposan las incautas mentes de los pequeños de segundo semestre. Y la mía, por el momento.
So I'm guessing this day was life's blatant (and redundant) way of telling me it doesn't care much for my peace of mind. In fact, it appears I can take my peace of mind and shove it up where the sun don't shine. And we ain't talking of Paris Hilton's brain, either (aunque estoy casi segura de que ese órgano en particular no ha sido iluminado desde que la niña aprendió a decir "that´s hot").
To hell with it. I'll just sleep it off. Nightie.
Turns out today was a waste of a perfectly good afternoon. First off, I went to get my Psychology homework, but it turned out that the professor had already picked the copies up. Later, my Análisis teacher decided she would not grace un with her presence for my 4 to 6 class, followed by my 6 to 8 Marco Jurídico profa. who did not make an appearance either. Las muy perras…
I was naturally upset, since I could have watched my faculty's movie club picks of the day: Breakfast at Tiffany's and Gentlemen prefer blondes. But noooooooooo, I spent a good 40 minutes in each class waiting for someone to have the decency to show up. Una maldita nota en la puerta hubiera sido suficiente; chingaa, un pinche ladrido desde el estacionamiento de profesores hubiera bastado.
So I met up with up with a couple of semi friends; (de esos que están entre conocidos y amistades superficiales) and actually had an ok time, but one of them got all depressed and managed to get me all antsy just by the woe-is-me vibe she was dumping off in massive waves. The other was getting all sweet and corny with her new boyfriend, which could have been cute, except for the fact I'm a resentful bitch and don't like to see happy couples while I'm single. Que es siempre.. Alguien por favor sáqueme de mi miseria.
Afterwards I went up to my last class of the day, History (which I'm taking all over again, since I somehow managed to fail it by being my lazy self), from 8 to 10, but the damned asshole of a professor I've got wouldn't let me in¸ the uptight bastard he is. I wasn't even all that late, just about 15 minutes. Tomando en cuenta que para mí media hora de retraso es decente, llegué puntualísima. But he claimed they were having an activity or something like that. All I saw were my stupid little second semester classmates (¿era yo así de pendeja cuando estaba en segundo?) playing around with straws. Their minds must have been seriously challenged by such a feat.
Whatever. Not like I missed an unforgettable class or something. Or maybe I did; after all, try as I might, I can't forget that infamous line of my wise professor: "Díganme si no, cuando los españoles conquistaron México se inventó la comunicación en América". How fucked up is that? Ah, but I must remember this is the pendejo that claims information, communication and knowledge are synonyms. Y pensar que en sus cultas manos reposan las incautas mentes de los pequeños de segundo semestre. Y la mía, por el momento.
So I'm guessing this day was life's blatant (and redundant) way of telling me it doesn't care much for my peace of mind. In fact, it appears I can take my peace of mind and shove it up where the sun don't shine. And we ain't talking of Paris Hilton's brain, either (aunque estoy casi segura de que ese órgano en particular no ha sido iluminado desde que la niña aprendió a decir "that´s hot").
To hell with it. I'll just sleep it off. Nightie.
I am alive!!!! ALIVE I tell you!!! Mwahahahahaha
It's been a very looong time since I posted, I know. But Im doing this for Ale, who claims he reads it. Let us see.
Pero no fue mi culpa, lo juro. Bueno, sí lo fue, pero la clave esta en la negación. El caso es que tuve un semestre de esos que se van en un espiral descendente rumbo a la fregada y son extremadamente dañinos para la salud. I fell very ill; probably because I didn´t sleep and my diet consisted of a steady supply of Standard University Junk Food. Léase Cazares con salsa Valentina y Boing de diversos sabores.
Terminé con varios males estomacales y perdí peso (that I readily gained back during winter vacation; who says only bears stock up on food and hibernate?). En serio, mal semestre.
Pero me recuperé y hasta pude llegar a la facu con un nuevo look. For I have finally accomplished one of the greatest goals of my young life: I finally cut my hair.
Sí, uno de mis mayores deseos era un corte de cabello. Soy muy triste, ¿qué puedo decir?
-BUT- it was no ordinary task. Lets take into account that I hadnt gotten a haircut in more than ten years.Tenía el cabello muy largo, más allá de las posaderas. A la Rapunzel, nada más que la versión pirata mexicana, con orzuela y todo. Y me hice mechones beige! Me dicen que se ve lindo y me alegro. Chance y ya no veo tan lela. Of course, to actually stop being one is a vastly different thing. No miracles here kiddos.
Soooooo, Updates:
Saris is my bestest friend again! Turns out she was having a rough time with the family, work and school. No aguanto a su primita, es una verdadera pesadilla. Es de esas princesitas acostumbradas a la buena vida (chirpy, squeaky voice included) que quieren siempre llamar la atención y se la pasa compitiendo por ello.
Recluimos al enano mayor, Pancho, en un internado militarizado en Tabasco. He rained on my moms parade one too many times, apparently. No sé que pensar sobre ello; era necesario, sin duda, pero es raro no tener a mi nene aqui para vivorear a la gente a gusto.
He seems to have adapted to military school just fine, though I do hope he becomes a better man, cuz if he doesnt, hes getting taught all he needs to become a very dangerous person. Al parecer, parte del curriculum educativo es combate con y sin armas, armar y disparar pistolas, resistencia, disciplina y coco-wash del bueno, de ese que intenta practicar el peje pero se queda corto. (The Force is not necesarily by his side, unless, of course, hordes of elderly people count as The Force).
Escogí la opción de publicidad. Todavía no sé por qué, pero creo que no me equivoqué. Espero. I really do hope.
Sleepy.
Cuidaos.
Pero no fue mi culpa, lo juro. Bueno, sí lo fue, pero la clave esta en la negación. El caso es que tuve un semestre de esos que se van en un espiral descendente rumbo a la fregada y son extremadamente dañinos para la salud. I fell very ill; probably because I didn´t sleep and my diet consisted of a steady supply of Standard University Junk Food. Léase Cazares con salsa Valentina y Boing de diversos sabores.
Terminé con varios males estomacales y perdí peso (that I readily gained back during winter vacation; who says only bears stock up on food and hibernate?). En serio, mal semestre.
Pero me recuperé y hasta pude llegar a la facu con un nuevo look. For I have finally accomplished one of the greatest goals of my young life: I finally cut my hair.
Sí, uno de mis mayores deseos era un corte de cabello. Soy muy triste, ¿qué puedo decir?
-BUT- it was no ordinary task. Lets take into account that I hadnt gotten a haircut in more than ten years.Tenía el cabello muy largo, más allá de las posaderas. A la Rapunzel, nada más que la versión pirata mexicana, con orzuela y todo. Y me hice mechones beige! Me dicen que se ve lindo y me alegro. Chance y ya no veo tan lela. Of course, to actually stop being one is a vastly different thing. No miracles here kiddos.
Soooooo, Updates:
Saris is my bestest friend again! Turns out she was having a rough time with the family, work and school. No aguanto a su primita, es una verdadera pesadilla. Es de esas princesitas acostumbradas a la buena vida (chirpy, squeaky voice included) que quieren siempre llamar la atención y se la pasa compitiendo por ello.
Recluimos al enano mayor, Pancho, en un internado militarizado en Tabasco. He rained on my moms parade one too many times, apparently. No sé que pensar sobre ello; era necesario, sin duda, pero es raro no tener a mi nene aqui para vivorear a la gente a gusto.
He seems to have adapted to military school just fine, though I do hope he becomes a better man, cuz if he doesnt, hes getting taught all he needs to become a very dangerous person. Al parecer, parte del curriculum educativo es combate con y sin armas, armar y disparar pistolas, resistencia, disciplina y coco-wash del bueno, de ese que intenta practicar el peje pero se queda corto. (The Force is not necesarily by his side, unless, of course, hordes of elderly people count as The Force).
Escogí la opción de publicidad. Todavía no sé por qué, pero creo que no me equivoqué. Espero. I really do hope.
Sleepy.
Cuidaos.
Friday, November 24, 2006
A cold day.
Mother asked me to go to bank the other day. It was sunday, she could go, but I was feeling complacent and agreed. I asked little Christian to go with me and, surprisingly, he actually did.
The bank is not far away from our apartment; only a couple of blocks, though we have to cross a mayor avenue on the way. We put our coats on and walked there.
It was a cold morning, enough to give a chill, but I didn't mind. The sky was a solid, light gray that was strangely comforting.
Gripping Christian's small hand, we made our way trough Marina Nacional during a stoplight.
Once on the sidewalk, Christian looked at me with his big, olive eyes, and asked me teach him how to run. I'm not exactly sporty; hell, it's been months since I last excercised. Yet, I felt like being childish: it had been so long since I allowed myself to act like a kid, if only for a second.
Smiling, I told him to run, and so he did, with me hot on his trail. Somewhere on the trail he lost a shoe and fell.
I turned and helped him up, found his shoe and tied it. Our laughter rose into the air, where it mingled luxuriously for a second, interwinding in a subtle caress to my sore heart.
Only for a minute.
My peripheral vision caught the ATM guard looking at us strangely. I sighed and held Christian's hand again, getting into the booth to retrieve the money.
But when I left, I was smiling.
In that one minute, it all seemed to go away. The depression, sadness, pain, annoyance, even hatred. My doubts and insecurities, lethargy and insignificance. It all leaked into the air, rushing past me in my haste.
For a moment I was wind against a face, shoes against the pavement, a coat fluttering in the cold. I was nothing and everything, and nothing at all.
I was happy.
And when I walked into the apartment, I was still smiling.
The bank is not far away from our apartment; only a couple of blocks, though we have to cross a mayor avenue on the way. We put our coats on and walked there.
It was a cold morning, enough to give a chill, but I didn't mind. The sky was a solid, light gray that was strangely comforting.
Gripping Christian's small hand, we made our way trough Marina Nacional during a stoplight.
Once on the sidewalk, Christian looked at me with his big, olive eyes, and asked me teach him how to run. I'm not exactly sporty; hell, it's been months since I last excercised. Yet, I felt like being childish: it had been so long since I allowed myself to act like a kid, if only for a second.
Smiling, I told him to run, and so he did, with me hot on his trail. Somewhere on the trail he lost a shoe and fell.
I turned and helped him up, found his shoe and tied it. Our laughter rose into the air, where it mingled luxuriously for a second, interwinding in a subtle caress to my sore heart.
Only for a minute.
My peripheral vision caught the ATM guard looking at us strangely. I sighed and held Christian's hand again, getting into the booth to retrieve the money.
But when I left, I was smiling.
In that one minute, it all seemed to go away. The depression, sadness, pain, annoyance, even hatred. My doubts and insecurities, lethargy and insignificance. It all leaked into the air, rushing past me in my haste.
For a moment I was wind against a face, shoes against the pavement, a coat fluttering in the cold. I was nothing and everything, and nothing at all.
I was happy.
And when I walked into the apartment, I was still smiling.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Well... I got my lasik surgery done.
And it was no walk in soft, blissful meadows, either.
Dijeron que no dolería, que la molestia sería mínima. Mintieron. It hurt! Digo, no fue un dolor agonizante, nada como lo que sufriré cuando decida procrear, pero aún así, I could feel the laser cutting into my eye! and my eyes burnt afterwards. No sé que me hizo pensar que permitir que un rayo laser se acercara a mi ojo (parte que no se regenenera de mi cuerpo, por cierto) sería buena idea. Sólo espero que haya funcionado y que no me tengan que volver a operar de nuevo. Oh, my beautiful baby browns!!! What have I done to you?!!!
Anyhoo... al menos mi familia se comportó lindísima. Mi mamá me llevó y se quedó conmigo. Cuando salí me ayudó a vestirme y a caminar, porque por un segundo me quedé ciega, which was freaking scary, not to mention painful. No obstante, I must have managed to still look smashing, even with swollen, teary eyes, porque cuando me encontraba convalesciente en el carro me preguntó si quería ir a comer a un Vips. Apparently, she had a craving for some tostadas.
I, being the sweet, thoughtful daughter I am, le dije que si quería fuéramos. Sin embargo, algo le ha de haber hecho ver la luz de la razón (I strongly believe it must have been my woeful tone of voice) porque decidió que mejor prepararía las tostadas en casa.
Mis hermanos se portaron muy bien. Sorpendentemente bien. Lucky me.
Dijeron que no dolería, que la molestia sería mínima. Mintieron. It hurt! Digo, no fue un dolor agonizante, nada como lo que sufriré cuando decida procrear, pero aún así, I could feel the laser cutting into my eye! and my eyes burnt afterwards. No sé que me hizo pensar que permitir que un rayo laser se acercara a mi ojo (parte que no se regenenera de mi cuerpo, por cierto) sería buena idea. Sólo espero que haya funcionado y que no me tengan que volver a operar de nuevo. Oh, my beautiful baby browns!!! What have I done to you?!!!
Anyhoo... al menos mi familia se comportó lindísima. Mi mamá me llevó y se quedó conmigo. Cuando salí me ayudó a vestirme y a caminar, porque por un segundo me quedé ciega, which was freaking scary, not to mention painful. No obstante, I must have managed to still look smashing, even with swollen, teary eyes, porque cuando me encontraba convalesciente en el carro me preguntó si quería ir a comer a un Vips. Apparently, she had a craving for some tostadas.
I, being the sweet, thoughtful daughter I am, le dije que si quería fuéramos. Sin embargo, algo le ha de haber hecho ver la luz de la razón (I strongly believe it must have been my woeful tone of voice) porque decidió que mejor prepararía las tostadas en casa.
Mis hermanos se portaron muy bien. Sorpendentemente bien. Lucky me.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Odio mi vida
I know I say it often, but it IS true. Sometimes I really do hate the way I live my life and everything about it. Or maybe I need vitamins. Who cares, the thing is, lately everything is been complete and utter HELL. In capitals, too.
En primera, los maestros son unos pinches, malditos, jijos de su chichimeca madre.
Seriously, all I can do lately is homework. Literally. Just as an example, I spent this glorious sunday afternoon in the central library in the UNAM doing homework with my journalism team. We have to do the very typical and equally stupid task of making a newspaper. Funny how most of us DON´T want to be journalists...
I, for once in my life, was actually half an hour early, while my team was houlf an hour late. So I had to wait an hour for the first one to show up. I hate how most of us mexicans have a problem with punctuality, but then, I´ve been known to arrive an hour and a half late, so I really shouldn´t complain.
The meeting was pure hell; I hate having to deal with children who can´t seem to do things by themselves. I hate my team. Period.
But then, my Comunication Proyect Design team is no better. There I actually do have to play mommy for a bunch of clueless idiots who can´t think to save their lives, much less write decently. Come on people, I´m not asking for Nobel-worthy literature, just for simple grammar and sintaxis. It wouldn´t hurt if they knew how spell and use accents, either.
And to think I have to lead them in a tv production class for children, for which we have to be somehow paid. Who is going to pay me to teach kids the basics of tv production? Maybe I should make a fund: Give-money-and-help-a-poor-innocent-child-not-fail-class fund.
Mi vida familiar es un vil y putrefacto asco.
The other day I had a row with my mom; It all started with me telling her she never was open to discussion and concluded with her throwing me a spoon. Charming, I live among mature adults.
As much as I love my brothers, they do tend to drive me insane. Seriously so. Today we went out do dine in a Woolworth (which, for some strange reason, is one of moms fave casual restaurants) and I had a terrible headache. The kids kept on banging their silverware on the table and I asked them to quit it, but they went on until I confiscated the dammned things, and then they whinned and bitched until I gave it back so they could resume banging on the table.
At least the pozole made my pain a bit better. The tamarind water, though, was a disgrace. I dont´t think they understand that Aguas frescas implies they actually use natural fruit to make it, not some Cool-aid crap. How globalization hits us all...
Mis amigas, mis queridas amigas son un AMOR!
A quién trato de engañar... I´m actually feeling tired of my bestest friends. Saris, weird as it is, is not being a bitch, but rather decent and human being. Still, I hardly ever see her, though we skip the ocassional class or stay late (in my case) or get there early (in hers) so that we can chat for a while. I miss her being in the morning classes, but I hear the afternoon classes are much calmer.
Palmera, though, is annoying me. She´s keeping secrets from me! Stupid, worthless secrets too!
I mean, I understand if she decided to not tell me she is gay, or really a guy, or that she stole my boyfriend (who I haven´t had the time to break up with, sad as it is, cuz the guy keeps calling and I keep ignoring him). I mean, that´s either private or does not conduce to a safe, friendly enviroment. But no, she´s keeping football secrets. Sí, como oyeron. Football. Fútbol. Soccer.
Last monday she told me that she would have to leave early because she had to go to the doctor. Then she told Ale that she was going to do something with her sister. Then yesterday she told me that she could not get to the journalism meeting in time, but that she would get there a bit late.
Then I found out that the Pumas played today agianst Toluca (we lost too, 3-1) and I thought that she might have gone there. Then Ángel told me that she had mentioned to him something about getting tickets for the game. She get´s them for free because she is on a scholarship.
So, basically, she lied to me about something totally stupid. And then she didn´t bother to show up because I didn´t "confirm we were meeting". The Estadio Olímpico is a next to the central library. She couldn´t cross ONE dammned avenue, Insurgentes, to just check if we were there doing homework. I´m very, very upset with her, and I plan to tell her something tomorrow.
We´ll see.
I´m off now, must finish homework.
Mientras tanto, no dejen de ver las noticias. Chance y algo pasa y me sacan de mi miseria.
En primera, los maestros son unos pinches, malditos, jijos de su chichimeca madre.
Seriously, all I can do lately is homework. Literally. Just as an example, I spent this glorious sunday afternoon in the central library in the UNAM doing homework with my journalism team. We have to do the very typical and equally stupid task of making a newspaper. Funny how most of us DON´T want to be journalists...
I, for once in my life, was actually half an hour early, while my team was houlf an hour late. So I had to wait an hour for the first one to show up. I hate how most of us mexicans have a problem with punctuality, but then, I´ve been known to arrive an hour and a half late, so I really shouldn´t complain.
The meeting was pure hell; I hate having to deal with children who can´t seem to do things by themselves. I hate my team. Period.
But then, my Comunication Proyect Design team is no better. There I actually do have to play mommy for a bunch of clueless idiots who can´t think to save their lives, much less write decently. Come on people, I´m not asking for Nobel-worthy literature, just for simple grammar and sintaxis. It wouldn´t hurt if they knew how spell and use accents, either.
And to think I have to lead them in a tv production class for children, for which we have to be somehow paid. Who is going to pay me to teach kids the basics of tv production? Maybe I should make a fund: Give-money-and-help-a-poor-innocent-child-not-fail-class fund.
Mi vida familiar es un vil y putrefacto asco.
The other day I had a row with my mom; It all started with me telling her she never was open to discussion and concluded with her throwing me a spoon. Charming, I live among mature adults.
As much as I love my brothers, they do tend to drive me insane. Seriously so. Today we went out do dine in a Woolworth (which, for some strange reason, is one of moms fave casual restaurants) and I had a terrible headache. The kids kept on banging their silverware on the table and I asked them to quit it, but they went on until I confiscated the dammned things, and then they whinned and bitched until I gave it back so they could resume banging on the table.
At least the pozole made my pain a bit better. The tamarind water, though, was a disgrace. I dont´t think they understand that Aguas frescas implies they actually use natural fruit to make it, not some Cool-aid crap. How globalization hits us all...
Mis amigas, mis queridas amigas son un AMOR!
A quién trato de engañar... I´m actually feeling tired of my bestest friends. Saris, weird as it is, is not being a bitch, but rather decent and human being. Still, I hardly ever see her, though we skip the ocassional class or stay late (in my case) or get there early (in hers) so that we can chat for a while. I miss her being in the morning classes, but I hear the afternoon classes are much calmer.
Palmera, though, is annoying me. She´s keeping secrets from me! Stupid, worthless secrets too!
I mean, I understand if she decided to not tell me she is gay, or really a guy, or that she stole my boyfriend (who I haven´t had the time to break up with, sad as it is, cuz the guy keeps calling and I keep ignoring him). I mean, that´s either private or does not conduce to a safe, friendly enviroment. But no, she´s keeping football secrets. Sí, como oyeron. Football. Fútbol. Soccer.
Last monday she told me that she would have to leave early because she had to go to the doctor. Then she told Ale that she was going to do something with her sister. Then yesterday she told me that she could not get to the journalism meeting in time, but that she would get there a bit late.
Then I found out that the Pumas played today agianst Toluca (we lost too, 3-1) and I thought that she might have gone there. Then Ángel told me that she had mentioned to him something about getting tickets for the game. She get´s them for free because she is on a scholarship.
So, basically, she lied to me about something totally stupid. And then she didn´t bother to show up because I didn´t "confirm we were meeting". The Estadio Olímpico is a next to the central library. She couldn´t cross ONE dammned avenue, Insurgentes, to just check if we were there doing homework. I´m very, very upset with her, and I plan to tell her something tomorrow.
We´ll see.
I´m off now, must finish homework.
Mientras tanto, no dejen de ver las noticias. Chance y algo pasa y me sacan de mi miseria.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
I´m such a bitch....
No puedo negarlo, simplemente lo soy. Conocí a un chavo, dulce, divertido, no guapo, pero he andado con peores (I´ve had my baaaad moments) de la manera más estúpida posible, que debió de haberme servido como presagio para no entrarle al asunto. Una noche fuera con las niñas a un antro (palmeris suffered the painful affront to her ideals) condujo a que Zaris conociera a su último ex (she readily dumped him a few weeks into the relationship, as usual), que llevó a que este wey por alguna razón le mostrara una foto de las tres a su hermano cuando estaba junto con su mejor amigo.
Sooo, este tipo (Zaris´ex-boyfriend´s brother´s best friend) me llama de la nada, diciendo que soy lindísima y demás y que nos tenemos que conocer. He sounded like a nice enough guy, hace ejercicio, toca en una banda, estudia en la UAM, he sounded funny... Así que accedí a verlo. Three times, no less, which is a record for me. Es un buen chico, en serio, pero ya me hartó. Es demasiado cursi, se la pasa enviando mensajes mamilas, me llama diario, es fan obsesivo de alguna banda obscura y poco conocida, no es tan gracioso después de todo, no tenemos nada realmente en común y no hay nada de química por mi parte. He even used this really stupid line on me once "si nos vemos directamente a los ojos, eventualmente no enamoraremos". So far, he´s been totally off.
Now, I know I´m simply horrid with men. I lead them on for a couple of days and dump them soon after, when the whole interest-on-my-part-thing dies.
Uno creería que alguien con un resumé como el mío sabría cómo demonios deshacerse de un pseudo-novio no deseado. Sin embargo, no tengo la más mínimaidea de como chingaos hacerlo, considerando que las últimas dos ocaciones no resultó tan bien. Darn, I miss my teenage sweetheart, who acted so maturely even when I broke up with him. That guy was a keeper. Too bad I was moving to another country.
Lo he consultado con varias personas, incluyendo a tres hombres (my beloved Alex Banks White included) y me han dado tres respuestas: 1) Mándalo a la chingada sencilla y llanamente; 2) Deja de responder a sus llamadas hasta que la capte y se harte; 3) Se una persona madura y presentate físicamente para darle las malas nueva de una manera cortés pero tajante. Creo que la más apta es la última opción, en especial considerando que tengo un video suyo.
I´m beginning to think I´m a serious danger to men who look my way. Cero y van tres; ¿No es eso el límite?
Cuestionaría mi sexualidad, pero un tipo ya me ha idiotizado antes. Entonces, o soy muy perfeccionista hasta en eso o la verdad pura miseria se fija en mí. Not so good for my self esteem...
Así que voy a tirar a este wey, volver a mi vida de soltera urgida y solitaria y tratar de alejarme de los hombres otra vez, para evitar todo este engorroso asunto de botar a los hombres después de unas dos o tres citas. And I look so young, so innocent and inoffensive...
En otras cosas, brief summary of things done since the last post:
Sooo, este tipo (Zaris´ex-boyfriend´s brother´s best friend) me llama de la nada, diciendo que soy lindísima y demás y que nos tenemos que conocer. He sounded like a nice enough guy, hace ejercicio, toca en una banda, estudia en la UAM, he sounded funny... Así que accedí a verlo. Three times, no less, which is a record for me. Es un buen chico, en serio, pero ya me hartó. Es demasiado cursi, se la pasa enviando mensajes mamilas, me llama diario, es fan obsesivo de alguna banda obscura y poco conocida, no es tan gracioso después de todo, no tenemos nada realmente en común y no hay nada de química por mi parte. He even used this really stupid line on me once "si nos vemos directamente a los ojos, eventualmente no enamoraremos". So far, he´s been totally off.
Now, I know I´m simply horrid with men. I lead them on for a couple of days and dump them soon after, when the whole interest-on-my-part-thing dies.
Uno creería que alguien con un resumé como el mío sabría cómo demonios deshacerse de un pseudo-novio no deseado. Sin embargo, no tengo la más mínimaidea de como chingaos hacerlo, considerando que las últimas dos ocaciones no resultó tan bien. Darn, I miss my teenage sweetheart, who acted so maturely even when I broke up with him. That guy was a keeper. Too bad I was moving to another country.
Lo he consultado con varias personas, incluyendo a tres hombres (my beloved Alex Banks White included) y me han dado tres respuestas: 1) Mándalo a la chingada sencilla y llanamente; 2) Deja de responder a sus llamadas hasta que la capte y se harte; 3) Se una persona madura y presentate físicamente para darle las malas nueva de una manera cortés pero tajante. Creo que la más apta es la última opción, en especial considerando que tengo un video suyo.
I´m beginning to think I´m a serious danger to men who look my way. Cero y van tres; ¿No es eso el límite?
Cuestionaría mi sexualidad, pero un tipo ya me ha idiotizado antes. Entonces, o soy muy perfeccionista hasta en eso o la verdad pura miseria se fija en mí. Not so good for my self esteem...
Así que voy a tirar a este wey, volver a mi vida de soltera urgida y solitaria y tratar de alejarme de los hombres otra vez, para evitar todo este engorroso asunto de botar a los hombres después de unas dos o tres citas. And I look so young, so innocent and inoffensive...
En otras cosas, brief summary of things done since the last post:
- Vi El increíble castillo vagabundo de Hayao Miyazaki, creador de El viaje de Chihiro, Princess Mononoke and My neighbor Totoro, entre otras. Como siempre, salí con el corazón hecho una gran bola de fluff, añorando ese tipo de romance y preguntándome por qué demonios yo no tengo acceso a eso (maybe because I dump them befor we get to that).
- No he cumplido en la escuela como es debido y el Profesor Carrásco me la sentenció de una manera tan cortés y gentil que me hizo sentir larva, en las sabias palabras del Profesor Molina.
- Fui con la Palmera a una tienda de videos VHS/Sexshop (weird combination when not dealing with pornos, really. But good movies, altough the sexshop was a bit of a letdown) y los clientes del sexshop nos creyeron lesbianas, por lo que nos miraban extrañados. We should get used to it, people have though us lesbians before. I wonder what gives off that impressión.
- Sarandeada sigue actuando como toda una maldita; parece que ya nos descartó en favor de otras viejas. Two years of friendship, forgotten just like that.
- It´s nearly been a year since daddy´s demise. I feel all weird thinking about that.
- Fue el cumpleaños de mi mamá; aflojé (yo, solita, por mi cuenta, sin la ayuda de nadie) $450 pesos en un set de aretes, anillo, brazalete y gargantilla de plata con cristales de swarovski. Con lo coda que soy, me dolió hasta donde no.
- Still having problems with mom, but that´s a constant.
- Hoy ya es el Día de la Independencia. ¡Viva México Cabrones! y demás. Today we celebrate our independence from Mother Spain only to become the US´s backyard, as a truthful politician once said (he got immediately fired, wonder why).
- Aún así adoro a mi país y a la mayoría de su gente (there are exceptions, of course). Les deseo un feliz 15 de septiembre. Disfruten su puente, el grito, el tequila y los fuegos artificiales. Critiquen al presidente y a Martíta, a los precandidatos. Disfruten de lo bueno antes de volver a nuestra paupérrima cotidianeidad.
Así que ¡Viva México cabrones!
And don´t you forget it.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
He estado meditando sobre las mujeres y sus relaciones con sus respectivas madres.
I have come to the conclusión that most women (I haven't quite talked to men about this to see their point of view) tend to fall under one of two categories: 1) either they idolize their mums and spend every waking moment as near to them as they can; or 2) they resent their mothers and tend to want to be as far away, or as different, from them as it's humanly possible.
You can distinguish them since the first will likely talk about her mother in every conversation you have ("y entonces fui con mi mamá a tomar un café", "mi mamá me comentó que...", "estaba visitando a mi mamá"). The second, on the other hand, will most likely never talk about her mother unless she is complaining and her greatest fear is to someday wake up and realize she has become her mom (matenme porfavor, no quiero continuar con la maldición).
¿Y yo en que categoría caigo? Con todo el dolor de mi alma, en la segunda.
Truth is, as a child I idolized my mom: I did everything she asked of me and believed her to be the Absolute Bearer of Truth. I grew up being very close to her and being always atentive to her wishes and needs, and while I recognized that she messed up sometimes, I always excused her, no matter how childish she could be.
y entonces llegó la "adultez".
And then I realized that she was human. Suddenly, she was just another person and I began to see her flaws in a completely different way. I realized, quite shocked, that I resented her. For several reasons, no less. No me malinterpreten, I love her dearly and couldn´t envision my life without her. However, she fell rather nastily from her altar and I saw all that I had not seen before.
Mi madre no sólo es humana, sino que es castrante (de manera figurativa, claro, no puedo ser castrada ténicamente...), obsesiva, posesiva, bipolar, temperamental, violenta, autocompasiva, depresiva, impulsiva, floja, egoista, narcisista, paranoica...
And I probably forgot some other adorable traits. Sure, she is also a loving, liberal, defensive and somewhat devoted mother who really does care for us and tries to do her best. It´s just that her best usually comes at our expense.
When I entered college I realized that most kids did not have to raise their younger siblings, that it was perfectly acceptable to go out with friends on weekends and that having the occasional boyfriend was not supposed to be a maratonic spree of hide and seek. I mean, it´s not that I didn´t notice it before, it´s just that it never seemed so pathetic as it did then. And does now.
My mother is the kind of woman who believed her husband to be unfaithful, the need for evidence be damned, and had no qualms discussing it in front of her children. Por lo tanto, I was subjected for years to the emotionally-scarring torture of seeing my mother pick fights with my stepfather, who I always considered my real dad. No dudo que mi padre haya sido menos que perfecto, but I never saw daddy treat mom wrongly. If he did, he hid it rather well, while my mom didn´t. This put her in a rather unfavorable position, since she came out looking like the villian in a Cuento Vaquero, bad dialogue included.
Sometimes the fights were justified, like when dad picked on one of us and mom defended us, he got all macho and picked fights with other drivers, or when he came home upset and began a Reign of Terror while we cowered, trying not to invoke his screaming anger. Other times, however, she begun fights for incredibly irrational reasons, like the time dad wanted to hear Barry White after one of her typical bad-cumbia marathons and she screamed of how unfair it was because he didn´t take her out to have fun.
Muchas veces iniciaba peleas sin razón válida y yo le mencionaba que tratara de dejar competir con Elba Esther Gordillo por el mayor número de disputas dentro de un mismo partido. She never paid attention, claiming she would never let herself be treated badly again. She fought with daddy nearly daily right up to the morning he had a brain hemorrhage and he did not ask her for help, perhaps because she was upset, or perhaps because he did not think it was a big deal and stupidly tried to be strong. No creo saberlo nunca.
Dad lasted all of 11 days before he could not hold on anymore. It was a painful, tiring and horrid affair for everyone involved. When daddy finally passed away I felt one of the only good parts in me wilt with a rather destructive force, and though I was sourrounded by many, I was really alone. Pero después de todo, siempre lo estoy.
I needed my mother. So did my brothers. We needed unity, but she was too consumed in her own pain and guilt to even bother to return our hugs, let alone help us deal with our father´s passing.
The kids were affected by it, but they, like kids do, seemed to bounce back much better than I. No sé como, pero lo asimilaron de manera sorprendente, aunque probablemente hay cicatrices.
A lo mejor fue que no tuvieron que ver lo que yo. They never saw my dad cry, immobile, incapable to speak or move anything but his eyes. They did not spend endless nights in stiff plastic chairs, holding daddy´s hand against their cheeks and speaking soft words of encouragements and promises of things that we would never do again.
They didn´t live through That Night, the one where the doctor and nurses rushed in a last effort to save dad. Where the doctor said that daddy would not make it, and that it would be a good idea to call my mom. They did not have to swallow their tears and walk back into that room, pretend to be strong and speak to daddy about how everything was going to be fine.
That Night I stood alone for hours, holding dad´s hand and looking out the window of the sixth floor (neurocirugía) of Hospital La Raza, watching the rain fall upon an always lively Mexico City in the early hours before dawn; waiting for my mother and trying not to drown in sorrow; willing myself not to break down and sob, because that was the last thing dad needed. I never, ever, felt so alone and lonely as I did then.
Sí, quedé muy traumatizada por eso. Mamá también, pero a ella le fue peor, porque sintió todo el peso de la culpa acumulada en esos días. For the last 11 days she wondered if things could have been differently; if she had not been so bitchy with dad that morning before he collapsed, would he have said anything? Could it all have been avoided? Had she been a bad wife?
No voy a mentir. Siempre le dije a mamá que no, que todas las parejas discuten. En realidad, sólo era de dientes para afuera, porque no podía sentir pena por ella. Se lo había dicho muchas veces antes y me ignoró. No había sido una esposa atroz, pero pudo haber sido una mucho mejor. I do not blame her, I do not think she is guilty of anything, any more than I am. I do not condemn her, that is not my job. I, however, do not excuse her behavior either. She is a grown woman who had her reasons and made her choices; it is up to her to evaluate her behavior now.
She has not matured. She has not grown up. Neither have I. I resent her, and sometimes wish I could just go far away and forget all. I love her yet hate many things about her. Aunque suene como mala canción.
I feel she is rude, crude and impolite. She is superficial and immature. She feels all men want to seduce her and all women are out to get her. Her idea of help is for others to take over her responsabilities. She has some seriously paranoid moments where she blames people for things that are hardly believable or even plausible. She is controlling, bad-spoken, and lazy.
She complains she never goes out, but she never lets me do it either, under the pretense that I will have my whole life to do it. She constantly complains that I am fat, saying that she does it to inspire me to lose weight. She is volatile and treats the kids like crap when she gets upset for any reason, until I have to tell her to not be so offensive. Y eso que mi boca no es de santa.
Pancho, my 13 year old brother, resents her as well. He feels she is paranoid, bitchy and immature. He complains on her laziness, which comes down to an all-time record when she calls on us from our various duties, like homework, just so that we can change the channel or answer the phone when it is right in front of her. Él es más valiente, él si se hecha sus rounds. Aunque, claro, siempre pierde, como tiende a pasar en los matriarcados.
Si alguna vez se preguntaron por qué estoy tan dañada, ps ya lo saben. Una muy mala combinacíón de genes defectuosos con una infancia de las que no salen en Disney. De esas en las que no hay querubines rechonchos y culones, pero sí pajaritos cantarines que te la mientan melódicamente. Donde el conejito peludo sí brinca ansiosamente a tus brazos amorosos, pero no por bondad, sino porque tiene rabia y quiere morderte con sus babeantes fauces.
Así como la ven, pudo haber sido mucho peor.
You can distinguish them since the first will likely talk about her mother in every conversation you have ("y entonces fui con mi mamá a tomar un café", "mi mamá me comentó que...", "estaba visitando a mi mamá"). The second, on the other hand, will most likely never talk about her mother unless she is complaining and her greatest fear is to someday wake up and realize she has become her mom (matenme porfavor, no quiero continuar con la maldición).
¿Y yo en que categoría caigo? Con todo el dolor de mi alma, en la segunda.
Truth is, as a child I idolized my mom: I did everything she asked of me and believed her to be the Absolute Bearer of Truth. I grew up being very close to her and being always atentive to her wishes and needs, and while I recognized that she messed up sometimes, I always excused her, no matter how childish she could be.
y entonces llegó la "adultez".
And then I realized that she was human. Suddenly, she was just another person and I began to see her flaws in a completely different way. I realized, quite shocked, that I resented her. For several reasons, no less. No me malinterpreten, I love her dearly and couldn´t envision my life without her. However, she fell rather nastily from her altar and I saw all that I had not seen before.
Mi madre no sólo es humana, sino que es castrante (de manera figurativa, claro, no puedo ser castrada ténicamente...), obsesiva, posesiva, bipolar, temperamental, violenta, autocompasiva, depresiva, impulsiva, floja, egoista, narcisista, paranoica...
And I probably forgot some other adorable traits. Sure, she is also a loving, liberal, defensive and somewhat devoted mother who really does care for us and tries to do her best. It´s just that her best usually comes at our expense.
When I entered college I realized that most kids did not have to raise their younger siblings, that it was perfectly acceptable to go out with friends on weekends and that having the occasional boyfriend was not supposed to be a maratonic spree of hide and seek. I mean, it´s not that I didn´t notice it before, it´s just that it never seemed so pathetic as it did then. And does now.
My mother is the kind of woman who believed her husband to be unfaithful, the need for evidence be damned, and had no qualms discussing it in front of her children. Por lo tanto, I was subjected for years to the emotionally-scarring torture of seeing my mother pick fights with my stepfather, who I always considered my real dad. No dudo que mi padre haya sido menos que perfecto, but I never saw daddy treat mom wrongly. If he did, he hid it rather well, while my mom didn´t. This put her in a rather unfavorable position, since she came out looking like the villian in a Cuento Vaquero, bad dialogue included.
Sometimes the fights were justified, like when dad picked on one of us and mom defended us, he got all macho and picked fights with other drivers, or when he came home upset and began a Reign of Terror while we cowered, trying not to invoke his screaming anger. Other times, however, she begun fights for incredibly irrational reasons, like the time dad wanted to hear Barry White after one of her typical bad-cumbia marathons and she screamed of how unfair it was because he didn´t take her out to have fun.
Muchas veces iniciaba peleas sin razón válida y yo le mencionaba que tratara de dejar competir con Elba Esther Gordillo por el mayor número de disputas dentro de un mismo partido. She never paid attention, claiming she would never let herself be treated badly again. She fought with daddy nearly daily right up to the morning he had a brain hemorrhage and he did not ask her for help, perhaps because she was upset, or perhaps because he did not think it was a big deal and stupidly tried to be strong. No creo saberlo nunca.
Dad lasted all of 11 days before he could not hold on anymore. It was a painful, tiring and horrid affair for everyone involved. When daddy finally passed away I felt one of the only good parts in me wilt with a rather destructive force, and though I was sourrounded by many, I was really alone. Pero después de todo, siempre lo estoy.
I needed my mother. So did my brothers. We needed unity, but she was too consumed in her own pain and guilt to even bother to return our hugs, let alone help us deal with our father´s passing.
The kids were affected by it, but they, like kids do, seemed to bounce back much better than I. No sé como, pero lo asimilaron de manera sorprendente, aunque probablemente hay cicatrices.
A lo mejor fue que no tuvieron que ver lo que yo. They never saw my dad cry, immobile, incapable to speak or move anything but his eyes. They did not spend endless nights in stiff plastic chairs, holding daddy´s hand against their cheeks and speaking soft words of encouragements and promises of things that we would never do again.
They didn´t live through That Night, the one where the doctor and nurses rushed in a last effort to save dad. Where the doctor said that daddy would not make it, and that it would be a good idea to call my mom. They did not have to swallow their tears and walk back into that room, pretend to be strong and speak to daddy about how everything was going to be fine.
That Night I stood alone for hours, holding dad´s hand and looking out the window of the sixth floor (neurocirugía) of Hospital La Raza, watching the rain fall upon an always lively Mexico City in the early hours before dawn; waiting for my mother and trying not to drown in sorrow; willing myself not to break down and sob, because that was the last thing dad needed. I never, ever, felt so alone and lonely as I did then.
Sí, quedé muy traumatizada por eso. Mamá también, pero a ella le fue peor, porque sintió todo el peso de la culpa acumulada en esos días. For the last 11 days she wondered if things could have been differently; if she had not been so bitchy with dad that morning before he collapsed, would he have said anything? Could it all have been avoided? Had she been a bad wife?
No voy a mentir. Siempre le dije a mamá que no, que todas las parejas discuten. En realidad, sólo era de dientes para afuera, porque no podía sentir pena por ella. Se lo había dicho muchas veces antes y me ignoró. No había sido una esposa atroz, pero pudo haber sido una mucho mejor. I do not blame her, I do not think she is guilty of anything, any more than I am. I do not condemn her, that is not my job. I, however, do not excuse her behavior either. She is a grown woman who had her reasons and made her choices; it is up to her to evaluate her behavior now.
She has not matured. She has not grown up. Neither have I. I resent her, and sometimes wish I could just go far away and forget all. I love her yet hate many things about her. Aunque suene como mala canción.
I feel she is rude, crude and impolite. She is superficial and immature. She feels all men want to seduce her and all women are out to get her. Her idea of help is for others to take over her responsabilities. She has some seriously paranoid moments where she blames people for things that are hardly believable or even plausible. She is controlling, bad-spoken, and lazy.
She complains she never goes out, but she never lets me do it either, under the pretense that I will have my whole life to do it. She constantly complains that I am fat, saying that she does it to inspire me to lose weight. She is volatile and treats the kids like crap when she gets upset for any reason, until I have to tell her to not be so offensive. Y eso que mi boca no es de santa.
Pancho, my 13 year old brother, resents her as well. He feels she is paranoid, bitchy and immature. He complains on her laziness, which comes down to an all-time record when she calls on us from our various duties, like homework, just so that we can change the channel or answer the phone when it is right in front of her. Él es más valiente, él si se hecha sus rounds. Aunque, claro, siempre pierde, como tiende a pasar en los matriarcados.
Si alguna vez se preguntaron por qué estoy tan dañada, ps ya lo saben. Una muy mala combinacíón de genes defectuosos con una infancia de las que no salen en Disney. De esas en las que no hay querubines rechonchos y culones, pero sí pajaritos cantarines que te la mientan melódicamente. Donde el conejito peludo sí brinca ansiosamente a tus brazos amorosos, pero no por bondad, sino porque tiene rabia y quiere morderte con sus babeantes fauces.
Así como la ven, pudo haber sido mucho peor.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Wonderful, wonderful day, as always.
Pues resulta que una de mis íntimas se fue de loca a acampar con su ex que ya no es tan ex, juzgando por las cosas que han pasado. Según esto, la usualmente consciente e inteligente niña tuvo un momento de pendejez e hizo algo que no debía. Bueno, al menos no sin preservativos (happens to the the best of us, I say).
Antes de que el Yunke en alianza con el PAN y la iglesia católica decidan quemarla en leña verde, debo decir a su favor que técnicamente todavía es casta y virginal, así que guarden los cerillos (close but no cigar, just some major fooling around.) Pero, claro, lo suficiente como para que uno que otro espermatozoide olímpico pudiera lograr su nefasto cometido y me conviertiera en tía/madrina ipso facto.
And so Poli and friend´s quest for the day after pill began...
Ya había hecho algo así antes con otra amiga que hizo básicamente la misma cosa, sólo que esta ya no cuenta entre las puras, castas y virginales; sin embargo, ya tiene un rato de eso y las cosas han cambiado. Antes te daban un minitríptico que explicaba que píldoras anticonceptivas se podían tomar y las dosis para cada una.
Ps ahora ya no te dan el folleto, pero te entregan una caja con dos pastillas que cuesta $125 pesos, con instrucciones de tomar una y la otra a las 12 horas (seriously, the Simicondón is only $15 pesos, someone please do the math for them). Claro, que siendo pobres universitarias mantenidas, ps como que nos dolió demasiado el codo y nos fuimos rumbo a la Farmacia Similares más cercana. En fin, es lo mismo pero más barato, ¿no? (or so says the suddenly presidential Víctor González Torres).
Tras un momento de debilidad en el cual mi usualmente apolítica amiga juró votar por el antes mencionado personaje si había una píldora costeable, llegamos a nuestro destino para enterarnos de que ¡Oh sorpresa! No era ni costeable ni tenían en ese momento. Dr. Simi just lost a vote.
Finalmente, tras una larga caminata realizada con Zapatillas Extremadamente Incómodas (my poor, poor, pained, blistered feet!!! Boo hoo hoo *sob, choke*), encontramos una caja de dos píldoras con el mucho más razonable precio de $60 pesos M. N.
Le juramos lealtad eterna a la señorita del mostrador, pagamos y salimos brincando alegremente (like innocent, frolicking, little girls; save for my evil -and now ruined- shoes).
She took the pill, we headed for the Metro and I went home to care for my feet, who barely but bravely survived the battle.
But now, back home, life reminds me just why I hate the whole living at home experience. Hell, sometimes the whole living experience altogether.
Ps que el idiota de mi padre biológico le mando un mail semi-agresivo a mi madre, quien no sólo se la mentó rotundamente, sino que pidió que yo vengara su dignidad afrontada. Since I wasn´t all knight in a shinning armor-like, ella comenzó a llorar, me dijo que era egoísta y también me la mentó.
Soooooo, llamé al pendejo que lamentablemente aparece en mi acta de nacimiento en el renglón de "Padre" y le dije que no apreciaba su actitud, sobretodo porque me metía en aprietos a mí. Negó todo, dijo que arreglaría las cosas y ýo terminé sintiéndome defraudada por él y por mi señora madre, porque es increíble que a estas alturas esperen madurez de mí cuando se comportan como un par de mocosos con demasiada glucosa en sus venas. Some bright, shinning example.
It all just made me realize, again, that I miss daddy in a way that makes my chest tighten up and my eyes water. I miss him because he was my father when he didn´t have to be, because he took in somebody else´s children and loved and cared for them, and, more importantly, because he never made me feel like I was worthless or simply not good enough, something neither of my biological parents can claim.
It´s just not fair. Bad as it sounds, I would rather have attended my biological father´s funeral. He never was around enough to miss him, anyway. Y sí, estoy consciente de que sueno como una mocosa chillona y mamona también. Maybe it´s passed down genetically...
Screw it all. Últimamente todo se ha ido al demonio, anyways. What´s a little more?
Antes de que el Yunke en alianza con el PAN y la iglesia católica decidan quemarla en leña verde, debo decir a su favor que técnicamente todavía es casta y virginal, así que guarden los cerillos (close but no cigar, just some major fooling around.) Pero, claro, lo suficiente como para que uno que otro espermatozoide olímpico pudiera lograr su nefasto cometido y me conviertiera en tía/madrina ipso facto.
And so Poli and friend´s quest for the day after pill began...
Ya había hecho algo así antes con otra amiga que hizo básicamente la misma cosa, sólo que esta ya no cuenta entre las puras, castas y virginales; sin embargo, ya tiene un rato de eso y las cosas han cambiado. Antes te daban un minitríptico que explicaba que píldoras anticonceptivas se podían tomar y las dosis para cada una.
Ps ahora ya no te dan el folleto, pero te entregan una caja con dos pastillas que cuesta $125 pesos, con instrucciones de tomar una y la otra a las 12 horas (seriously, the Simicondón is only $15 pesos, someone please do the math for them). Claro, que siendo pobres universitarias mantenidas, ps como que nos dolió demasiado el codo y nos fuimos rumbo a la Farmacia Similares más cercana. En fin, es lo mismo pero más barato, ¿no? (or so says the suddenly presidential Víctor González Torres).
Tras un momento de debilidad en el cual mi usualmente apolítica amiga juró votar por el antes mencionado personaje si había una píldora costeable, llegamos a nuestro destino para enterarnos de que ¡Oh sorpresa! No era ni costeable ni tenían en ese momento. Dr. Simi just lost a vote.
Finalmente, tras una larga caminata realizada con Zapatillas Extremadamente Incómodas (my poor, poor, pained, blistered feet!!! Boo hoo hoo *sob, choke*), encontramos una caja de dos píldoras con el mucho más razonable precio de $60 pesos M. N.
Le juramos lealtad eterna a la señorita del mostrador, pagamos y salimos brincando alegremente (like innocent, frolicking, little girls; save for my evil -and now ruined- shoes).
She took the pill, we headed for the Metro and I went home to care for my feet, who barely but bravely survived the battle.
But now, back home, life reminds me just why I hate the whole living at home experience. Hell, sometimes the whole living experience altogether.
Ps que el idiota de mi padre biológico le mando un mail semi-agresivo a mi madre, quien no sólo se la mentó rotundamente, sino que pidió que yo vengara su dignidad afrontada. Since I wasn´t all knight in a shinning armor-like, ella comenzó a llorar, me dijo que era egoísta y también me la mentó.
Soooooo, llamé al pendejo que lamentablemente aparece en mi acta de nacimiento en el renglón de "Padre" y le dije que no apreciaba su actitud, sobretodo porque me metía en aprietos a mí. Negó todo, dijo que arreglaría las cosas y ýo terminé sintiéndome defraudada por él y por mi señora madre, porque es increíble que a estas alturas esperen madurez de mí cuando se comportan como un par de mocosos con demasiada glucosa en sus venas. Some bright, shinning example.
It all just made me realize, again, that I miss daddy in a way that makes my chest tighten up and my eyes water. I miss him because he was my father when he didn´t have to be, because he took in somebody else´s children and loved and cared for them, and, more importantly, because he never made me feel like I was worthless or simply not good enough, something neither of my biological parents can claim.
It´s just not fair. Bad as it sounds, I would rather have attended my biological father´s funeral. He never was around enough to miss him, anyway. Y sí, estoy consciente de que sueno como una mocosa chillona y mamona también. Maybe it´s passed down genetically...
Creo que mis ya usuales momentos de bipolaridad y depresión crónica se deben en gran parte a 1) mis adorables genes, 2) a mi disfuncional familia y 3) la falta de prozac.
Screw it all. Últimamente todo se ha ido al demonio, anyways. What´s a little more?
Friday, August 19, 2005
Muchas, muchas cosas han pasado.
En primer lugar, mi cumpleaños.
That's right, I have crossed that portal, that momentous space in time where everything changes and yet remains the same.Sí Señor, that's right: I have just waltzed (more like stumbled drunkedly, actually, I'm no ballerina) into the second decade of my young life.
He cumplido veinte años....
I have gone from teen to twenty just like that, as easy as waking up thanks to my family's less that harmonic screeching -, er, singing - to blow the matches (por alguna razon mi familia siempre compra un pastel de merengue de limón en Sanborns, pero no puede comprar las velas que deberían de venir con él) off my b-day cake.
Nada grande, como siempre, terminé deprimida al final.
And how could I not? I had to go to work, then my mom invited my boss and her friends (but please note that none of my own friends) to my dinner and I missed my dad so badly I felt raw and near tears for hours, but I couldn´t just go off to a quiet corner and sob quietly to myself because it was my celebration and I had to be there. How utterly convenient.
Me regalaron varias cosas, algunas útiles y otras no tanto.
I got a new cell that takes pictures and records amazingly short videos, the Californication CD, lipstick, a new pink handbag, sunglasses, a chinese style handbag and a silver ring with swarovski crystals.
All in all, I would have rather skipped the whole b-day experience and woefully moped by myself, dressed in pijamas, while looking at pictures of my dad.
Papá, te extraño lo indecible...
That's right, I have crossed that portal, that momentous space in time where everything changes and yet remains the same.Sí Señor, that's right: I have just waltzed (more like stumbled drunkedly, actually, I'm no ballerina) into the second decade of my young life.
He cumplido veinte años....
I have gone from teen to twenty just like that, as easy as waking up thanks to my family's less that harmonic screeching -, er, singing - to blow the matches (por alguna razon mi familia siempre compra un pastel de merengue de limón en Sanborns, pero no puede comprar las velas que deberían de venir con él) off my b-day cake.
Nada grande, como siempre, terminé deprimida al final.
And how could I not? I had to go to work, then my mom invited my boss and her friends (but please note that none of my own friends) to my dinner and I missed my dad so badly I felt raw and near tears for hours, but I couldn´t just go off to a quiet corner and sob quietly to myself because it was my celebration and I had to be there. How utterly convenient.
Me regalaron varias cosas, algunas útiles y otras no tanto.
I got a new cell that takes pictures and records amazingly short videos, the Californication CD, lipstick, a new pink handbag, sunglasses, a chinese style handbag and a silver ring with swarovski crystals.
All in all, I would have rather skipped the whole b-day experience and woefully moped by myself, dressed in pijamas, while looking at pictures of my dad.
Papá, te extraño lo indecible...
Y ya empezó la tortura china mejor conocida como regreso a clases.
I have the bitchiest teachers around (¿cómo que tarea ches perros? quiero dormir, ¡Es la primera semana por el amor del santo enmascarado de plata!) who nicely and politely reminded me that yes, I am ignorant, and no, I will not breeze through class no matter how cheap I sell my dear friends (palmera and angelito) to them.
Class changes are going to be simply horrid, I know. It´s worse to know that Slut No. 1 and No. 2 (who do happen to be good friends of mine, no me malinterpreten...) managed to get into the classed they wanted just because someone wants to get hot and heavy with one of them. Sweet, lovely justice and equality for all (the ones with ample cleavage, that is).
Sarandeada, my beloved, sweet, bestest of all friends (to be read with large, puppy-dog eyes in mind), is being a true perra to all left and right. Palmeris and I have no clue what we did to unleash her raw anger in such a catty way.
La vida es un vil asco. Cuando tengan la oportunidad me atropellan, ¿va?.
Poli.Saturday, July 16, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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