Girl Anachronicles

Si me dejaras estudiar...

2011-09-28T21:30:00.001-04:00

Si me dejaras estudiar..., originally uploaded by dianadhevi.

Si me dejaras estudiar...

We've moved!

2008-10-25T01:02:00.003-04:00

It's not yet completely and utterly ready, but it's already presentable for it's incredibly underwhelming debut!

Change your pointers, rss feed readers and bookmarks, my honies! It's time for the real deal, the true domain!

Without further ado (because THAT was a lotta ado about not that much), I present to you:

GirlAnachronicles.net

I have to thank Eze (a LOT, I mean, this is on the level for a full body massage with dodo feathers!) for his incredibly tireless toil with the fucking domain and wordpress and all things technological which I refuse to acknowledge they even exist! Without you, my love, it would't have been even remotely plausible! Thank you!

So, guys? See you there? :-)

I think I may have a type...

2008-10-23T00:27:00.004-04:00

Stephen Colbert (newsman extraordinaire!) - He's SO dreamy!

Jorge E. Abello (of "Betty la Fea" fame by playing a gloriously funny boss)

Steve Carell (I truly doubt he was a virgin at 40, but I digress...)

Robert Downey Jr. (the edgiest of the bunch, but I love raw edges >-) )

... and from the other side of the ocean:

David Tennant (he would "boyishly-charm" my panties off any day!)

... and Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter my ass! This kid ain't no boy no more! Hooo!)

All of 'em dark and sparkling with talent :-)

(secret: none of them hold a candle to my lovely Eze, tho :P)

Ballet Pointe Shoes: An Obsession

2008-10-06T14:37:00.002-04:00

pink freed ballet shoes, originally uploaded by Laura Walker.

I was born to a life-long ballerina: this guaranteed that I'd be enrolled into the ballet-frenzy early on in my life. I still remember my first ballet lessons. I must have been around 5 years old, and I had a black leotard with tiny white dots, and a simple ruffle around the hips. After I while, I adopted the pink leotard with pink, gauzy, tie-around skirt uniform.

However, I was always fascinated by the grandiosely stiff tutus adult ballerinas wore, and even more than that, I was enthralled by the pointe shoes. I dreamt of going pointe. I used to swipe mom's old pointe shoes from their storage place to put them on and play adult ballerina in my room, away from judging eyes, nearer to my bed in case I should fall.

I never went pointe. My mom, who used to take me to my ballet and jazz classes and spend the whole day taking her own dance lessons in an adjacent studio, broke her ankle and had to swear off dancing. It followed that I would have to quit my lessons too ....

Years later, when I turned 19, I enrolled in jazz classes in the ballet studio my stepmom used to work for. It didn't take long for me to realize that, whatever illusions I had taken with me as a child that I could move gracefully, I couldn't dance worth a dime. I quit a few months thereafter.

Later on I worked up the courage to ask my mom: "Mom... did I dance well when I was a kid?".
She laughed a bit and said: "Hell, no! You had two left feet!".

Hindsght is 20/20. Unless it comes to how happy and talented you were ...

OMG We're Gonna DIE!

2008-09-11T11:54:00.002-04:00

I'm really hoping that laptop is running on Linux.
Read the brief but informative Dark Roasted Blend feature on the Large Hadron Collider...

When it Rains ...

2008-09-05T15:15:00.002-04:00

Some people say "Count your blessings". They say it so much and so often, that it has been immortalized into posters, greeting cards and Power Point slideshows. It's a saccharine, idiotic, Christian-Precious-Moments saying. Or maybe I feel about it so because I immediately associate it with an idiotic Precious Moments poster that was taped on the principal's office wall in my Catholic school.

Now, "count your miseries" is something you don't hear much at all. It sounds like an emo thing to say, it may indeed brush along the lines of something Tim Burton would make an animated movie about ... but I think it might also help put things in perspective.

- A few weeks ago a friend finally broke up with his long-time girlfriend, after long months of toiling and pushing towards a fruitful relationship. It failed, and he's now cycling between depression and mania.

- A week ago, Eze's grandfather died. It was sort-of-unexpected: he apparently hit his head, and his cranium filled with blood. He died of associated respiratory complications (as he had signed a form asking NOT to be put in a respirator).

- Things at the office are NOT looking up:
-- Work-wise, it's chaos. Deadlines are being forced upon the staff, and the best word to describe the general reaction is "mutiny".
-- The boss's ex-wife (and mom to one of my close friends)was found to have a brain tumor. It's suspected to be malignant (a grade 2 glioma, to be exact). My friend relocated to Texas to take care of her mom and keep her company, which is totally understandable and fair and right... but it has created a palpable "hole" in this office.

- My grandfather died last night. Bone cancer. Spent the last year or so wanting to die. Last night he got his wish. Most of us are thankful, since it means the end of his plight, but we're all joined in this bitter grief. His relief is ours to a certain extent, but we will still miss him. Besides, what really breaks my heart is the fact that I never got to see him again after 1995, and my father didn't get to say "Goodbye".

- Yesterday I had a bilateral breast MRI done. The doctor found a tumor, something of a change since last time I was checked (2 years ago). I'm petrified by fear (I'm a high risk patient for breast cancer).

- Two of our closest friends are going through more or less the same fucked up romantic situation. Girl leads on. Guy falls hard. Girl turns out to be dating someone else. It's harsh, and having it happen in stereo is baffling.

- I went swimming: 50 meters. Nothing huge, just to check on my condition to see if I can use the Natatorium facilities. I pass, but barely: my lungs almost give out of the effort, and I realize that 8 years of smoking have taken a BIG toll. I quit smoking. I'm trying really hard to stay "quit", but all other aforementioned miseries are making it hard to stick to my guns.

One blessing though: The urge to cry is far stronger than the urge to smoke. Isn't life grand!

"Mi palabra favorita es..."

2008-08-25T15:11:00.003-04:00

Ni puta idea de cuál es mi palabra favorita. Esa es mi primera asignación 'seria' en mi primera clase en casi diez años desde que me gradué de universidad (y digo "mi primera asignación seria", pq si les digo cuál es realmente la primera asignación, se me estotean de la risa). Esa es una quinta parte de lo que será mi 'portafolio de redacción'.

Cuál es mi palabra favorita y por qué.

Creo que le jugaré esta, creo que la dejo pasar ... pero también creo que es hora de ir buscando opciones para ingresar a la escuela graduada. Se me había olvidado lo mucho que el currículo universitario tiene que compensar por las lagunas de aprendizaje que deja el fabuloso Departamento de Educación puertorriqueño.

Tengo que agradecer a mi padre por haberme jeringado tanto con el idioma, la corrección en el habla y la expresión escrita, etcétera etcétera etcétera ("No se dice 'cajjo', se dice 'caRRRRRRRo'.") ¡Gracias, papá!

Les aviso cuando termine de dividir estas palabras en sílabas, ¿okei?

Érase una vez ...

2008-08-21T14:54:00.002-04:00

Érase una vez tres hermanas hermosas:
La mayor bruñida de estaño catalán, con la inocencia de una dulce amapola.
La del medio nació cubierta de un velo seductor andaluz, y sus ojos y boca brillaban con carcajadas que brotaban de lo más profundo de la tierra.
La menor era una visión de alba pureza, como hecha de fina y delicada filigrana de porcelana y hebras de carbón.

Al crecer las hermanas, sus semblantes fueron cambiando:
La amapola de la mayor se rizó en una dura bola marchita, ajada y descascarada por los vendavales de la vida cotidiana.
La seducción telúrica de la mediana se fue desgastando sobre una roca de resentimientos, dejando atrás una tosca semilla de amargura.
Mientras la pureza de la menor fue ganando tornasoles y máculas de hoja dorada y ceniza papal.

Poco a poco el tiempo fue desgranando a las hermanas ...
Hasta que al final de sus vidas sólo quedó:
La ñoñería de la primera
La majadería de la segunda
Y la pretensión de la tercera ...

The NYC Expirience: Summer Edition

2008-08-11T15:13:00.003-04:00

Those two weeks come and gone, I'm back in the office, and already missing my vacations... or the vacations from my vacations (vacations squared).

First of all, for those of you who like looking at pictures of other people having fun, or mediocre points of view of a city that has been photographed since the first brick was laid, then go here.

I refuse, however, to give a blow-by-blow recount of the whole trip, mainly because it would make this post too long, and besides, I forget details easily... it would be frustrating.

So, without further ado:

Things I Loved

1)

Visiting Chickpea, now known as Tahini. Different name, same awesome menu. However, the unconditional awe died a bit when we found a much better place at half the price very near the Clark Street Station in Brooklyn. However: finally getting a whole Shawafel in my tummy? Priceless!

2)

Finally seeing the Alice in Wonderland sculpture (also known as the Margarita Delacorte memorial). It was everything I thought it would be, and more. If you delve into the Flickr set I linked at the top, you'll see I was very thorough in documenting all details possible, including a tiny snail right under the biggest mushroom, and a squirrel peeking out of the base of the Cheshire Cat's tree. It was big enough even for ME to climb into Alice's lap, and that was more than enough for me.

3)
Running by accident into the Hans Christian Andersen sculpture, featuring a lovely, charming, adorable rendition of the Ugly Duckling. It was totally unexpected and heartwarming.

4)
Di Fara's. Suffice it to say it has ruined all other pizzas for me. If you're looking for flashy, quick, blow-you-out-of-the-water experience, go elsewhere. This place was slow and not mind-blowingly friendly. It's a hole in the wall with more than a few kinks that need ironing out, from the layout of the tables to the state of the acoustic ceiling.

However, if you're looking for a sublime experience comparable to finally finding the truth about how death works, then this is the place for you. As soon as you cross the door, the first thing that hits you is the respectful silence. It's like walking into hallowed grounds, and indeed! Watching Dominic De Marco go about his business making pizza pies was like a religious experience - that is to say: I'm not conventionally religious, I also find the same kind of satisfaction from watching a beautiful sunset. Well, these were beautiful, delicious, delectable pizza pies. The best I've had. And the only thing that it provokes in me now is bittersweet tears: thankful that I had the opportunity of tasting such delicious pizza; dismayed that it will probably be a long long while until I taste it again (let's hope Mr. De Marco will last on this earth a great deal longer).

5)
Sharing more than a few interesting experiences with Eze. Tears were shed, laughs were had. The whole trip was intense in any and all ways imaginable. However, the days shared with Eze, just the two of us by ourselves, were the best. I came to realize that, even through the bitter arguments, we are more like each other than what I would have first thought. We behave differently, but the things that attract us are pretty much the same.

Case to prove the point?

6)
Union Square. We spent more than a few nights dallying around this area, from there to Saint Mark's Place and back. We felt incredibly at ease spending our dead hours just sitting on a bench (or on the plaza steps) just looking at the people go by.

7)
The Metropolitan Museum of Art! I just wish I had a whole week to stay and peer at every single piece closely. To read all the information tags and the stories behind the expositions. There were SO MANY rooms I never got to visit ... this is a definite re-visit candidate, by all means. If only to sit in the Renaissance sculpture room (so pure and white when doused in sunlight ... so full of history!) Go to my Flickr set if you want to see a bit more of what I believed to be worth the furtive snapshot - cameras were allowed, however, I felt a bit like an outlaw. Taking pictures were my way of swiping my favorite pieces into my pockets and taking them home. (Don't miss the tiny heads and bulls "collections"!)

8)
Trying new types of cuisine. I had Thai food for the first time in my life, as well as my first cup of Turkish coffee ever. I cannot say these were the best culinary experiences in my life, but at least I can say I tried it at least once. (In my opinion? Turkish coffee is extremely thick ... too thick to enjoy)

9)
The smell of real roses. I had NO idea wild roses could smell so good. A whiff of one of these finally brought the comprehension that had eluded me all my life: I finally understood the passion for the smell of a rose. I finally understood why people obsess over these flowers. And I realized that it's of fools to pretend that a reaped rose will smell the same as one that's safe and sound still tied to the ground. We will never really capture the smell of a rose without sacrificing the sweetness of its aroma by its own death.

10)
The John Lennon Memorial. A beautiful homage, forever kept alive by The People.

11)
I finally saw a trilobite fossil! Forever haunted by the image of these animals, seeing them in other creatures, like the horseshoe crab and the Ohmu... and when I came to see what they were actually (sort of) like: they were freaking SMALL! Hahahah! Mini-Ohmus... cute! This was in the Natural History Museum, and the whole trek through the museum was fascinating and educational. As with the Metropolitan Museum of Art, this museum would require a few entire days to see and fully enjoy it.

12) Other places I tried and/or loved:
- Max Brenner - It's ALL about the chocolate. You step through the door and the chocolate aroma ATTACKS you! Lovely place!

- Così - Their specialty is sandwiches, but they also make "hearth-baked dinners" which actually means: a bunch of pieces of chicken and ham and bacon topped with a fuckload of cheese and put through the broiler. DELICIOUS!

- Bamn! - This is what I imagine true pop-Japanese cuisine to be like nowadays. Everything is bought through dispensing machines. How alien! But they surprised me with two over-the-counter offerings: green tea ice cream (I prefer the twist vanilla-green tea ice cream, it's softer to the palate), and snow cones (I had a cherry-flavored one, which is a slight departure from the traditional raspberry flavor we favor so much here)

- The AMC IMAX Theater - Totally new experience! We watched The Dark Knight there, which has a few IMAX scenes in it. Totally worth the over-price, but I just wish we had been able to see it with the usual movie theater gang.

- Ricky's - Take a beauty supply hole-in-the-wall, put it on steroids, keep the prices down ... what do you get? HEAVEN!

- Anthropologie - Incredibly expensive, but so uniquely cute! Thankfully, I'm not rich, otherwise I'd blow my savings account on this brand.

- Fanelli's Cafe - We went in without expectations. We got good beer and food at adequate prices. The surprise? Looking up and seeing "Saloon Certificates" that dated up to 1873!!!

- FuerzaBruta - Just ... watch the video... and be aware that whatever you see in there is not even an infinitesimal piece of the things you experience in those 50 minutes you spend in that room surrounded by insane performers.

In New York - Summer Heat Sucks

2008-07-20T15:35:00.001-04:00

Damn it's hot in here! I'm getting constant headaches, and while I still ADORE this place, the headaches are sorta ruining it for me. I'm hoping my body will get used to it. The heat is dry and I'm thirsty all the time. Lots of family quarrels, of course, we're like a TON of people in the same house. The drama, the drama!

But we already re-visited Saigon Grill (a Vietnamese cuisine franchise) and realized the place is REALLY awesome. Nicely priced, GREAT food, all in all a very good experience. I visited the CO Bigelow apothecary at 6th Avenue, and while I did find the tinted mint lip gloss I wanted, the rest of the merchandise was cruelly expensive. But I found a beauty supply somewhere down the same street and was able to get some soap, shampoo, conditioner, and a beautiful blue Orly nail color.

We went to Time Square last night, and it was WAY more crowded than the last time we went. Still felt bombarded by the excess of lit advertising. Went into the Sephora store there, and was overwhelmed by the variety of items and the crowd in there.

I'll keep posting while I'm able. Today, we will be enjoying a family day in the house (my father-in -law's sister's house).

Ah ... and the Doctor Martens boots? Nice for walking... SHORT distances. I'm nursing blisters right now as we speak. :-) Yayyyy ...

Raíces

2008-07-18T17:14:00.001-04:00

No hace mucho le comentaba a mi papá una observación que hizo Ezequiel acerca de mi comportamiento durante nuestra última visita a New York City. Ezequiel se fijó que a mí no me da la nostalgia por el terruño patrio que a él sí. Del mismo modo que él sufre del patriotismo disparado por la separación, le ocurre igual a mi hermano, a familiares y amistades ... según me cuentan, es encontrarse de pronto rodeado por todo aquello que es grandioso, exaltado, fabuloso, las maravillas del mundo civilizado ... y sin embargo encontrarse con que están extrañando las brisas tropicales y el chirrido del coquí en el patio.

Y pensándolo bien, Eze tiene razón: a mí no me da eso. Como él lo dijo en ese momento, a mí me sueltan en las calles de New York City y yo sigo caminando sin mirar hacia atrás, sin brindarle un segundo pensamiento a Puerto Rico (y sus garitas y sus palmas y sus güiritos flotando en el aire al lado de los reyes magos tallados en madera... sí, estoy segura que en esas mierdas es en lo que piensa la gente cuando empiezan a extrañar a Puerto Rico ... jamás se les ocurre extrañar el tapón tan jodido de la Milla de Oro un lunes en la tarde, o en lo difícil que es conseguir un fucking estacionamiento en Plaza las Américas en los fines de semana).

Esta mañana se me ocurrió preguntarme por qué no me salía del corazón extrañar a Puerto Rico a la distancia. ¡A no equivocar esto con odio! A mi Puerto Rico me parece hermoso en su caos y desorden: no sólo tiene un ecosistema fascinantemente variado, sino que la misma civilización, en su violencia y cafrería, en lo pintoresco de sus personajes, es una obra maestra de la evolución y de-evolución.

Pero si me voy de viaje, si levanto el vuelo ... no lo extraño. Extraño a mi familia y a mis amistades, seguro! Pero a Puerto Rico como entorno no.

Así venía hoy de camino al trabajo, pensándolo ... y de pronto sonó "Estadio Azteca" de Andrés Calamaro, y se me aguaron los ojos - taco instantáneo en la garganta. Y me dí cuenta en ese momento que, jodido como suene, el patriotismo del que sufro es heredado. Las ansias por un terruño patrio no son por mi propia patria sino por la de mi papá. Imposible como suene, pero mi lealtad está atada a un país que ni siquiera conozco bien.

La añoranza que mis compatriotas sienten cuando oyen los acordes de un cuatro se despierta en mí cuando oigo "El Cóndor Pasa". Mis compañeros boricuas ven las playas como la primera señal de Casa, yo sueño todavía con visitar nuevamente los montes y valles que marcaron el compás de una de mis navidades hace más de diez años.

Es cuestión de percepciones heredadas, creo yo.

O tal vez, a diferencia de muchísima gente, mis raíces no se agarran del tronco del árbol del cual nací, sino del terreno al cual le he dedicado mi corazón.

Hey, kiddo!

2008-07-15T09:33:00.003-04:00

Last night I dreamt up my daughter again (it's the second time ... maybe third ... in this lifetime).

The first time it was a pregnancy, I remember it was as vivid as morning sickness itself.

The second time the girl was 7 or 8, and gazed at me calmly, like waiting. She had black straight hair, and a nose shape that later on I came to understand whose it was.

This third time, the kid was just a baby, maybe one year old. Same nose, same eyes, brown, downy hair. Gestures that echo those of the owner of the original nose shape. And a round, elfish face.

It's an odd day, an odd time, to be attacked by motherhood blues. It will go away.

NYC [Planning] Wish/Playlist

2008-07-09T17:53:00.001-04:00

So, well ... it's only 10 days away now, and Eze & I (plus a few other interested and involved parties) have been mulling over what our plans are for our vacations at NYC. First and foremost, of course, there's the family. Seeing otherwise would be ungrateful, to say the least, since it was my father-in-law that paid for the plane tickets, and it is his sister who will shack us in during our 13-day stay.

But apart from that, we have plans, and hopes, and wishes. So many that I had to write it all down on a list - excitement often impairs clarity of thought, although I'm aware that we will probably not get to do everything we want to do, nor see all we want to see. But a list will help, when at a loss for clear plans... so this is it (in no particular order, although, bear in mind: first things that come to mind are usually either the most important or the most urgent).

- I want to finally see the Alice in Wonderland sculpture by George Delacorte, in Central Park

The first time I saw a photograph of this sculpture I was 6, and in total awe of its bigger-than-life quality. At least it seemed bigger than life to little ol' me, considering that the picture included a throng of little kids clambering over the statue, and that they were dwarfed by Alice's figure. Since then, I've longed to do the same. Maybe this time around, I'll finally be able to sit atop a mushroom. :D

- I want to go back to Chickpea and have the shawafel I didn't get back then.

Goddamned be me and my synaptic tantrums.

- On that same line of thought, I want to go to Ray's Pizza again. That pizza is worth a revisit. And maybe have a pizza bagel as well.

- Celebrate our anniversary. July 23rd ... what a day ... four years now, of which 3 have been spent living together. Beautifully. :-) And to celebrate it in style:

Di Fara in Brooklyn ...

Magnolia Bakery (there are two locations, it's a tossup where we'll end up!)

and

Martha Wainwright at the Highline Ballroom

- We have plans to visit a friend at Pelham Bay, and also visit Battery Park ... maybe catch view of the Statue of Liberty from afar (no, I'm not interested in seeing her up close ... now bring me to DaVinci's David, and I'll volunteer to lick it!)

- The museum rounds: the Guggenheim, the MoMA, the Metropolitan, etc ... it would take days, and I'm not getting my hopes up on getting to see them all.

- I wanna visit Chinatown and Little Italy, and this one street they talked to me about that is lined with bead stores.

- And more stores: Sephora, CO Bigelow ... and heh heh! maybe I'll give in to that whimsical invitation to Macy's, so my dear friend can laugh at my gawking face while I take in 7 stories' worth of capitalism.

So for those Facebook friends that have been wondering "what the heck is that countdown about": T-10 ... and counting! :D

I've been airlocked, now what?

2008-06-16T11:28:00.001-04:00

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

:-( The outlook is horrifyingly grim:

Congrats! You could survive for 1 minute 17 seconds !

In the first 30 seconds any fluid on the surface of your body would begin to boil due to lack of ambient pressure, this includes the saliva on your tongue and the moisture in your eyes. Your eardrums would most likely burst due to the pressure in your body trying to equalize with the vacuum outside. Unlike what some science fiction films have suggested, your body would not explode.

After the first 15 seconds you would lose consciousness. If you held your breath you could potentially stay alive longer but you risk pulmonary trauma. If you didn't hold your breath you'd pass out sooner, but your lungs might have a better chance of avoiding permanent damage.

The pressure in your veins would rise until your heart no longer had the capacity to pump blood, at which point you'd die.

Revisiting: Boots

2008-06-14T21:36:00.002-04:00

I haven't created a new look at ShopStyle.com for a long time now (it's an incredibly fun timewaster, though, but I don't have all that much leisure time anymore). However, I've lately found myself revisiting this style more frequently:

It's all in the boots, people. I first became enamored of Doc Martens-style boots at the age of 15. I was in public school, and rules on footwear were much more lax than they've become in later years. I bought my first 10-eye-Doc Martens-imitation pair at a Payless Shoe Store and wore them daily: to school, to hang outs ... I have to confess that I even lost my virginity with those boots on my feet. They lasted more than enough, considering the wear and strain on them, and they were cast into the dark oblivion of my closet as soon as the sole went unglued. Later on, moths did their final work on them and they were rendered irreparable.

Later on I fell in love with another pair, this time off a Delias catalog. They were 14-eye with a raised toe, slightly glossier than what I was used to. They were incredibly uncomfortable at first, but I broke them in, and after that they were a total hit in my life. I loved those boots until their fiery demise five years ago.

I haven't owned a pair of proper boots since then. I guess I thought I had outgrown the boot-wearing phase, but this sudden obsession has proved me wrong. I bought a pair of knee-high boots the other day at Hot Topic:

They look incredibly cool, but I realized today they're not that awesome for walking long distances or for extended periods of time. Part of the boot-craving is to have a good pair of shoes to massacre on my upcoming trip to NYC. These boots do not fit the bill for such a purpose.:-(

So I'm back to square one on my quest for some nice, comfy Doc Martens boots. Maybe I should cut the crap and invest on the real deal. I think I'm ready to commit to boots again.

Adulthood Dementia

2008-06-11T15:12:00.000-04:00

Since I turned 30, I've felt a certain amount of mania creep into my actions and intentions. I don't know if it was always so, and that I just became increasingly aware of my own nature, to this particular point in actuality in which I am sure I'm on the same league as hippies and hysterical moms. Or maybe things did change as I got to that figurative milestone of The 30s.

But as the mania set in, so did a ridiculous sense of prudence and shame, to the point that I check and double-check the things I write, the facts I disclose. And, yes, I have one particular friend to thank for that level of awareness(yes, you! You know who you are, you lurking scoundrel! I love you, though!), but I can't really let the blame rest solely on others. I guess that the more things I get to write, the less I want to put "on the page". The more complex I become as a person, the less I want to show about me.

A nitpicking of the public image, I guess. And it feels weird, because that's not the way it used to be. At the same time, however, the less I publicize, the more free I feel. Isn't that funny?

I guess that this strange sort of "writer's block" will come to a close as soon as I get my first assignment to write something for a class. I have a feeling that my writings will change, and the absence of the word will give way to a forest of twisted facts entwined with thick tendrils of fantasy and fiction.

OMG!!!1! I could cry!

2008-05-21T14:22:00.005-04:00

... and a thousand voices cried with joy, and relief from a wait so long, lifetimes could be accounted for it.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

2008-05-20T11:30:00.001-04:00

Last two weeks have been intensely interesting, to say the least.

- I considered myself unemployed, my head about to burst with the effort of pushing through the last two weeks (those drasted two weeks' notice good employees always give).

- Then suddenly I'm not so unemployed anymore. All my worrying about whether I'd be able to study, if I'd be able to hold my job in spite of the fact that I'll be going on an already-paid-for vacation to NYC in July ... worrying simply because I quit without a safety net, and I was plummeting speedily towards the Sea of the Idle and the Impoverished. But then a great friend trusted me so much and had so much faith in what I can do, that she twisted things around the way I thought they couldn't be twisted.

I'm a happy (and very peaceful) camper now.

Other things are happening, though, and my life apparently refuses to be without a bit of drama and uncertainty. It's as if I am a magnet for trouble and ... well, let me not gripe too much about it. Drama and uncertainty is what makes your blood pump quicker. :-) I need all the livelihood I can get.

Little Notes #8: Next Few Weeks and What it Means

2008-05-03T21:19:00.000-04:00

#1, next Monday is going to be, in some measure, surreal. Going back to 1995, the expectations, the nervousness.

#2, next two weeks, on the other hand, are going to be more real than I would like to deal with. Most people will not understand my reasons for the decision I've made. Some will come as far as to be annoyed. I even expect the random colleague to come across and demand answers and explanations, and I'm afraid I won't have a generally satisfactory answer.

#3, Mother's Day is drawing near, as well as my sister's birthday, all of it during a moment in life in which money is going to be a precious commodity. I think the best I will be able to do will be to offer them homemade food. My sister has been clamoring for some cheesy potatoes (potatoes au gratin, if you wanna get more gourmand in the description), and my mom has asked in more than one occasion for my pasta carbonara. I think I will oblige (and will probably throw in some homemade dessert for good measure). It's the best I can do.

Molting: Breaking the Shell

2008-04-30T12:43:00.000-04:00

It's just begun, the process of shedding. In the coming days I'll break it out properly, but this is the exact moment I was waiting for for the last 10 years, and it's become much more complicated than I thought. Victories swish around the same glass as failures. The sweet and sour bubbles of reality fill my nose. I guess I'll have to drink first, to breathe the fresh air later.

This is the beginning of molting.

Self-Reminder

2008-04-14T13:01:00.000-04:00

I just need to remind myself that "today" is not my life. That hours are just a fraction of a day, and that not all hours can be as pleasant as I wish they were.

I need to keep in mind that the clothes I wear to work and what I do for a living do not define me as a person. I am not my career, and this too shall pass.

I need to keep my inner peace in check today, because the lack of information and details in the orders given to me is not my fault. I can and will do the best I can do given the circumstances.

And as soon as I get home, I'll be able to sleep.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Confession is Good for the Soul

2008-04-11T03:13:00.000-04:00

I confess I've been spending increasingly excessive (and unnecessary) amounts of time in certain forum I will not name. It's usually not a problem, until a week ago. Someone I personally know opened a thread about plus-sized model Chloe Marshall, who was up for the title of Miss England.

I didn't post anything in this blog about this particular topic because:
1) I didn't have the time
2) I didn't know what to say
3) I believe that a single size 16 model won't make a true change in the beauty and health industry
4) It's a beauty pageant, for gossakes! And given point #3, it's such a biased event, with such a narrow spectrum of what beauty is, that I find all of it incredibly boring.

However, the girl that posted the thread thrives on pageants, celebrity gossip and your general menagerie of "girly" topics (makeup, diets, clothes). I decided to dive in when some other girls started talking about Miss Marshall's health.

The only facts stated in press releases are Miss Marshall's height and weight. This is, in my opinion, not enough data to go on to make a solid statement about the girl's health. However, I found out last week that there are more fans of the BMI index than believers in "God". And it seems a bit funny to me, considering that the BMI index was originally created by a Belgian mathematician for statistical purposes. It was not meant to be the end-all/be-all of health, much less was it meant to be the founding stone for physicians and health-care professionals to diagnose their patients' health.

Most people I know, however, swear by this scale. They don't believe that someone size 16 could be a healthy person. Miss Marshall said in her interviews that she eats sensibly and exercises regularly. I, for one, believe her, because I've seen girls the same size, young girls, beautiful girls, girls that eat normal amounts of healthy food (vegetables, fruit ... not junk food) and exercise normally as well. They are not naturally thin, and I really hope that these girls will understand that being a healthy size 12, for them, will always be more beautiful than a forced and emaciated size 5.

So, back to the forum thread, I immediately started voicing the opposing point of view, always the dissonance in the crowd. Obviously, most girls started voicing their own opinions, most of them based on the BMI index philosophy, most of them awash with fashion-industry culture and thought. But there was one, sister to the girl that started the thread, that right away pointed spears at me as an individual. Not so much my opinions, but the reason for them. Her specific words, and I quote, were: "Girl, instead of a stick on your shoulder, you have a sequoia tree."

Of course, she kept on at it, and the barrage didn't stop when I clarified that this was more of a cause than a personal issue. She made sure to always state that my points of view were an exclusive product of my body and image issues.

Well ... I wish I had had this blog post that day. Later on that day a friend of mine read the thread and insisted that I did have to lower my weight, of course, for health issues.

And this is the thing: they're both right. My friend is completely right and I know where he is coming from: concern, worry, affection. I appreciate it, the same way I appreciated every single comment I received the last time I touched the subject. Most of you who read this blog mean well, and I thank you for your attention and friendship.

But the girl at the forum, my ex-roommate's sister to be more precise ... well, she may be right. That afternoon, after all was written and read, I had to sit down and come to terms with the fact that I have as much a body and image issue as I did when I was an anorexic 16-year-old. But I do not appreciate her intentions. The way she expressed herself about the things I said helped me realize that she was more bent on hurting me or making me feel bad about being fat (and she probably thinks I am in denial about it too) than she could have intended for her words to be enlightening or helpful.

Whatever her reasons for being such a bitch (which she was, no se puede tapar el cielo con la mano), I suspect it has less to do with difference of opinion and more to do with things that went down a year ago. And that, to me, seems petty, shallow and rude.

However, I gotta thank her. That afternoon I cried a bit, because coming to terms with issues that have been standing there for 14 years is not easy. What my friend said made me realize that I do have to do something. But what that bitch said gave me the strength to actually START doing it.

So, thank you, bitch, whether you read this or not. You did me MUCH LESS harm than you probably intended. :) Isn't it ironic?

Uneven Score

2008-03-31T15:04:00.000-04:00

I don't usually do this (post quiz results), but this is so wrong! And worse yet is the fact that I'm proud! I could take on a whole kindergarten classroom! Yay!

18

The Man Who Made Me Believe Again

2008-03-28T14:54:00.000-04:00

It's been nearly a year since we visited San Diego to attend the yearly Comic Con. Right after our return, I diligently posted and discussed my experiences there, specifically in San Diego in general, as well as in the San Diego Zoo. But I never said anything about our experience in the Comic Con itself, the main reason of our visit to SD. I think that it has taken a long while for the experience to sink in and get digested: it was so rich, so vast, so powerful... we spent 5 days dawdling around in a convention center, and it's amazing to believe that those 5 days changed our lives a little bit.

However, I'm gonna have to postpone the review of the whole deal in favor of the highlight of the visit, which deserves its own blog entry.

Mr. Peter S. Beagle
The man who made me believe again

This happened on the fourth day of our visit, as we were walking around the show floor looking at the different booths and just gawking and being amazed by the variety of it all. But something caught my eye then, an echo of my roots; more than an echo, a stark beacon. If you look closely at the photograph above, you will see what I saw: two big posters at each side of the booth, one of Lady Amalthea, one of The Last Unicorn.

The Last Unicorn is a story that has been in my conscious since I saw it when I was a small child, so this wasn't an "Ohmygawd, so LONG since I saw this last, I had forgotten!" kind of moment. I just wasn't expecting it there, among all the Supermans and sci-fi characters. It caught me by surprise so much that it brought tears to my eyes, and the guy at the booth caught me at that, crying a bit, with a wide smile of amazement on my face. So he seizes the moment to start driving his sale (they were selling DVD copies, as well as books by the author), but then he twisted it around a bit and starts telling me about a legal situation the author has been going through, regarding unpaid work, including being cheated out of payment for his collaboration in the making of the The Last Unicorn movie (you can read a bit more about it here).

And then, the moment of brain-shock, he tells me that the man who wrote this wonderful story was right there. Just then and there, I started bawling my heart out ... and let me explain:

Little Diana was brought up surrounded by fantastical figures, either inherited from her aunt's toy collection or things that popped up in the toy and entertainment market. Her world included gods from the Greek and Roman mythology, unicorns, mermaids, pegasus, horses, mammoths, faeries, spirits and the occasional princess from a fairy tale. These characters had sprung up from books, drawings and movies. And one of the movies that introduced her to the unicorns was The Last Unicorn.

The unicorn, as a figure, would accompany Little Diana for years to come, until adolescence would render the unicorn incompatible with her interests and beliefs. However, in the time she allowed it so, she surrounded herself with unicorn plush toys, rubber figurines (Hasbro's My Little Pony had a lot to do with that as well), drawings, posters, notebooks, books, movies ... all things unicorn came hand in hand with as much as she could find about mermaids (which was much less, since this was before Disney bastardized Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid" and provoked the deluge of mermaid merchandise afterwards).

Little by little, all unicorn things were shed, and only a distant memory remained of the legendary horned beast. The steadfast belief that unicorns existed gave way to a good-natured indifference ... until she met with the one who made her believe first.

Mr. Peter S. Beagle, author to The Last Unicorn, creator of the world that in its turn helped me create mine, came over to me and hugged me, and talked to me, and embraced me in his words. During the time of our conversation, I was enveloped in a warm cocoon of stories, lullabied by a soft, flowing voice that spoke of the roots of my world, of the nutrients that gave life to that humongous tree that was the fantasy I knew. He reached into my heart and blew life back into that dormant seed that was Little Diana and her steadfast beliefs.

At that moment I felt more alive and more eternal than I had felt in decades. I still choke up when I remember how it felt to be before the man that helped shape what I've become. No other worlds existed at that moment, only him, and me curled up around the fluid stream of flowers, magic and music his words made.

I purchased a different book from the one I already knew by heart: The Unicorn Sonata. It sat in my nightstand's shelf for a few months, but as soon as I read it, it became water to the seed Mr. Beagle had brought back to life. As soon as I finished it and closed its covers, I realized: once again I believed in unicorns with all of my heart.

The Nose Experience

2008-03-27T16:02:00.000-04:00

At the beginning of this week, at some point while I drove, I had the distinct feeling of being back in 1999. How does that happen? Was it the smell? I've been aware for about ten or eleven years now that one of my favorite senses is the sense of smell. Contrary to taste, it hasn't been as deeply crippled by my smoking vice. My eyesight is not the best either (I have a mild case of progressive myopia and astigmatism, a trademark for computer professionals). I think I might have also lost some of my hearing at one point or another, since I can remember having problems with it as far as 11 years ago. And hell, I can't go around touching everything I please! Haha! So ... smell!

Smell is what drives me around my world: with a whiff of fragrance I've been able to recognize someone faster than by a look to their face. I get hungrier by the smell of BBQ'ed steak than by the sight of a juicy meat cut. The fragrance of apple/cinnamon incenses and candles has been irrevocably associated with my stepmother. Same applies for the smell of perfumes like Shalimar, Ciara and Anais Anais (each one represents an era in my mother's life). Some smells have haunted me for years as well, like for example the aroma one of my friends exuded, which I was never able to identify as any cologne, soap or perfume I knew. Others, I will never forget, like the smell of puppy breath.

I can better determine how dirty my house is by the smell that welcomes me in the afternoon. The tiles can look clean as whistles, but if I can smell mop water, I know it's time to clean up a bit.

It's safe to say then that each era in my life has a set of smells inherent to it. Perfumes on the trend are primary examples of how this works, and then there are also the smells of friends and places (years 1995 - 1997 had a high incidence of fun fair smells - musty oil, vomit and cotton candy).

But what happened to me earlier this week, I'm sure it wasn't a smell. Smells are just the perceptible face of the deal. When I felt like I was back in 1999, it wasn't the smell of business office lobby that triggered it. It must have been the feeling of impending doom, of sunlight bouncing off mirrored windows from offices in buildings towering overhead. It must have been the realization (and in a way, coming to terms with) that I am what I feared I'd become. Thankfully, that same morning I decided to take control of what I could to change what I didn't like in my life. I'll start with the small things ... like the smell of my car.

Disconnected - Disjointed

2008-03-18T11:47:00.000-04:00

These past few months I've felt somewhat "out of it", disconnected from myself in a way, like a spectator watching the daily events this body goes through from a balcony seat far away.

Sometimes I even lose interest, it's a tragedy, really.

It's like my consciousness is waiting for the larvae to turn into a moth and break away from the cocoon these last 30 years have been.

Yeah, it's the issue of inconformity (always is), turned into a solid perception of my own self-worth. I'm trying to turn it around, to make myself believe that It will not always be like this, that someday I will not dread to wake up in the morning to go to work in something I absolutely detest.

But pessimism is a die hard trait, and more times than not, I have this sinking feeling that this is my lot in life, that I've been doomed by my own choices, that It will not work out the way I've been hoping.

So I carry on, I turn 30, it's no big deal. Age is not a big deal, specially because as of late, some things have given me hope for my future, and I've seen 30 as an opportunity for a rebirth, a renewal.

But pessimism, and the day-to-day reality (waking up, going to work, feeling out of sorts, going back home, sleeping) have made me forget hope and the reason for hope (reasons that also surround me day by day, and I sometimes take for granted, I apologize for that).

So what to do? Keep dragging my feet through the bad times just to see the good on the other side? Or try to leap over the puddle of muddy corporate waters, try to find footing on the other side?

30th

2008-03-06T20:37:00.000-04:00

Well, my weekend has begun.

I'm finally turning all of 30 in two days, and I'm glad about it.

I'm glad because at the age of 30 I've finally decided the turns I want my life to take, and I have the ways of starting down that road (if things turn out differently from what I expect, no matter, because at least I'll know I truly tried this time around).

I'm glad because I didn't succumb to the whims and expectations of society, and the life I lead right now is pretty unconventional for most 30-year-olds (my group of friends not included, since life has recently surrounded me with like-minded people).

I'm glad because unlike some 30-year old women I know or see around me, my lifestyle is not shackled down by unhappy marriages or unwanted children. I'm glad because I've been able to flip the bird (and kept it up) at the standards society has set, including contentment with the chosen career. I know I chose wrong, and unlike most women my age, I'm not striving to grow and be of importance in my workplace.

I'm not a suit-clad career woman, bent on showing the world that I can do it as well or better than a man. I couldn't care less about feminism in the polyester rat race.

I'm glad because I've been able to fit in with all aforementioned stereotypes without losing my identity and my motivations. I don't read gossip magazines, and couldn't care less about Britney Spears or Maripily (don't ask, local paparazzi sensation, that's all I care to explain). I don't watch soap operas, and I don't drown my sorrows in aimless 5-hour television binges.

At 30 I'm stilll a geek, I still believe in unicorns, and a well-made anime movie can still bring me to tears.

The child is still alive and well inside me, and the 20-something idiot I once was is long dead. How I did that, I do not know. But it happened. I'm more in touch with 5-year-old Din Din (yay! finally my nickname out in the open! Hahahah!) than I am with 23-year-old idiotic Diana.

And I'm glad, because at 30, I know much more about who I am, and care much less about what the world wants me to be.

From The Heart

2008-02-13T19:20:00.000-04:00

These past few weeks, eyes in general have been poised on the presidential candidate elections of the United States. This once, said process has proven to be incredibly intense, specially on the Democratic side (the side the whole world would prefer as victorious, given the horrid state of affairs thanks to Republican President George W. Bush). Up until now, both primary candidates for the Democratic Party (Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton) have been going at it neck-to-neck, one brushing by very closely to the other. Nothing definitive has been decided yet, not until the majority of delegates has voted in (last primaries will be held in June).

I'm not usually one to have my nose stuck in politics, but I suffer the consequences of a ridiculous, overlong war along with the rest of the world. And being an American citizen, I also suffer the consequences of a government led by an ass-head along with the rest of the American nation (like it or not, because I couldn't choose who to be born to). So, when it comes to an election which could have a strong impact on where we go from now on as a nation and as a people, I can't help but have some strong reactions, even if based on pure emotion rather than on an analytical process.

I don't know when it occurred to me first, but a while after the war was kick-started out of the rubble of the World Trade Center, I became convinced that what could start fixing this world (yeah, the world in general) is another revolution.

Yes, I know it can be seen as a moronically romantic notion, specially in this age of skepticism and irony. Nowadays, the definition of cool is "sarcastic" and not much more. The more heartless you are, the cooler you are, no matter where your lack of faith is coming from. I've participated on this practice of sizing people up by their quality of nonchalant. Being naive has become the worst sin of all, akin to having sucked off an entire police squad.

"Not caring" is the sport of the 21st century. Suddenly all important issues can be found in a copy of the Entertainment Weekly.

So, I am aware of my un-coolness when I say that, regardless of the fact that I know that 99.99% of politicians are corrupted by power or will soon be, seeing these commercials reinforce the notions I've had that what we need is to turn the world upside down.

Maybe what we need is a black president. Or who knows, maybe I'm wrong, maybe a woman would be the right choice. I'm just glad the opposition has candidates that, either way, do not conform to the established norm.

I just hope that the one that wins will show that he or she has the cojones to truly change things around...

... and not let American History keep on this nonsensical course of violence by inertia.

The Beautiful Fat Girl - A Fallacy

2008-02-06T16:00:00.000-04:00

Even the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty chickens out before putting an obese woman at front and center

"Real women have curves", or so some say. Specially in this Caribbean piece of land, where we are told from a very early age that our heritage includes equal parts of Taínos (the indigenous people who occupied this island before the Spanish invasion), Spanish and African. Of course, that is pretty much a lie, since most taínos were finished off before the second or third generation after the invasion came to life, but I digress.

We are a mixed breed: we have African blood, as well as heritage from the Middle East and from Europe. Obviously, the mix of breeds results in the passage of dominant genes...

A huge, round ass is apparently the most widespread, lasting gift to us as a race.

Whether you're out at the supermarket, the mall, a disco, a church ... everywhere you will observe that most females are equipped with a considerable butt. The size of the rest of the body will depend mostly on age, and then metabolic heritage. But most women I've seen nearing their thirties have already lost their washboard abs and thighs of steel. A slim and lithe build seems to be reserved for girls 23 and under.

You would think then that given the increasing difficulty with which we face keeping a given weight and shape, we would be more empathic towards each other. Maybe I'm being too naive to expect women to be more enlightened as time passes, to start seeing beauty in things other than a perfectly formed butt and ribs that hint themselves out of a sinewy torso.

Some of us will never have the experience of fitting in with what the populace considers beautiful: an "ugly" face is rarely so as a general rule (someone will eventually find the most hideous of mugs strangely endearing), but a fat girl will never be considered pleasant to look at. If a girl is born fat and grows up fat, she will most likely live through the experience of being put through numberless diets by her own family, never being quite accepted for who she is, always being an "opportunity for improvement".

Eventually, those born fat will either start ignoring these forms of aggression (the "well-intended" advice to diet, the slanted looks, the whispers, the loud scorn by classmates - children can and WILL be cruel!) ... or in the worst of cases they will let the criticism eat away at their self worth. I have yet to meet a fat person who is completely happy with who she or he is. "There is always room for improvement".

There are other cases in which a girl is born slim, or grows up to be slim, and eventually age will do its job and fill her form out to a plump and round issue of itself. I don't mean to be an absolute judge of which pain is worse, but I can tell you it's incredibly mortifying to
a) not be recognized by old friends because you went way beyond recognizable with 50 additional pounds weighing on your belly and hips
b) being recognized by old friends, and said friends presuming off-the-bat that you are pregnant
c) look at pictures of barely 2 years ago and realizing you're not only growing old, you're growing fat.

In short: changing from "that hot mama" to "that fat mama" in 2 or 3 years' time is frustrating, and it gives a more somber perspective to aging.

However, one good thing I've noticed about my friends (most of which are fat) is that they usually will find loveliness in a person due mostly to what the person is like, rather than what the person looks like. We hate ourselves, we hate our bodies, but we can usually see beauty when it stands in front of us, even if it's living under 200 pounds of fat.

You type in "sexy girl" in google.com, and what do you get? A girl that is barely thicker than the snake she is holding.

Not so with thinner girls. I've surmised that somewhere along the line, something goes on in a thin girl's brain that clicks, and then suddenly they're on a class their own, they belong to a clique, and whatever stands outside this circle is not worth even looking at.

I've heard the most hurtful, insulting comments about fat people coming from a thin person's lips. I guess it's the same "fear of the different" that plays into action in racism and xenophobia.

And incredibly enough, we the "fatties" will give credit to what they say. We will let these comments corrode at our own confidence. I don't know why, I haven't yet figured it out, much less found out a solution to protect ourselves from it. But apparently, the bigger we are, the more vulnerable we become to comments coming from razor-thin assholes.

Saddest part is, these razor-thin assholes, given the way the corporate mechanism works, are the ones in charge, the ones making the decisions on marketing, advertising, purchasing, etc. These are the ones that will push for the airbrushed look on magazine covers, these are the ones that will create demand for thinner models and actresses, these are the ones creating a homogenized world of creatures more resembling the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, rather than a homo sapiens.

The tragedy of all of this? That the new generations are eating it up. Girls will want to emulate the next Kate Moss, and will begin checking themselves out in the mirror, making sure that the hip bone sticks out enough to be sexy. Boys will be fed pictures of airbrushed females, creating expectations that no regular girl will be able to fulfill (and let's not even talk about how males have been put under scrutiny lately, as well. That is a whole other chapter!). All around, a more strict guideline for beauty is being set up. And wherever we look and read, it's being perpetrated by males and females alike.

Long gone is the perception that men would prefer a "healthier" female over the stick-thin models showing up in street signs and corners in the 90s. I've been reading and hearing men, regular men, ogling at these stick-thin figures, more frequently as time passes. Suddenly, sexual desire is sparked by showing bones and slender thighs, not by the abundance of skin or shapely hips.

No matter that she's gorgeous, she will never be considered beautiful again until she loses those extra pounds...

We've been assimilated into the society of thin. A fat girl with a beautiful face will NEVER be "a beautiful girl". She will be "a beautiful fat girl", 'cuz you have to make it clear: she's beautiful but she's fat. Hence, she's not as beautiful as she could be (don't believe me? Even gorgeous girls will be put down in public if they're not picture perfect!).

So ... a girl both beautiful AND fat? Impossible. Not true in the eyes of society.

Writer's Note: This has been a rant brought to you by Diana Campo. You are welcome to express your opinions on the comment section, but be warned: I do not intend to give off the impression that I am in possession of the absolute truth about how things work and how people feel. This is just MY take on things, and I am very aware that my take on things will differ from a lot of other people's. Variety in opinion is most welcome. I look forward to your reactions! ;-)

Dump one in favor of the other

2008-01-29T21:02:00.000-04:00

I'm all over the web, that is no news to me. However, it surprises me when I remember a long-forgotten profile or blog (surprising because I have a rusty memory). It surprises me even more when I go back and there it is!

I had no such luck with my first blog ... I can't even remember the blog host anymore, I only know it has long been extinct, the domain or site was sold to another host and they didn't make it easy, they just erased the users and re-instated the spaces per-request ... only problem was, I didn't remember my username and password by the time I turned back to look for it :-(

Just a few moments ago I remembered Fotolog, a site that hosts just that: fotologs. Instead of blogging, you upload a picture and you blog, if you wish. Simple concept, and I started out fine with it. I uploaded frequently at the beginning and started forgetting it some time after that. At the end, my posts were far in between. All in favor of Flickr, I suppose.

Still, my Fotolog has done me the favor of conserving some pictures that, when looked back upon, remind me of things and moments somehow forgotten. It's easier to revisit the past on a website than to dig into a hard drive full of unfiltered pictures.

Some highlights:

My last bachelorette pad before moving back in with family and eventually moving in with Eze.

My in-your-face nose-ring. Very short lived for a piercing. My other piercings (navel, tongue) survived my office jobs for years! And then I got fed up with snagging my navel with pant buttons or biting on my tongue barbell and breaking my teeth...

That fateful weekend (in collage). :-) Yeah, that one was FUN!

Reminders of my "pink phase" ... it has a lot to do with the previous picture.

A time when we didn't have a washing machine.

... and so on and so forth ... I don't know if I would have the energy and/or the time to go back to fotologging. But it seems like it could be worth it.

I'll think about it.

One Month Down, A Few More to Go

2008-01-23T15:56:00.000-04:00

January didn't creep by this once, like every year before. January came, stabbed us in the back and left before our bodies hit the floor.

How dramatic, right? But January has been backdrop to significant changes [in my life, which is what this blog is about anyways, so any glimmer of self-importance is totally justified].

I am a fast believer of the theory that talking about things too much puts a jinx on it. So it should be just enough to say that last Friday was a catalytic day. I gave up the opportunity to have what most people struggle to get on a daily basis, just in order to give myself the chance of completion, of emotional and intellectual fulfillment. Given the immediate choice (incredibly enough, both options were standing face to face in the same instant), I froze, and may Eze forgive me for calling on him to help me feel reassured on my decision, but I did need someone to tell me it was okay to show myself some love too.

I will put it out in the open, as soon as I get the desirable feedback, the one thing that could go wrong (and hopefully won't).

Other than that one thing that redefines 2008 for me, I'm also getting ready for my birthday. March 8th, 2008 I will be turning 30 years old, and I'm happy about it. What could otherwise be a trauma has turned into a celebration of what I didn't become, a personal statement of independence (of sorts, Eze yesterday rained on my parade a little, thank you >-( ... )

I'm just looking forward to turning to a-round-little-number-of-age again. It will be a Saturday, and I still have no clue how to celebrate it. Suggestions are welcome.

Since the start of the month, work rhythm has almost halted to a complete stop. From working through New Year's Day straight into the following weekend, days like to day are starting to crop up again, in which I have barely any duties for me. Ahhhh, the beauty of tranquil days, it makes up for the frenzy of others.

Our 4-months-old pup, Caprica, hasn't halted to a full stop, though. She's kept growing, although not as fast as before. We enrolled her in an obedience class, which is fine and dandy, but the past 2 lessons have been canceled due to rain. We keep trying to follow up, but she's only focused when she wants to be, which is barely ever. She's energetic and incredibly sweet, but also a total rascal. I've lost my good share of underwear and shoes to her already. I trust that time will do its work, and she will eventually turn into a tranquil and affectionate dog as age goes by.

Happy New Year!

2007-12-31T22:01:00.000-04:00

Differently from recent past years, I've had to work a full day today (12/31) and I will have to work tomorrow as well. It hasn't been a pleasant thing to agree to, but as these days came closer (as late as at the end of last week), I've tried to give it a twist for the better, at least as far as my mood goes.

So as it is, the passing of one year into the other will not be much more special than the passing of one day to the next. But all is well, I have a few heartening plans for 2008, and that gives me something to look forward to.

In 2008 I will be turning 30 (March 8th), my relationship with Eze will be turning 4, my sister Chichi will be turning 21, my brother Kiwi will be 26 (over the 20s peak, huh!).

In 2008 I intend to turn a new leaf in my life (more on that as it develops), and I'd like to also start turning my home into truly mine (my nesting instinct manifests through color, just as Eze's manifests through space management).

In 2008 I hope to be able to travel (there is at least one concrete plan in the horizon), and most of all, I will keep working on my own psyche, so I can finally realize how free I really am. I need to know that, my sanity depends on it.

I hope 2008 brings more blue and sunny afternoons, more sunsets at home, more breezy feelings.

I have no resolutions for 2008 ... it's more like I have resolutions for the rest of my life.

So, as I'm writing this, my pup Caprica is sitting on my lap, being all restless, trying to input some of HER stuff through the track pad. I think I'll just log off now and bid you guys a happy new year celebration.
Thanks for reading! :D

El Perfume

2007-12-26T23:54:00.000-04:00

No sé cómo es que uno se olvida de los olores con el tiempo y sin embargo eventualmente el elemento más aleatorio lo resucita como si estuviese pasando de nuevo. Hace muchos años, cuando todavía mi papá era completamente infeliz y tenía dinero, él usaba perfumes como si fueran calzoncillos: no sólo los cambiaba con frecuencia, sino que los usaba el día entero, y al final ya apestaba.

Aparentemente, la fricción continua del shampoo de miel de abeja (fricción absolutamente necesaria, porque bañar a una cachorrita de 3 meses de edad y 15 libras de peso no es tarea fácil si ella así se lo propone), al cabo de un rato termina oliendo a Drakkar Noir ... o alguna otra de esas pestilencias que usaba mi papá. También es increíble cómo uno le puede tomar cariño a un olor que en cualquier otro caso terminaría provocando una migraña.

Al oler eso, la memoria viajó a una parte que hacía tiempo no visitaba. Era una época problemática, de consternación y confusión. Todos esos años en los que mi papá no fue feliz y en los que no sintió la necesidad de ocultarlo sirvieron para conocer un lado de él que prefiero no repetir. Era algo gris, opaco, oculto, oscuro. Los regaños provocaban más terror del que pueda tenerle uno a mi papá en estos días, y los momentos felices frecuentemente tenían la sensación de un chocolate hueco.

Mis hermanos y yo creo que nos acostumbramos a ese tormento interno de nuestro papá, creo que por eso nos rebelamos tan asquerosamente cuando al fin conoció a alguien que lo hizo sonreír desde adentro nuevamente. En ese momento, mi papá dejó de usar perfumes. Creo que finalmente ya no le hacía falta la máscara.

Realization

2007-12-24T14:40:00.000-04:00

Realization sometimes dawns in multiple steps and phases. Most of times the first phase is already 'too late'. For example, realizing two weeks before graduating with a BA in Commerce/Computer Systems is 'a bit too late' ... or so you think, until you start committing to a house, a car, a way of life that only a professional career will pay for. THEN it's too late, for real.

A few false starts later, feeble attempts to bleed my anxieties, looking for ways to feel less like part of the corporate flock ... it proves that yes, you were late in realizing, and the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be to effectively remove yourself from the huge March of the Android Sheep. All the what if's have piled up in your brain to form a burning scar that throbs each time you fail at excelling at something you don't even care about.

So, it's about time I did something. It might not be the easiest way "out", but it will be a relief not to stay put just because it feels like a societal mandate to keep the one career you chose when you were merely 18 and thinking with your twat.

Writing has been in my blood since birth, I suppose. Nothing else explains that as soon as I learned to put my ABCs on paper, I immediately proceeded to compose poetry and draw accompanying illustrations. Nothing else explains that I've been keeping journals since my hormones started creating havoc on my psyche. Nothing else explains that the only activity that feels like second-nature to me is putting words to the music my soul sings. I may not be an excellent writer, and to some (I know), I lack whatever talent would deem me brilliant to their eyes. Little do they know that it's not so much about wooing them into helpless admiration, it's much much more about relieving myself, doing what my innermost being craves time and again. I cannot help it: I write, therefore I am. Can't be one without the other.

So for the first time in my life I'm seriously contemplating following what my instinct has been since I've been a wee child. I won't give more details than that, I tend to be superstitious "just in case", so I don't tell so as not to jinx it. But it will take time. In the end, I hope I have something to show for it. For the while being, I don't plan to stop writing here, it's all that's keeping me sane, away from high ledges and nefarious pills. In the way there, you might figure out what it is. As always, my problems and my blisses bleed into my words.

Want!

2007-12-09T23:12:00.000-04:00

These past few days have been a bit of a Self Crisis. If I were turning 45 in the next March 8th, I'd say I was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. What I refuse to admit, though, is that I'm having a Turning 30 Crisis, 'cuz that is just plain stupid, and I will have none of that in this house (my body is a temple!).

I've been feeling the strongest of urges: to go out drinking, to get a tattoo, to cut my hair, to dye it blue-black (again), to get my nails done, to do a total overhaul of what "Diana" has come to mean in the past few years. I had never felt so strongly about these things, and I'm a bit scared of going near any shopping mall, in fear that I might get drawn into it and shop myself a new self-image, leaving my credit card maxed out and my economy whimpering on a thin line.

Unfortunately, Ebay exists, and I've already succumbed to the purchase of 2 pairs of spiral taper plugs (earrings, for those not familiar with bod-mod lingo): one pair black, the other red. And I'm on the lookout for Hermes sandals, which are not that easy to find (good quality, i mean. The rip-offs abound and will give you a blister you will not soon forget). What else lies in store for this phase of compulsive buying and tendency to make myself over? I dunno. I bought a henna conditioner treatment yesterday, but that is just a lame pacifier for the forces that usually cause my transformations. It's like stopping a hurricane with a butterfly net.

*sigh* The itch for ink has just begun. Whip out your tattoo guns, boys. It's just a matter of time before I enter a door asking for mayhem on my skin.

In Pain

2007-12-05T16:59:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling like shit (emotionally), my back hurts (for real) and the day didn't get off to a good start since yesterday.

Thankfully, I decided to take my car for repair work on the A/C later in the month, 'cuz my plans would have been shot to hell anyways. Both options I had for a lift (Mom & Eze) had to leave their cars (Eze's car won't turn on, and Mom noticed her car making a weird noise).

The day looks bleak, gray .... just like the future. Bleak. Gray.
I need a shot of adrenaline, maybe some alcohol, maybe a good talk. I dunno. Or maybe I just need to shut up and go back into myself like I've been expected to, like I've tried doing all this time.

I loooooove my perfume

2007-12-03T20:37:00.000-04:00

Wish you had smell-a-vision. Then you'd be able to smell this...

I know, it's classified as "WTF" if it's coming from me, tooting Puff Daddy's horn for designing such a delicious fragrance (or tooting P. Diddy's horn at all). It was unintentional and the associations to the perfume made the purchase so much easier (and impulsive).

A few months ago I started reading the Sandman comic series by Neil Gaiman, and about time, given the whole lot I had heard before about the comic. I loved it, and I immediately connected with Delirium.

Thing is, one day I'm walking around a mall, and I picked up a small paper card sprayed with this perfume that I pretty much liked. I stowed the paper away, and took it home, used it as a bookmark for Brief Lives. The perfume permeated the whole book, accompanied me in the Delirium-ridden story, got into my nostrils and my senses until the smell of it was forever associated with Dream and Delirium.

This past weekend, Mom insisted on taking me shopping, and I budged. There were more than a few things I was wanting/needing. I decided to go snooping around Macy's perfume department, and I really don't understand how I recalled the name of the perfume so clearly. What I didn't remember so well was why I was remembering a perfume named Unforgiven.

As soon as I whiffed at it again, the decision was made, I had to have it. This perfume IS Delirium, this perfume IS Dream. It wasn't until I was drawing out the credit card to pay for it that I noticed what the signature on the back stood for.

Puff-fucking-Daddy, aka Sean John. Jeez!

But then again, he's got a better nose for fragrances BY FAR than all the little Hollywood bitches designing stenches for the gullible masses.

Playlists - Intro and Part 1 of 9: A Cry From the Inside

2007-11-21T15:08:00.000-04:00

Since the era of the mix-tape I’ve always been fascinated by playlists. I love making them, and I believe some insight can be gained to the way a person’s mind works by looking at his or her playlists. Since the invention of social websites and rings, I’ve encountered a few invitations to make up “The Soundtrack of Your Life” by determining which song fits this or that special event in your life. Later on, the web itself has spawned more than a few music-profile websites (see: Last.FM, Pandora Radio, eMusic) in which you make your own playlists by listening to the music you love, and in the process discover new things to like.

My listening habits have obviously changed from the time I taped songs off the radio (in an attempt to save a few bucks, ‘cuz it’s not easy for a 12-year-old to come by $15 to buy a cassette just for the one song she likes). In the process, my playlists have become more varied, motley if you will, and yet, I always come back to the basics, to the songs that were the soundtrack to my puberty, to my childhood even.

I want to share the playlists that have recently taken residence in my iPod (yeah, that creaking antiquity of an iPod Photo which no one has anymore). You might find some things as embarrassingly commonplace as a Thalía hit (because, come on, admit it! There was at least one time in your life in which you danced to Menudo in diaper-clad bliss. Or perhaps there was at least one marquesina party in which you enjoyed Richard Marx more than you’d care to admit….). Likewise there are things so obscure that they never left the household (like the enjoyable song blueprints my brother used to cook up with Fruity Loops).

My intention, however, is not to bedazzle anyone with my hipness or my musical knowledge. I know I possess neither of those things. But I do have an immense desire to finally share some of my feelings about the music I love without limiting myself to rigid formats, without having to wait for the inspiration to review the latest album by Björk (which I loved, by the way, but I rarely ever know how to express my reactions logically enough to call it a review).

So, without further ado, I introduce my Playlist series, in which I shall post almost every day one of my 9 playlists, including a heartfelt description and explanation of why I decided to put all that music together under one (very unapt) title.

A Cry From the Inside

This was actually one of the most whimsical playlists to make. It includes songs and pieces which to my ears sound as if they were truly heartfelt. It could be the quiver of a violin line, or the sound of a broken heart through a skillful voice, what places these pieces together is that they earnestly pluck the heartstrings.

Unfairly enough, this is the only playlist to feature Antony and the Johnsons. Such a beautiful voice should be given more chances to be heard. However, as with other artists and albums, I haven’t fully gotten to the groove of Mr. Johnson just yet.

"Why won't you listen to me more, you bitch!?"

Artists prominently featured in this playlist are:

Deftones – Chino Moreno’s voice, though not exactly artful in the classical sense, has always managed to give me the shivers. So it has come to be that the music by his band is not only one of my favorites, but it also brings not-so-distant memories flooding back, feelings of misplaced hopefulness included.

Superaquello – This band, contrary to Antony, is repeated over and over throughout most playlists. It’s my favorite local band, and with good reason too. Eduardo and Patricia (the lead singers) can swing your mood around into “Play Time”, just as well as they can reach into your throat to squeeze those tears out. If you add to that mix the incredible talent of their fellow bandmates (Francis, Jorge and Pablo), you get an all around Cry-and-Dance Machine.

The Cranberries – My high school sweetheart introduced me to this band back in 1994. The Cranberries made up a huge chunk of the soundtrack to those memorable years. The transition into college included a compulsive obsession to look like Dolores O’Riordan, and songs like “Empty” and “Disappointed” accompanied resentful tears when I started a custom of fighting with Dad. Even later on, the album Bury the Hatchet was the background music to one of the most scarring moments in my life. Dolores’s voice is a fixed feature in my life.

Other artists worth mentioning in this playlist are Damien Rice, whose heartbreak anthem, “Cheers Darlin”, I adopted off the one that now sleeps by my side; Marianne Faithfull, with the crooner “Who Will Take My Dreams Away”, which was shared between two excellent movies I loved: The City of Lost Children and La Fille Sur Le Pont; Múm, which you will notice is a recurrent artist among my playlists; and likewise, Tori Amos.

Download A Cry From the Inside.doc

This was supposed to be different

2007-11-04T00:07:00.000-04:00

I had this entry written out in my mind some 15 minutes ago, but now it's gone. I was in the passenger's seat of Eze's car fifteen minutes ago. I think I need a small electronic tablet, something to record my thoughts as they happen. If I let it go, I m ight never get it back again. Fickle fickle fickle inspiration.

It was all about how Eze and i see and do things differently in life. He's usually the keen observer, while I remember things more like a collage, or "like a trailer of glimpses and brief moments, spliced with images burned onto the wooden cortex of my mind." (see? that bit I did remeber! yay!) There was much more to say though,but it all seems moot point now. Another article/essay that never came to be. Bad too, because it's been a long while since I've written regularly.

It's the job, really. I like working for the company I work for, but the irregular hours and the stres over the learning process leave me with very little energy to sit down to write in the evenings. If you add the spent energy necessary to keep a clean house with a new puppy (with full run of the house during the daytime), you'll understand why I've been mostly absent from my writing hobby. Not so with my beading hobby, but that is only due to yesterday evening, which I spent at a friend's house. There was a beading demo from a representative for a company that sells Swarovski jewelry. I didn't buy anything (the kits were a bit on the pricey side for my standards) but I put together a couple of pieces, which inspired me to make a piece of my own today.

Caprica did something this morning that totally blew my mind, I've never seen a dog doing anything like it. She started pawing the water out of her bowl onto the floor, and after she had made a small pool of water at the kitchen's entrance, she started running around the dining table and back to the puddle... and as she got to the wet area she'd let herself slide. She apprently likes the waterworks more than she's let on before :D Totally nuts!

Little Notes #7: This must be my day!

2007-10-30T12:33:00.000-04:00

#1, Found this on eBay, and although I'm not gonna bid on it (what for, really?), it was yet another nostalgia trip to renew my memory of this tin lunchbox.

Specially of the matching thermos, which never sealed completely and would always let some of the juice out onto my napkins, utensils, other thermos or even worse, onto my sandwich.

#2, I just learned that Guillermo del Toro is producing a film adaptation of one of my favorite comics: Death: The High Cost of Living, and he wants creator Neil Gaiman to direct! Awesome move! And I'm SO looking forward to it, it's scary. They could also fuck it up so many ways :-(

All hail the Endless!

Just like a newborn

2007-10-23T19:50:00.000-04:00

Being mom to a new puppy that still doesn't know how to go potty on the papers and who hasn't learned bite inhibition is somewhat stressful. More so when she also wakes me up every single day at 6 AM, regardless of whether it's Monday or Sunday. I'm guessing it must be a bit like being mom to a newborn, with the biggest difference being that my plight will be over in two-years' time, whereas a kid's mom will have to deal with her human pup for a minimum of 18 years.

Nonetheless, I'm happy with Caprica. She's a handful, and I'm expecting that, as she grows, this set of problems will give way to new ones.

Her mange is finally clearing up, but the vet found she's also got a case of skin fungus. I now have to apply a spray lotion that apparently feels as foul as it smells, 'cuz she squirms like crazy every time I treat her (twice daily). But I trust she will be fine, she's growing pretty fast (or maybe I'm imagining it, but she definitely looks healthier than the day I picked her up).

She loves playing with empty toilet paper rolls, she mistakes the potty pad for a plaything (or a sleeping area), she loves jumping and running circles around us whenever she's pumped for play, and she's already got a taste for sleeping in bed with us (otherwise she'll jump and whine until she gets a lift).

However, strangely enough, not a single bark yet, not really, not since ... weeks ago! I mean, this is the most silent dog I've ever known. Not quiet, just silent. Heh heh! She's gonna be a cutie!!! ^_^

Until you came into my life (finally!)

2007-10-10T02:41:00.000-04:00

I got a call last Friday night, 2 puppies found near a school, abandoned, motherless, hungry, and impossibly tiny. My friend knew I was looking to adopt soon, so she thought I might be interested, and I was, but more than that, I was skeptical. Abandoned street puppies tend to have more than a few diseases, without mentioning skin and stomach parasites. More trouble than I thought I was willing to bargain for.

So I set out for Caguas on a Saturday afternoon to see what the puppy was like (the little boy was taken right away, only the female was left). I was expecting the worst, and I had my mind almost totally set on limiting myself to help take the puppy somewhere where she'd be well taken care of.

I wish I could say that I fell in love as soon as I set my eyes on her, but that was not the case. The creature was too small, too young, she still smelled strongly of mother milk and that was not a good sign. I was convinced this puppy was going to need bottle feedings every few hours and a lot of attention: things I cannot give because I have a full time job. The skin on her tail was heavily scabbed, and her fur was dull and dirty. All in all, she wasn't in so much a bad state as I expected, but she was far from top shape.

I set out for Humacao right away: I had heard of this place called El Faro de los Animales, a no-kill care center for abandoned animals. I had never gone there before, so all I knew was that it was in Humacao, and the approximate area it could be found.

To sum it up: I spent 2 hours driving, and I never found the place, much less a single local soul that new what I was talking about. I stopped at a few gas stations and supermarkets on the way, no one knew anything. I'm not very surprised.

Thing is, during those two hours, the puppy was such a great sport! She slept all the time I spent driving, and it was only whenever I stopped that she opened her eyes and lifted her head (as if saying "Are we there yet?"). The one time in which, as I started to step out of the car to go into yet another gas station, she energetically expressed her impatience with a series of barks and whines (all the while keeping to her small box and looking at me like "Heyyy! What's with the delay?! I'm hungry!") ... well, that's when my heart got hooked. After that, I didn't look for the place so hard anymore and started devising a plan to be able to care for her (at least for a little while).

So I took her to my mom's for a pit stop, left her there so I could go buy a few bare necessities for her care (including tick & flea shampoo, a small comb, puppy formula, etc), but we left her with a tiny plate with some mashed moist dog food. When I gt back, I was suprised to see she had eaten it all up. No bottle feedings for this lady!

Meet Caprica. She's still in her baby phase, just learning how to move and walk. Stubbornly silent, except for the occasional bout of barks sparked by things we haven't figured out yet (she has only barked once at home, I guess she got excited over the soundtrack to Battlestar Galactica too!). Misses the paper half of the time, but I'm confident she will get better at it, she's still just a baby, no bladder control yet. Her first visit to the vet revealed she's got intestinal parasites (normal in most puppies) and sarcoptic mange (not so normal, contagious even to humans, and potentially fatal if not treated). She spends most of the days in our tiny bathroom, but we let her out while we're in the house. We will eventually move her to the kitchen and laundry, as soon as I am sure she won't fit under the fridge or behind the washing machine.

She loves playing as most puppies do, and it is sometimes intimidating to know that I am somewhat expected to substitute a bouncy, energetic peer as her playmate. But Eze has been a gigantic help, and it's not so overwhelming with him around. He's fallen into the daddy role so well and so fast, it is scary (in a charming way, of course!). And I found myself for the first time foregoing my own meals and necessities in favor of helping out a tiny helpless creature. Unexpected from myself... and I feel changed. I guess that's a pale version of what mothers go through when they give birth.

I'll stick to dogs, though. Caprica will be more than a handful in a few weeks. ^_^ I'm looking forward to that!
(... I finally got the puppy from my heart! I'm SO happy!)

In Absentia

2007-09-26T16:12:00.000-04:00

Eze's been away for 4 days now. It's not much, but it feels like eternity. You know it feels like eternity when you start getting used to being by your own in the evenings and mornings. But you're not so used that you forget that there is someone who usually comforts you when you wake up in the middle of a stormy night, ridden with nightmares about shape-shifting trees that murder people. It's the void in the pillow next to you that hurts the most... but you've gone numb.

Nonetheless, I've kept myself mostly busy:

On Saturday I went shopping with my mother: one of the most productive shopping sessions I've had in my life (and I hate shopping). In the evening, I tended to the usual in Frecuencias Alternas.

On Sunday I received a visit by Alysha and Tattiana. We cooked ground meat for taquitos and I made a batch of polvorones. In the meanwhile we watched Andres López's Pelota de Letras (a Colombian comedian and his 3-hours-long stand-up routine, very funny, but exhausting!).

Monday and Tuesday have obviously been work-days, but I've managed to spend the evenings in something other than moping. I've already finished watching season 3 of Doctor Who (which was not as tragic as the ending of season 2, but just as enjoyable). I've also come across a few interesting contacts, namely Rasputina's manager (I contacted him regarding a rumored recital to be held here in Puerto Rico in November, and as he confirmed so kindly, I took the liberty of asking about the possibility of interviewing them over the phone for Frecuencias Alternas - he hasn't answered yet, but the exchange was interesting enough for me).

I also found out about a private animal shelter (No-Kill) in Humacao: El Faro de los Animales. They're a non-profit organization (with no funding by the government) that's dedicated to the care of homeless animals and the search of loving homes for them. They have a series of different programs to allow the public to participate and help as much as they can with this mission. I'm seriously considering spending at least 2 days a month in this place and help out with my time (every other saturday or some similar arrangement).

Oh ... yeah, and the reason for this last discovery: I'm looking for puppy. :-) I finally feel ready to adopt a little bundle of canine love. Let's see how soon it turns out to be.

In Shambles

2007-09-18T00:36:00.001-04:00

Well ... I've just watched what usually counts as a season finale for Season 2 of the "new" Dr. Who series, and all I can say is ... I'm in shambles. I'm aware that I'm way behind schedule (I think they're past Season 3 now), but I've been watching it slowly in my own time ... so I got there now.

Earlier on in the evening I heard one of the most touching songs I know (again), and it touched me to the core (again!). I was planning on making an entry on it later on, but after watching this last episode ("Doomsday"), it's heartbreaking to see how much one fits the other ... tragic, really.

Do You Realize?
by The Flaming Lips

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize

A Hole in My Forehead

2007-09-10T20:38:00.000-04:00

If I hear screams outside - and not your run-of-the-mill play-like scream, I'm talking about bloodcurdling, hair-rising screams - I'm the kind of person that will peek through the door's eye-piece or look out the window. Unless it's gunshots we're talking about, in which case I'll move to the innermost part of the apartment in a hurry (and it has happened more than once already). Same goes for numerous and insistent siren wails. Part of me does it because I want to be in the know (be it for the reason that it may: I like being a well-informed citizen ... or I'm just turning into an old, gossipy fart!). The "bigger" part of me does it because it gets a thrill - an adrenaline surge - out of other people's emergencies and crises. Same goes for when a hurricane is announced. The tornado-chaser in me wakes up and smiles a little bit.

Until now this part of me has had no bearing in my fortune. My curiosity has not gotten the best of me, not to the point in which any onlooker could be tempted to start talking about dead cats and such. But last night, in my dreams, it did.

I dreamt some regular Joe broke into my apartment with me in it. I tried to force him back outside, only to run into the grim figure of a dead neighbor. I had seen too much and the guys with the guns knew it. I knelt and I looked for the longest time into a brushed steel barrel (sort of flat-ish) and then it was over.

Next thing I know I'm looking at a mirror in a bathroom (not the mirror in my bathroom, but then again, dreams are fickle when it comes to spaces and appearances). What's wrong with all of this is: I'm alive but I have a gunshot wound in my forehead and there's blood streaming down my face and across my chest. Dry, caked blood. I'm supposed to be dead, but all I have to prove for it is a zit-sized hole ... a zit-size smoking, gaping hole. Not supposed to be there, was it?

Then again, when some people started visiting my home, I realized most of them were seeing something completely different to what I saw in the mirror. Something completely different from what I look like (I'm under the impression, perhaps out of a glimpse I got during the dream, that I was a girl with long, light-brown, wavy hair). I had reincarnated almost immediately, I realized, out of concern for what would happen to Eze.

I woke up with a start. It was scary enough to see me dead in a mirror. Dead-but-alive. Holding on to dear life, even if it meant invading someone else's body, out of concern for Eze. Thing is, I think I'm not afraid to die so much as I am afraid of missing out on the lives of my loved ones.

Our Visit to the San Diego Zoo

2007-08-18T22:48:00.000-04:00

I can commune with a Kitschy Bear too!, originally uploaded by dhevi_anais.

I am no militant animal rights activist, but I feel pretty passionately about the subject, specially when it comes to issues such as animal cruelty, most predominantly in circuses and puppy mills.

I understand that the idea of keeping a wild animal in captivity is not quite right, it's not fair at all to the animal's inherent right to freedom and domain of his own territory and life. However, we've already fucked up the planet enough that sometimes an animal's territory and free life are not what's best for its survival and well-being. That's why I'm not 100% against zoos. During my visit, the San Diego Zoo convinced me that they too feel that way in the most part, and the animals they keep, even if their space is much more limited than what a free range would be, are healthy and well cared for.

Besides, and this is the selfish, Elmyra-like part of me talking: I like seeing animals up-close, specially those I haven't seen before. It gives me a rush to the head like few other things do.

The San Diego zoo is huge like none I've previously visited. I haven't seen all that many zoos. To be honest, I've only visited the Zoológico de Mayagüez (the main Puerto Rican zoo), the zoo inside the Science Park in Bayamón (terribly depressing, I'm amazed they haven't been shut down), the Matecaña Zoo in Pereira and the Miami Metro Zoo (a free-range zoo, most probably bigger than the San Diego Zoo, but I was way too young when I visited, so I don't remember too well). Thing is, I wasn't quite ready for the vastness of the zoo. More than half a day wasn't enough to see everything there was to see. We missed the big cats and the monkeys, for example. However, they have set tourist traps outside every main attraction. I think that's a way of not only selling every plushie, keychain, resin figurine and t-shirt imaginable, but it's also a way to guarantee that no one will get to see the whole zoo in a single day, so they'll buy a 2-day or 3-day pass for the next time.

Our main goal for the day was to NOT get lost inside the zoo, and at least that we achieved. We got on the tour trolley as soon as we got inside, just to get a gist of how the zoo was laid out. In spite of our best common sense, we sat on the top tier of the bus. I got a nice sunburn on my arms as a result, but we got to see some of the exhibits from a nice vantage point. No big cats nor monkeys, though. They like the dark, apparently, so their exhibits are not as easily accessible or viewable.

I tried to take as many pictures as possible from the vantage point the top tier offered, but the point came fast enough in which I was so amazed by everything that I didn't know where to look, much less where to point the camera lens. So Eze took the camera from my hands and took some pictures himself.

Yay for a smiling and confused Diana!

After the trolley, we got on the Skyfari (an aerial tram), which would have been totally fun, but instead was totally hilarious, as I realized Eze is pretty nervous about unsecured heights. I laughed all the way to the other side of the zoo. Yes, I'm evil that way.

We then visited the polar bear exhibit: a huge tank with some rocks and overhangs to provide shade for the bears. The special part is that the tank has an observation room that allows the public to view a side section of the water as well, so we could enjoy what was going on underwater just the same as what was going on at the top. At that hour, the little Coca-Cola pals were having some nap time, however. I was amazed at how much they look like dogs, not ferocious at all. I guess I'd be of a different mind if I were stranded in the Arctic pole (or on the island of Lost).

After that we ambled around a bit, ate some cheap-ass churros (after tasting some decent copies in here, having imitation churros at a zoo park is a lukewarm experience at best). Caught some four-legged, hooved friends, including the ever-so-hailed zebra - which is just like a donkey glorified by very funky stripes.

One of the biggest highlights of the trip to the zoo was seeing the pandas. Pandas are said to be on the verge of extinction, mainly because of their refusal to have sex (therefore procreate), plus they insist on eating only bamboo, which is a very frail plant that gets wiped out with incredible regularity. It seems to be a species bent on self destruction, just like us humans. I guess that's why we:
1) insist on meddling in their affairs and keep them in captivity, every once in a while goading them to fuck, utilizing increasingly weird methods of encouragement, and
2) get all teary-eyed, sympathetic and soft-hearted at the sight of one of these distant cousins to the raccoons. However, when we see a raccoon, we can't help but thing of garbage, go figure!

However stupidly suicidal as this species seems to be, having them so close was almost magical... and I couldn't stop thinking of my sister all the while.

There was also the issue of the kiwi. I really wanted to see one of them, SO much, principally to take a few pictures to show my brother (he has been nicknamed "Kiwi" since he was 14 years old). We deviated from the fastest route and took the most up-hill trekk to be able to see these birds. I was SO curious, I had never seen one of these up-close. I arrived to the exhibit only to be greeted by a slab of metal, a note on kiwis, saying that these are nocturnal birds and that the exhibit had been set up with a lighting scheme similar to moonlight, to increase to probability of the kiwis showing during open hours. GODDAMMIT! The exhibit was fucking dark as hell, and worse yet, no kiwis showed! >-( Goddamned antisocial animals!

Yep! That's a very frustrated Diana, trying to be contented with having a picture taken with a fucking board...

One new favorite animal after this trip? The meerkats! I was very surprised by these fellas. I was under the impression that these animals were as big as a small dog, but when I saw these bite-sized bundles of playfulness, I was hooked. They're small, they're cute, they're playful and they're carefree. For the time we were there, three or four meerkats were playing around under the sun, tumbling and running onto each other and flopping belly-up to bask in the sunlight. They made a fan out of me in a couple of minutes!

Finally we stopped by the elephant pen: two Asian elephants and an African one share a relatively small territory. I don't know how they pull it off, and it seems as if the reduced space has kept the elephants from growing into their full-fledged glory. Or maybe as an adult I've grown to expect things as majestic as elephants to be as huge to my eyes as they were to my 8-year-old self.

We wrapped it up by visiting the koala exhibit. Funny thing is, while the koalas held behind acrylic sheets were stuffing their faces, the ones sitting in their trees outside were all curled up in their sleep in an exactly identical fashion. These little critters seemed fragile to me, not in a baby-cute way, but in an old-geezer-who-needs-your-elbow-to-stand-up sort of way. It's like getting a grandpa wrapped up in extra-fuzz.

We left the zoo with lighter wallets, but we at least got the idea that next time we should dedicate more time to the visit, and maybe even give more attention to the Wild Animal Park.

BTW: You can visit my Flickr set of our visit to the San Diego Zoo and get the whole gist of the paseo: I took tons of pictures and included more than a few comments. So feel free to drop by, look around and leave comments ;-)

Our Visit to San Diego - The Town

2007-08-10T00:56:00.000-04:00

That's better!, originally uploaded by dhevi_anais.

We got to San Diego on Tuesday (July 24th) at midnight. Ravenous, thanks to the overprice of airport food and the hairline slit of a time frame between connecting flights, we were oh-so-thankful when we realized, already in the room, that there was at least one pizzeria available for delivery until 3am. Nothing could have prepared us for the kind of yuckiness such pizza would possess: it was progressively bad as you ate it, until at the end you were only minutes away from disemboweling your disgust at the porcelain throne. Hahahah! Thankfully, the rest of the trip fared much better, food-wise.

The free breakfast was way better, as Pepe can attest! Thank you, Pepe! The offer was "Free Continental Breakfast", and I was expecting a deluge of fruit and seeds, like a huge trail mix on a plate. I was pleased to find that they also included cereal, pastries, muffins and a small toaster oven.

The first day, we went immediately to find our feet: bought a 4-Day Tripper and saw a bit of downtown San Diego, before heading for the Zoo (I will talk at length about the Zoo on a later post). After the Zoo, we headed immediately to the convention center for Comic-Con Preview Night (I will also talk at length about the Comic-Con on a later later post). At the end of all that flurry of activity, we were tired and incredibly hungry again (the San Diego Zoo doesn't offer a great variety of fair-priced, healthy, hearty meals ... just nachos, fajitas and churros, and all of it is junk-food quality and overpriced. The convention center didn't have any food stands open either, I think. So after some bickering and dawdling, we finally plopped our sorry and tired asses on a sports bar/restaurant named the Lobster Baja Burrito mutherfucker ... No, that's not the actual name, but it was equally long and I didn't keep a memento to remind me. The food was yummy, fairly priced, and abundant. I was a happy camper, and I think my travel buddies were happy as well. We went to sleep full and contented.

After that, the rest of the trip was mainly about the Comic-Con. For the next couple of days, we woke up at about 7am had our Free Continental Breakfast, and headed for the convention center. On Thursday, we decided to visit the Horton Plaza, a sort of mall in a totally different style from the ones I've seen so far in my life and travels: it has steps and levels all over, pretty but confusing! Pepe says he visited one just like that in L.A. I wonder if that's the ways malls are all over California...

We found another gastronomic haven at the Horton Plaza that night: the something-something Café (sorry, my memory is hideously bad when the rest of the body is taking over all the energy), which is sort of like a deli-style market with a small grill outside. We ate ... a LOT. I'll have to say: when they advertise grain bread, they DO mean grain. It was unnerving to feel thick, chewy seeds inside my sandwich. The grilled chicken alfredo pasta (cold!) was awesome, and I finally had my first Cherry Coke ever! I bought a Cherries n' Cream soda and a canned cold "frappuccino" drink from Cinnabon for the road (they were good too!). I also tried their berry parfait: not so good.

On Friday night we took the wrong bus, ended up pretty far from the hotel, had to take a taxi all the way back. It was a creepy experience, mostly because (in the bus) I sat in front of a guy that at first sight looked all normal and primped. After a while I noticed he was laughing to himself for no apparent reason (no Bluetooth hands-free cell phone system nor headphones were on sight) and he was also sucking his thumb (a full grown man!) and fondling his own chest. Ew!!! and Weird!!! After that, I couldn't fully gather my nerves again that night.

Saturday was the oddest day: we woke up at 3:50 to head out as early as possible to the convention center (that day the Battlestar Galactica and Heroes panels were to be held). We had the bestest of days there, topped off by a nice and cheap meal at the resident (fish) taco place: Rubio's Mexican Grill. It was more than fairly priced, the fish taco was decent (at least) and the rest of the food was quite yummy. We visited once more before heading back home, just so you know. We even wished we had the money to bring the franchise to Puerto Rico, it would dethrone Taco Maker and Taco Bell in the bat of an eyelash.

Sunday and Monday were sort of wind-down days: Eze and I didn't leave bed until past 9 am. Both days we totally missed breakfast hour, but bless Mari and Pepe! they brought us some breakfast to the room (talk about friendly room service!) On Sunday we ventured far into Gaslamp street and ambled into a small, posh restaurant (don't remember the name either). The prices were a bit hefty, so I ordered a prosciutto pizza (nice! topped with red onions and goat cheese, although it irked me that they put the prosciutto in the pizza before cooking it, so the ham was sort of over-salty and chewy ... a total pet peeve of mine).

On Monday, to while a bit of time away before leaving for the airport, Mari and I walked a block from the hotel to a local Salvation Army thrift shop. I left with 5 "new" shirts (of which 4 turned out to be pretty decent buys for $3.50 apiece) and a few other trinkets. We arrived at the airport at 3 pm to wait for our flight, which left at 10 pm. Pretty long wait but the San Diego airport is pretty comfy and it offers a few decent-priced options for food.

I was sad to leave, I always am. Leaving is my least favorite part of a trip. Both flights (going and coming back) were horrendous. The Economy-Class seats at Delta and US Airways are terribly uncomfortable and narrow, and damn the day they decided to start scrimping on food! Snacks and drinks at airplanes now are a joke! Even the peanuts are bad. Plus we had a small incident with one of the flight attendants from Delta. I wouldn't bother saving a few bucks to fly with them again. It's not worth it.

So, my take on San Diego?

A nice place to visit, it's incredibly near to Mexico (one of the trolley lines, the Blue Line, goes all the way to Tijuana ... haaa! How I would have loved to make that trip!), and it shows mainly on the food. The climate is bizarre: the sun heats you up and makes you sweat, but the breeze is chilly. I'm surprised I didn't get sick. People there are terminally nice and customer service is incredibly great at large!

The views and the scenery are what you would expect of a city lining a docking bay: boats and seagulls abound, and sunsets are quite tranquil and pretty. Nothing much that is missing in this island, though. Only detail is that the city is cleaner and more orderly (and, of course, this being California, you have way much more chances of running into the beautiful and famous - not an exceptionally great plus to me). It's expensive, and the people there seem to be living life much more preoccupied with how they look than with what they think. Maybe I'm mistaken, though.

I noticed two distinct social classes: the upscale rich kids, visiting Old Town for an afternoon of shopping, and the Mexicans, either obviously service workers and maids, or kids out into the other part of town that's somewhat less refined, less touristic - the part of town I would have liked to get to know better.

BTW: Trains got to me. Line cars were pretty and quaint - I had never seen one in real life. But trains are something else. I had seen the Metro at NYC, which is wonderfully engrossing and I will forever be in love with it. But the train in San Diego was the first actual freight train I've seen in my life. I couldn't have fathomed the length of these vehicles, and no one could have conveyed to me the attention their prescence commands ... at least the attention they command from me. I'm in love with trains. That much I can say.

I'm helplessly in love with New York City, this much I could surmise by visiting yet another place that does not fulfill and does not command the heart the same way New York has.

But fun was had, the company was insurmountably great... would do it again in a heartbeat. But let me rest for a year before ... the flight over there is too long and restless.

Also: I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows during my trip: FUCK Mrs. Rowlings! I feel cheated ...

Teaser for Memoirs on San Diego Comic Con 2007

2007-08-01T16:21:00.000-04:00

I'm back on track, back at work, back to same ol' same ol'... after a week of travel, of discovering what it's like on the west side.

We attended the Comic Con on a year in which attendance was estimated to be a little over 123,000 individuals. It felt like it alright. Crowds were mind-bogglingly large, lines were overlong, and after 5 days of experiencing the warmth of a small town squeezed into an auditorium, I definitely needed to decompress.

I finally got to see a live panda and more than a few koalas curled up in their sleep. I learned a few things about a certain Australian bird and hugged a metal bear. I met a man that changed my life as a child, and without meaning to, I made his day. I saw an absurd amount of movie trailers and previews, some of which turned my eyes into starry orbs with wonderment, but of which I only remember the names of very few.

We (Eze, Pepe, Mari and I) shared our funds for food and other supplies, shared cheap sandwiches and bad pizza, shared a lot of time together, had good times, had arguments, but all in all we had a blast.

Later on, I will be posting pictures and a full recount (up to what my memory will allow) very soon.

San Diego Comic Con 2007 Update #1

2007-07-27T05:32:00.000-04:00

Well, it's official: we've been here for two days now, and the whole Comic Con experience has been fun, extenuating and mind-boggling.

We took our late-afternoon flight on Tuesday 24th by Delta Airlines. I have to say the seats are freakishly small. I know I'm overweight, but I'm also small-sized, which makes me an average-sized individual, and I was feeling a bit too smug in their seats. Eze was definitely tight, and Pepe and Maricarmen had more than one trouble and pain over this detail, specially considering it was two 4-hour flights (both with delays, mind you).

At our arrival (at nearly midnight) we were ravenous. Delta Airlines didn't serve in-flight meals in any of our flights, so we had to tide our hunger over with the meager snacks they provided (plus the hideously bad coffee) and whatever snack we could chance across in between flights (which wasn't anything considerable because the time between connecting flights was pretty limited). We ordered for pizza delivery from the Days Inn hotel we are staying in, and while it seemed an awesome idea at the moment (everything tasted like a piece of mana), it proved to be not such a sound decision the next day (indigestion and heartburn ensued).

The stay at the Days Inn includes continental breakfast, but we found it to be less composed of fruit (which is the typical meal for which the term 'continental breakfast' has been coined) and more composed of assorted pastries.

Yesterday (Wednesday 25th) we visited the San Diego Zoo, to later on pre-register for the Comic Con and attend Preview Night (which was like opening a fun park to a huge herd of wild children). We've been juicing the most out of this visit and tomorrow and Saturday will be no exception. So bear with me and my lack of blogging. As we speak, a small pain has been creeping up onto my shoulder and I really need some sleep. So I'll have to leave it here, more as soon as I return to my blogging ways.

Thanks for reading!

Peace out!

The 1-Day Week

2007-07-23T19:58:00.000-04:00

Well, it's almost Day Zero (in which my closest friends and I lift off to the Pacific zone), and I just had a pretty interesting weekend.

Eze and Pepe twisted the planned schedule for Saturday upside down, and we ended up handing in a pre-recorded program of Frecuencias Alternas in exchange for the freedom to spend the rest of the evening at Rebeca's and Tatiana's birthday. It was one of those huge, folkloric affairs, with two birthday cakes (more than enough to pass around twice and then serve in doggy bags for family and friends), confetti strewn all over the floor and a random mix of merengue, reggaetón and (gulp!) Gunther. We (Eze, Pepe, Maricarmen and I) spent most of the time sitting on a huge metal box perilously perched on the parking curb (and identified by graffiti as the "Skate Box"). We talked a lot, planned some more details of our upcoming trip, and had the kind of easy-going fun you only get to have with tried-and-true friends. We're the Clerks (see: Kevin Smith) generation, and we love it!

Sunday kicked off with rain and thunder, but we carried on with our plan anyway: to spend the afternoon with my Mom and brother. We picked them up and went to lunch at El Hipopótamo (a small, old Spanish-style restaurant, or tasca, as we like to call it 'cuz then we feel a bit more cosmopolitan when we go there). After a nice, thorough lunch (serrano ham was to be had, as well as milhojas, and that makes me very happy), we went to JC Penney in Plaza Carolina (so as to avoid Plaza las Américas, which gets hellishly crowded on weekends). I had spotted a few covetable items in the JC Penney shopper, and for the first time in a long while, I acted on the whim. Most of said covetable items were not so pretty up close, or were not available, but I got away from it all with a new pair of (gasp!) Mary Janes. How odd of me ¬_¬ ...

Later on we had dinner with Pepe at Dennys, and after another brief visit to Mom's (to help move a futon outside, where it will probably be carried off by someone desperate and very strong), we capped off the evening by watching Bridge to Terabithia. It was much better than I thought it would be and affected me more than I predicted. It's fully recommendable, but be prepared for the unexpected.

Oh! Eze also bought Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for me, and I just started reading it. NO FUCKING SPOILERS, you read me!?

So, it's nearly 5PM, a bit over an hour to go before quitting time, and tomorrow we depart at 4:52PM. In 24 hours I'll most likely be strapped to a plane seat, looking out of the nearest window and bracing myself for the emotional orgasm liftoff always brings. I'll keep posting as much as our daily activities let me, and I'll definitely take as many pictures as I can.

I'm giddy! I can hardly wait!

Little Notes #6: Time Traveling with Bunnies

2007-07-20T19:58:00.000-04:00

A month or so ago Eze introduced me to the Dr. Who series, starting with the 9th doctor (Christopher Eccleston). This introduction coincided with the season 3 finale of Battlestar Galactica (another obsession Eze introduced me to), so I was thirsty for yet more sci-fi. Little by little, I realize I'm becoming a bigger geek than I thought myself capable of. However, the sheer and full realization of this came last night as I watched The Last Mimzy.

Think not so much in terms of storyline, but more in terms of reference. This is like putting together an old love of mine (Alice in Wonderland) and a newfound love (time traveling) linked together by an element I was called to awareness of by my brother (the Jabberwocky). The film becomes for me, then, a beautiful work of art and an enthralling sci-fi story.

So, suffice it to say (since I have no intention of spoiling the plot for anyone), I'd be incredibly happy to have an adventure traveling through time in the TARDIS along with Doctor Who #9 and Mimzy... I'd be incredibly happy and tickled pink ...

Catching Up after the Switch

2007-07-19T13:51:00.000-04:00

I started working at my new place on Monday. I was handed my laptop just yesterday, though. Seems like they weren't exactly 100% ready for me.

The hours are weird, it will take some getting used to. I've been working at offices for about 7 or 8 years now. My punch-in time has always been 8am or earlier. In most places I've been, it has been completely mandatory that I be there on time, down to the last company I worked for, in which 8:01am was one minute too late. In here, we work from 9am to 6pm, and it's almost like a suggestion. I've seen people come in at 10am or even 11am, and it's not a big deal. However, punch-out time is 6pm, and I don't see people leave much earlier than that. That will be the hardest thing to get used to, but it'll be alright.

The office is freakishly small, like a doctor's office. Right now, I'm sitting in the conference room, which also doubles as docking bay for the technicians (since techs don't get their own cubicles ... the office is freakishly small). This office is in a building that was apparently made for doctors' offices and clinics, and the footsteps of the people passing by in the hall make the floor tremble. It thunders through this space like it was made of construction paper. Other than that, the silence is a bit unnerving. These people are so different from one another, yet they all seem to convene on one thing: they like their peace and quiet.

These days have been odd, obviously. Being the new girl, not having the slightest clue of what to do, other than reading and re-reading the manual for the software I will be working with... and then again, sometimes getting the feeling of comfort that these people will most likely consider me family with astounding speed (since not only the office is freakishly small, but the staff is also not very big). I like it here, but I'm trying not to get too comfortable. My job's gonna be on the outside, at the client, and that's usually never a comfort zone. That's the reason I chose this: to get out from behind the desk and do something different... wake my mind up a bit.

So, on Tuesday we'll be on our way to San Diego (plane leaves at 4:52pm!), and after our return it will be work work work! I have a good feeling about this, though. I can do this, it should be good.

Different. But good.

UGHS 1995

2007-07-11T18:54:00.000-04:00

UGHS

Class of 1995

And that's me, smack in the center, on a smoldering day in May. One of those rare days in which mom and dad got along just fine, even my aunt and grandma tagged along, and no one ended up fighting. I earned two medals: one for Highest College Board score (the College Board is a college entry test, somewhat like the SATs), and one for Health Class (now, that was a hoot!).

It was one of the longest graduation ceremonies I have been in (if not THE longest ... ever!). It took, from start to finish, about 5 hours, mostly because of the myriad of activities and speeches. The validectorian herself took up some space, half for the teachers to read her 9-page-long resume, and half for her to shoot down authority in one sweep. Suffice it to say that teachers weren't expecting that and they were sorely vexed. Everyone else laughed. And in retrospect, I should have been more like her, less contented with the paternalistic recognition handed me during those three high school years.

I salute Cindy Salgado for that!

Talking of Cindy, she'd be the one right next to me (I'm the oddly long-necked creature standing at the far right of the picture, squinting at the sunlight, and impressively not melting under the beret and the denim jacket). I can't for the life of me remember much of this road trip. The picture was taken at El Yunque, perhaps in one of the old stone watchtowers that dot the way to the top.

As much as I don't remember this particular trip, I do remember others, and the one time I fell asleep on the last seat of the bus. It was so hot, I was sweating out of my eyes. Either that, or I was sick ...

The picture doesn't say much. To be honest, I can't say what it is the person who took the picture trying to photograph. I don't even remember the decoration of the place. I do remember:
-the lighting (dim and located)
-Cindy's skirt (long, fringed, red suede, cowboy boots! argh!)
-staying in the same room with about 8 people (including Mayda's mom and her brother, which ensured some drama for the evening)
-popping out of the hotel for a bit (and suddenly finding myself ordering take-out breakfast from Burger King at 4 am)
-the rumors (including "a bathtub full of champagne/beer/bubbly alcohol", and "a threesome in said bathtub" etc etc etc)
-the intense scolding I got afterwards (for not calling the night before to let my parents know I had gotten there just fine)

To tell the truth, I consider my White Christmas 1994 to be in a truer spirit of what a prom should be like. (I didn't even stay at the prom anyway. Mom got sick, so we had to split.)

I don't recall who was the insane teacher that thought it would be somehow helpful for our progress in the English language to hold a fashion show. It gave way, however, for an annoying slew of more of these, complete with casting sessions and tearful rejection. Our own fashion show will probably pale in the collective memory of class 1995, thanks to the overblown production by another group, in which the highlight of the afternoon was one of the girls unabashedly walking down the makeshift catwalk in nothing but sheer black stocking, a camisole and a thong. I can still vividly remember the post-pubescent kids scrambling to get their $1 bills in first ...

BTW: Even if there is no picture of it, I do remember Mayda imitating Gloria Trevi at a talent show. She forced a kid out of his belt (he looked scared shitless) and poured some ... soda? water? over her wild hair. Shock value was starting to be IN way back in 1992!

I could be at this all day if I wanted. The memories pour in as soon as you open the mind's window to the slightest image.

I remember a Halloween party in which Cindy and I closed off the evening by howling at the moon (what WAS our trip, anyway?). I garnished the corners of my mouth with fake blood and all I got was a comparison to a ventriloquist's puppet (never place fake blood as if it were falling in straight lines down the corners of your mouth and then not accompany it with the fake fangs ... you WILL look like a puppet).

I remember Mayda's gray-colored contact lenses, the first I ever saw on someone my own age. I remember her having them on so often that I almost believed that was her natural color, even if I had met her first as a brown-eyed girl.

I remember the girls who shaved their heads, a pair of sisters, both donning faces so beautiful and faultless, that the lack of hair worked perfectly. I tried it later on in college. Pulled it off, but not as gracefully.

I remember Ana Pomales and her frequent change of hair color. She used to be a hair model for Wella, and it gave her the privilege of having edgy haircuts and flashy hair colors. She introduced me to the concept of glo-orange hair. Thank you!

(Plus she had a bicthin' sense of fashion, I always envied that a bit...)

Another one with an enviable sense of fashion: Yadira de Jesús. Always fashionably retro, without falling into the crowd. Always a bit of a forward thinker in that way ... And there were a few others, beautiful creatures, graceful creatures. Looking back, I guess I have never felt as good as I looked. I've always suffered the ugly duckling syndrome.

I remember my small, wine-red wool sweater, and how I wore it even if it was 90 degrees outside. I loved my red sweater. I loved my fake Doc Martens boots. I loved the one time I dared set myself on the spotlight by painting my whole face stark white, surrounded my eyes in black (like a raccoon) and stained my lips in red. I loved that next year, a few others did it too.

I remember sitting on the staircase to the mezzanine arguing with Axel about Ricardo Arjona. It should please him to learn that I saw the error of my ways: Axel, you were absolutely right. I remember sitting outside on a bench and asking Raul (a total stranger back then) to play a Metallica piece for me (jeez! wasn't I the forward one?).

I even remember that a rumor got around of me saying I would be the Antichrist's mother. A group of creeps came around to ask me about it ... I had to go back on my story, lest they should get any ideas to kill me because the believed me. I'm glad I did. There are lots of crazies around in high school already.

The gallery Nanette posted on her Facebook profile may not have many pictures of me, or of activities I might remember. But they are the key to opening up my own memories. A shame that I don't have the pictures to match. But today I've had quite the ride!

Thank you, Nanette!

Memories: a Preview

2007-07-11T13:21:00.000-04:00

A classmate of mine apparently appointed herself from the beginning, back in 1991, to be the official historian for the rest of the class. The class reunion was celebrated on 2005 and I wasn't able to go, regrettably. It could have been fun.

However, she had gone through the painstaking process of scanning photograph after photograph and then posting them online, at Facebook. I've been going through Memory Lane since 8:00am today. I realize I was in very few pictures (I think I've never been keen on getting photographed). I realize weight gain is a common problem for most of us by the time we're hitting our 30s. I realize I might be getting old, the freshness of the teen years is gone. Does that mean my prime time is over? Or has it just begun?

Later on, I'll write more extendedly about the memories these pictures brought back ... should be a nice exercise for my mind.

Thinking With My Stomach #1: Antojito Paisa

2007-07-10T19:21:00.000-04:00

Today has been a bit weird, basically because I have this unrelenting craving for bandeja paisa, specially (and inevitably, only) the one Alvaro makes in his own little restaurant in Caguas.

I am usually not very fond of the rice-and-beans staple most Puerto Ricans use for their daily diet. However, as soon as it is included in a bandeja paisa, it's all game. Then the ground beef, which is a total mystery as to how they make it. When you try it for the first time, it's like they're feeding you instant meat (all powdery, no juice). However, it becomes addictive right away. I guess it's the taste. There's a secret to this combo, though. All the meat juice is right in the pork rind: it's supposed to be crispy, fatty and juicy ... and BIG. Most of the times, they will also throw in some pork sausage as well. Clog your heart in one afternoon.

Then there's the slice of avocado, which I usually avoid since I used to love avocado, but it hasn't fully regained my trust since that one time it got along awfully with my stomach.

The rice is covered with a fried egg, sunny side up or easy over, which is a combo I wasn't interested in trying until I found my love for the bandeja paisa. And to top it all off, a wonderful arepa (please see Antioquian Arepa, although the one I've known since I was a child was the Arepa Paisa, covered in crumbled white cheese and butter... yummmmm!).

So give me a holler if you want to try this exquisite platter, I'll let you know how to get to Alvaro's (it's VERY easy!).

BTW: you cannot eat a bandeja paisa without chugging it down with some Colombiana soda.

The Slow Goodbye

2007-07-09T19:26:00.000-04:00

Today it feels much more official, today is the first day of the last week, today is the beginning of a long good-bye.

It was a nice "romance" while it lasted, and just the same, it's always a bittersweet deal when it's over.

Promises of Eternity

by The Magnetic Fields

What if the show couldn't go on
What if we all got jobs and got to bed before dawn
What if Old Joe had to retire
What if all the stage hands were let go or fired
That's just like what the world would be
If you fell out of love with me

I can't let this happen to you
Don't you let it happen to me
What would our friends and family say
If they could only see
If you let this happen to us
Don't think you'd be setting me free
Wasn't it you and I who made
Promises of eternity

What if the lights didn't go on
What if the velvet curtain had to be taken down
What if the clowns couldn't be clowns
And all those painted smiles gave in to plaintive frowns
What if no show ever happened again
No Seven, no 8 1/2, no Nine, and no "10"
All numbers and no mystery
No promise of eternity...

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

2007-07-06T18:50:00.000-04:00

This trailer was release on June 28th, and I hadn't seen it until now! How crazy is that! The best ones always get under my radar. This looks like it's gonna be equal parts cheesy, romantic, cute and wondrous. Plus we get Natalie Portman charming us again with her wide-eyed innocence and intensity (just like in Garden State).

... and just in time for turkey! (releases November 16th)

Perception of a Weekend: Before (Micro)

2007-07-06T12:44:00.000-04:00

First things first - I did my own nails about one or two weeks ago, and the looked fantastic... for two days, that is, until the ol' nail polish chipped off. And that will happen, why not, I mean: i did only one coat, no top coat, no base coat. Can't be bothered with those details, but I realized having a fast-drying nail enamel helps making the process less painful (yes, beautifying myself is always painful).

I found this in my humble nail product box (which is really just an old, wobbly shoe box) in a nice, shimmery, cream-colored shade. Can't remember the name, but it was incredibly quick to dry (plus points) and it turned out to look gorgeous on my short-short nails (double plus points) But then mom showed me a Bettina shade that proved to be an inspiration (#168, I think ... did you know that the company that makes the Bettina nail polish we Puerto Rican girls buy for $1.99 a bottle in our local drugstores and supermarkets, has no presence in the internet!?!?!)

So, that would be my intentions today: buy Maybelline Express Nail Color in a shade called Racing Rubies (see pic above) and get some nice, dark red scratchers, very fast!

Tonight we have a small business get-together with one of the bands we sort-of manage (and by "we", I mean CarbonoMúsica), which means I will have to prove myself once again as ... The HouseWife!

That would mean (mainly) sweeping and mopping the house a bit (white tile is a bitch!), and cookin up some canapés...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

I meant: grab a crate of beer and some chips and dip on the way home. ;-)

Tomorrow is supposed to be the second 1991 Sacred Heart School class pre-reunion, which would be sort of like a staff meeting to plan and talk about what needs to be done for the official reunion. I might go. I might not go. I still don't know, it all depends: Eze gets in to work (@ Border's) at 8PM. Frecuencias Alternas remains under Pepe's control, I might as well help him out.

And Sunday is still a blank, with a small hint of what could be done. BBQ, anyone?

... or maybe some cookies?

Little Notes #5: Obsessive Compulsions, a Sci-Fi crush (again), E-mail Forwards and Changes Afoot

2007-07-03T14:24:00.000-04:00

Can one have a musical OCD? Or maybe like a piece so much you could listen to it all day long in a 24-hour-long loop? A month or two ago, Eze introduced me to a long-standing British sci-fi series called Dr. Who. I didn't realize I had become hooked in 2-ep's time until I heard the theme again yesterday, and my veins started to itch! Hahahaha!!!

It's a fucking catchy tune!

Which brings me to my latest crush ... goddamned British charm!

Cristopher Eccleston, the ninth Doctor Who in the series, coincidentally the only season I've watched so far. And oh man, is he charming! **drool**

Okay! Rant over, next!

Dad sent me another of his usual forwards (sometimes the prove to be sappy, sometimes - however - it's worth it. This one started sappy, but I realized it talks to us, to women all around, openly and frankly. I'll share it here. Maybe it will help brighten someone else's day too. :-) (btw: sorry if you're an unlikely English-only speaker)

De un hombre... ¡a una buena amiga suya!
A todas mis amigas ...... ¿Han escuchado a alguna mujer preocuparse por haber subido unos kilos demás? En realidad.... a nosotros los hombres,no nos importa cuanto pesan.

1) Es fascinante TOCAR, ABRAZAR Y ACARICIAR el cuerpo de una mujer. PESARLA, no nos produce ningún efecto.

2) No tenemos la menor idea de lo que es una talla. Nuestra evaluación es VISUAL. Es decir, si tiene forma de guitarra, está buena. No nos importa cuanto mide en centímetros. Es una cuestión de proporción, no de medida.

3) El prototipo IDEAL del cuerpo de una mujer, ... son las modelos de almanaques de gomería. Curvilíneas, pulposas, femeninas... esa clase de cuerpo que de un solo golpe de vista uno identifica sin duda alguna y en una fracción de segundo: MUJER. Las flaquitas que desfilan en las pasarelas, siguen la tendencia diseñada por modistos, que dicho sea de paso, son TODOS GAYS, y odian a las mujeres y compiten con ellas. Sus modas, son lisa y llanamente, agresiones al cuerpo que odian.

4) No hay belleza más irresistible en la mujer que la FEMINIDAD Y LA DULZURA. La elegancia y el buen trato.

5) El maquillaje se inventó para que las mujeres lo usen. Úsenlo. PARA ANDAR CON LA CARA LAVADA ESTAMOS NOSOTROS.

6) Es una ley de la naturaleza que todo aquel que se casa con una modelo flacucha, anoréxica, bulímica y nerviosa al poco tiempo esta aburrido de ella

7) Entendámoslo de una vez: traten de gustarle A SU PAREJA, no a lo que opinan sus amigas, nunca van a tener una referencia objetiva de cuan lindas son, de mujer a mujer. Ninguna mujer va reconocer JAMAS delante de un tipo que otra mujer está linda.

8) Las jovencitas son lindas...pero las de 35 para arriba, SON LA EXPRESION PLENA DE LA BELLEZA FEMENINA.

9) El cuerpo CAMBIA. Crece. No pueden pensar sin estar sicóticas, que les puede entrar el mismo vestido que cuando tenían 18 años. Además, a una mujer de 35, 45 o 55 que le entre la ropa de cuando tenía 18, o tiene problemas de desarrollo, o se está auto-destruyendo.

10) Nos gustan las mujeres que saben manejar su vida con equilibrio y saben manejar su natural tendencia a la culpa. O sea: la que cuando hay que comer, come con ganas (la dieta, vendrá en septiembre, no antes); cuando hay que hacer dieta, hace dieta con ganas (no se sabotea ni sufre); cuando hay que comprar algo que le gusta, lo compra (no piensa en que le está quitando algo a sus hijos, sino que sabe que ella lo vale y por eso lo adquiere) cuando hay que ahorrar, ahorra (y no sufre pensando en lo que se priva, porque lo hace por algo).

11) Algunas líneas en la cara, algunos puntos de sutura en el vientre, algunas marcas de estrías, NO LES QUITAN SU BELLEZA. Son heridas de guerra ,testimonios de que han hecho algo con sus vidas, no han estado años en formol ni en un spa. Han VIVIDO. El cuerpo de la mujer es la prueba de que Dios existe. Es el sagrado recinto donde nos gestaron a todos los hombres, donde nos alimentaron, nos acunaron y que nosotros sin querer, arruinamos llenándolas de estrías, de cesáreas y demás cosas que tuvieron que ocurrir para que estemos vivos. Cuídenlo.

Cuídense. Quiéranse. La belleza es todo eso. Todo junto. Si la vida te da limones... ..entonces... HAZ LIMONADA!!!!! seamos felices.

And, to end this blog note in a dramatic fashion: today, I quit. :-)

Ta-ta!

What's Happening in my Kitchen

2007-07-02T14:26:00.000-04:00

Yesterday it was iced cupcakes & brownies. Had a lot of fun cooking it up with Tattiana and Chichi. Made a mess out of the whole house, mainly because we also received a visit from Pepe and his girl, but more importantly because the kitchen is so small, its activities bleed into the rest of the house.

The cupcakes ended up looking like a green, white, aqua and purple mess of icing, but I was told they were delish. The brownies ... well ... they came out REALLY fudgy. :-D I'm hoping to try that again... with a more solid (i.e. darker) chocolate.

Today's menu:
potatoes au gratin
churrasco (complete with chimichurri
fried amarillitos

Tomorrow?
More fried amarillitos, 'cuz GAWD! mom gave me one too many plantains :-\

Harry Potter & Willow meet in Middle Earth

2007-06-26T18:32:00.000-04:00

I think only fantasy geeks will truly enjoy the self-deprecation and parody humor going on here.

I'm sold! Now I wanna watch Extras...

Little Notes #4: Nothing's Gonna Change My World

2007-06-25T19:03:00.000-04:00

... not even rain washing away my shoes.

This weekend was solidly interesting through & through.

On Friday evening we went to Plaza del Sol to get a broadband modem for the wireless internet service by Centennial. After the fiasco courtesy of Puerto Rico Telephone, anything looked better and more reliable than that. We got a visit by Pepe and Rebecca later that night, and one of our first internet hits was the following video:

Across the Universe by Fiona Apple (written by John Lennon)

The video is an instant classic, excellently made, and the song is wonderfully haunting (and by "haunting" I mean "the kind of song that sticks into your head and won't let you go"). I always disliked Fiona Apple a little bit, it was a visceral reaction, I guess. This video changed my mind: I might welcome her soon into my iPod.

I dedicated Saturday to sleeping, tidying up the house a bit more, watching a movie (developing a crush on a gringo in the process - that's SO unlike me!). The day basically was about me waiting to go to a Balún show in Taller Cé at night. It was worth the wait, although the incredibly annoying overabundance of bums and hobos wasn't. It's like Taller Cé is the only place left around for them to go beg to.

However, one thing was timelessly relevant about the evening:

Pitagora Suicchi!

... march with the ninjas! march, march!!!

Sunday was a Sunday like I hadn't had in a long while. I cooked a nice, comforting breakfast (scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and toast, & coffee and orange juice) and then we went to Plaza del Sol to return the Centennial broadband router (a flopping failure, although without the bitter taste of rejection as was with PRT). We decided to go shop then for a fan and some other stuff for the apartment, and apparently in the meanwhile all heaven broke loose and cried a river onto Bayamón. I had to sprint across half a parking lot to get to my car, almost lost my slippers in the process, and had to do half that sprint barefoot. My feet still hurt.

I drove Eze to Borders (he had a 2-to-11PM shift) and I stayed a while keeping him company until his shift started. Found some nice flats @ Journeys (Volatile Demi Polka Dot, in red ... not shown above ¬_¬ no pics of my red shoes to be found anywhere on the net). They were on sale and they felt so warm and toasty!!! ^_^

And as soon as I felt the warmth enveloping my feet, somewhere in my mind a tiny Fiona A. sang:

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world

Trailer [Spaghetti] Confusion [Pretzel]

2007-06-22T13:27:00.000-04:00

A few months ago I came across a trailer that set my body hairs on end and gave me something to really look forward to. My life at that moment was a mishmash blur or Battlestar Galactica, the Sci-Fi forums and Heroes. The trailer I watched that day reminded me of all the fantastic things I was watching and reading. I would afterwards realize I am indeed a natural science fiction freak, since I ate Dune up like it was melted butter.

I failed to save the trailer among my favorites in YouTube, though, and a week later I couldn't remember for the life of me the name of the movie. Several weeks later, someone mentioned Bridge to Terabithia in a local forum, so I went to look, just in case that was the movie... no such luck, other than it reminded me of yet another version of Chronicles of Narnia. Then The Golden Compass was mentioned, and I thought "This is it!", but when I looked I was ... well ... disappointed is not it, because it truly got my attention also, but I had been looking for the name of that movie for so long, it was beginning to seem like I had dreamt it up! Besides, I didn't recall seeing a talking polar bear in the trailer... However, I HAVE to see that! A talking polar bear as guardian to a little girl. I can feel tears galore forming under my eyelids already!

I sat this morning to breakfast with an old Wired magazine and I read a short interview with Bob Shaye talking about his latest film: The Last Mimzy... and it struck like lightning. This is it!

And lo and behold! It was!!!

Funny thing is, Bob Shaye is sort of the reason why Peter Jackson will not be directing The Hobbit, and he is also, I just found out,the producer to The Golden Compass. So there you go!

Those who know me, though, know that the selling point in that trailer for me was the whole allegory to Alice in Wonderland and the white rabbit. ;-)

Meme (#001) - Ocho cosas

2007-06-21T18:16:00.000-04:00

Bueno, esto me parece que ya lo había hecho antes (o cosas similares). Pero nunca está de más auto-evaluarse periódicamente. (Sí, porque para eso son estas cosas)

1. Cada jugador(a) comienza con un listado de 8 cosas sobre sí mismo.
2. Tienen que escribir en su blog esas ocho cosas, junto con las reglas del juego.
3. Tienen que seleccionar a 8 personas más para invitar a jugar y anotar sus blogs/nombres.
4. No olvides dejarles un comentario en sus blogs respectivos de que han sido invitadas a participar.

8 Cosas Sobre Mí Misma (o algo...)

1) Prefiero pasar frío que pasar calor. El frío se resuelve añadiendo ropa. El calor no hay modo de quitarlo sin desvestirse y meterse en una ducha fría.

2) Aprendí a nadar a los 20 años de edad en la universidad. Desde chiquita le había tenido terror al agua. Pasé muchas vergüenzas por eso mismo, especialmente en escuela superior y luego en la universidad. Creo que lo que me puso a considerar cambiar ese detalle fue un paseo con unos amigos de la universidad: fuimos al Yunque, a una charca que hay allí, y mientras todos estaban tripeando en el centro de la charca, yo estaba parada en una esquinita mirándolos de lejos.

3) Hay comidas que me han comenzado a gustar "después de vieja" (y que no pasaba de chiquita): el queso roquefort (o blue cheese), las setas y los pimientos rojos. Estos últimos me empezaron a gustar hace apenas 2 años. De aquí a 20 años más, probablemente mi dieta haya cambiado considerablemente.

4) Me da pereza usar lipstick, pero tengo una obsesión enfermiza con los lip gloss y los plumpers, al punto de que aun no consigo el "lip gloss perfecto".

5) Mi primer beso fue con uno de los hombres más encantadores que he conocido en mi vida, antes de que fuera un hombre hecho y derecho siquiera. Fue detrás de la cancha del colegio, temprano en la mañana, y me dejó las rodillas temblando. Lo besé nuevamente unos 13 ó 14 años más tarde y me causó lo mismo. El único beso que me ha dejado exactamente igual fue mi primer beso con mi pareja actual (y no, no lo estoy diciendo porque él lee esto).

6) Las películas de fantasía épica bien hechas, como la serie de Lord of the Rings o The Chronicles of Narnia, me hacen llorar de la emoción. También me ponen a llorar los documentales de animales y los muñequitos.

7) Mi primer sorbo de whiskey fue a los 3 ó 4 años de edad. Más o menos a esa misma edad mi papá comenzó a darme los desayunos con un vaso grande de café instantáneo con leche fría y mucha azúcar. Afortunadamente yo era una niña tranquila, porque si no, con ese combo hubiese sido inmanejable.

8) Me gusta el sabor de la sangre. Lo sé, suena gótico, suena a basura escrita por un niño emo falto de atención. Pero me gusta, especialmente cdo me corto el labio por falta de humectación, como ahora mismo. Si no me cuido bien, soy capaz de dejarme el labio en carne viva por la manía que tengo con pelarme los labios.

Bueno, ahora les toca a ustedes!

Ezequiel
Mika
Julio
Pepe
Kiwi
Chichi
Tattiana
Ricky (ahi está tu excusa para escribir algo)

Preview: Home Sweet Home

2007-06-19T14:50:00.000-04:00

I haven't taken any pictures, I haven't even found my makeup among all those boxes. Our living room possesses a unique topography comprised of boxes of different shapes and sizes. Our soon-to-be "guest room" requires a navigational chart, and the bed that's supposed to be in that room is actually giving the "computer room" a "derelicte" feel (propped up against the wall).

I've taken to waking up to the sound of my cell phone's alarm clock (since my proper alarm clock is buried somewhere in a box), and these past few days have been the least vain in my girlie existence: no barrettes, no pins, no headbands (my hair accessories box is ... in a box).

Most of our clothes are in a dirty pile in the laundry, waiting for the first free moment I might get to wash them. As it has been, moving is quite an uncomfortable affair.

But I'm happy, comfy, more contented than I've been in a long, long while. Relieved. We've been exhausted to the point of tears, but we've been able to smile through the pain and bear it, 'cuz it's for us. Yesterday I paid the most I've ever paid for groceries and start-up items (like spatulas, coasters, glasses and ice cream scoops, etc). I remember a time when putting down my signature for a quantity such would have driven me mad in despair. Yesterday I realized that commitment does not include despair. There is a second glance, maybe even a joke or two about how we're gonna have to sell our asses after paying for this first grocery list. But the familiar anxiety over "how my bank account is gonna look after this" was finally gone.

Because it's for us ...

I'm finally home.

Pictures later (because the camera is also in a box).

BTW: I've got to thank a few people that helped, or meant to help (the intention was clearly there) in the whole process:

- Eze's parents, without whose infinite help this wouldn't have been possible for a long while.
- My mom, who pleasantly surprised me by getting deeply involved in the moving process (I guess it has more to do with the fact that this time around, it is MY home).
- My brother and sister, and Eze's brother: these three were the greatest last Saturday, sweating it out to the max, to the point of sickness too. My hat's off to you guys.
- Abdelouakil Sebanna (a good friend to the family), for the laughs, the lift of spirits, the organizational skills and a vehicle to transport the huge items.
- My Dad and Martha (his wife), because even if they were not physically here, they have been praying for this for a long while. I'm sure their prayers helped in the odd way prayers usually do.
- Pepe & Jerry (hahahahahaha!!! Ben & Jerry's no more!... sorry, sorry ....) Thanks to these two guys for immediately breaking our "Welcome Home" cherry, and bringing awesome company and acid-reflux-inducing pizza (which was yummy, btw, and I mean it in a non-sarcastic way)
- José "Banano", because I know he meant to help, that's just the way he is: sweet and caring, but trying for people not to notice.

Summer: To Job or Not to Job?

2007-06-14T14:16:00.000-04:00

As I was exiting the gas station's mini-market (one of the few breakfast havens I have adopted in the past few weeks), I crossed a young girl (probably college-aged) attired so: head covered in mini-braids held back in a loose, low ponytail, huge, shiny sunshades, light-colored shorts, non-fashion (that means "practical") tennis shoes with thick socks, and a baggy, green T-shirt with a cheap logo across the front that read "Entretenimiento de Verano" (Summer Entertainment) or some crap like that. It took me 2 seconds to realize this girl must work at a summer camp. What drove the idea home was the blow whistle slung around her neck. And then I remembered, I truly remembered my summer of 1997.

I was 19, in college, studying commerce, most likely still debating myself between a career in accounting and a career in information systems. I didn't have a steady job, never quite needed it since I always fully qualified for a federal scholarship, but summer was always the weak link in that way of life: no scholarship meant no funding, no fun, no plans, no nothing. Summer was "the time to get a job" by excellence. The previous summer (1996) I had had my brief stint in a "healthy junk food" joint, lasted two months, had a miserable time (specially at the later hours of the afternoon, when kids my age would come into the establishment all sun-kissed, trailing salt and sand with their worn flip-flops - that was the year I met the bottled tan firsthand... never again!).

So, in 1997 I was ready for a breath of fresher air, and I let myself be led by a friend to apply for a job at a summer camp. I had never had any experience doing anything remotely similar to this, with the exception of babysitting my sister, and even that always brought skin-creeping memories. But I didn't think it through: I handed over a filled application and got a call a few weeks later. We had to go through a screening process, which meant that we had to prove that we would be good camp counselors and leaders, that we would be able to keep control of a 20+ group of [rich, stuck up] kids. Incredibly enough, I (who have never considered myself to be a natural leader of any sort) got picked for the job, as well as my friend and many others. It was to be 4 camp leaders to a group. I got chosen as part of the leader team for a group of 30 5-year-old girls. Thirty Daddy jewels. Thirty princesses whose parents would keep an eagle eye on us at all moments possible.

It was an amazing experience, though as harrowing as it would seem. I realized that I had it in me to care for other people's children. The girls grew onto me, we got close like family. A whole month of spending more than 8 hours a day with a child will automatically turn you into a secondary parent. Tending to their every needs, having to take it easy when at least 15 of them decide to scream at the same time for something they want, curing boo-boo's, identifying lice .... even identifying what they cannot say, as it happened once with another group's 2-year-old boy: he was crying and the girl in charge was to the end of her rope, she didn't get it. The little boy could not express that the heat outside was smoldering to him. I held some icy water to his face and he immediately calmed down and went into a deep sleep. I gained a fan for the rest of the day!

That summer was one of the most active I ever had: I got a natural suntan by just playing in the sun with the children almost daily. I was starting to date a total idiot who was however highly social, so the outings were frequent, and sometimes even fun. I was fully immersed in social activities and pop culture. I became one of the clan. I think this was the summer that had me assimilated into the commerce student culture. I had begun the month's worth of work with the idea that the $700 I got as payment would be used to get my first tattoo. By month's end, I had dropped the idea. It would be 4 years later that I would get my first tattoo. By then, the sun-kissed, carefree, sociable Diana would be gone in favor of someone much closer to her own roots.

Summer is a time in which no one is quite content: unless you have copious amounts of money, you either stay at home and be bored to tears by the repetitive, mind-numbing TV programming, or you get a job that will keep you from having all the fun you intended to have with the money you earned. That's the way it is for most college kids, unless they signed on for summer classes, in which case the misery is doubled because you have no time to earn money nor do you have time to chill out, and it will be something you will have to do also as soon as summer is over, so it annuls summer altogether.

I envied the ones that went abroad, though. But that took money, regardless of whether it was for studying or pleasure.

As a working adult, however, summer takes other undertones. Summer ceases to exist as "the free time you get between semesters". It becomes "a time which I may get free as well as I may not", and what you get is one or two weeks in which you try to cram as much enjoyment as you can, leaving you so exhausted that you need a vacation from your vacations. It's even more absurd.

That summer in 1997 was the last one in which I held a college-type job. After that, summers became a blur. I never got as sun-kissed again, nor as sociable. Truth be told, I don't miss it, however much I hold that memory in my heart. But it helped me recognize when people are having the same miserable fun at summer camp.

Animal Extravaganza

2007-06-14T11:55:00.000-04:00

Yesterday someone posted a horrid video @ a forum I visit regularly. The video showed a live cow being fed to a group of tigers. Apart from the condescending nature of this activity, what offended me most was the obnoxious voices of gringos who were appalled at the fact that tigers (being the carnivores that they are) actually ate the cow. They were apparently rooting for the cow. Funny, though, that at the end of the snippet, a tourist trolley comes barging into the scene. I'm not aware whether the sides of the trolley are protected by acrylic sheets or if it's an open vehicle, but in the video (and with a little help of my overactive and morbid imagination) it almost seems like they're bringing in a bucket of fried chicken to the tigers.

The video reminded me, though of a video I had seen the day before:

The tables of nature are turned by sheer force of organization and team work. Watch the whole video, if you can. The end is very worth it.
EDIT: I hadn't noticed that I had blogged this video on my last post. If you saw the video on Tuesday's post, don't bother, it's the same one. Unless you're like me and want to watch it again! :-D

After that, I was hooked for the rest of the afternoon and the evening, and went through an animal video spree. These were the highlights (my favorites):

Sometimes we don't even amount to the other other white meat ...

Elephants are said to have a good memory. Big cats have attitude enough for an immediate response, for lack of an elephantine memory.

And talking of elephants...

All work and no play makes Dumbo a square peg in a round hole. Even elephants have their fun.

I had never seen or heard a bird such as this. And the fact that it can even imitate a power tool is awesome and heart-breaking at the same time.

WARNING! High Ick Factor Ahead:

As far as carpets go, I don't want one like the Deer Cave carpet. Thanks.

1 Buffalo, 2 Buffalo, 3 Buffalo

2007-06-12T14:04:00.000-04:00

Nature will sometimes surprise us through organized action. Makes you think that perhaps, regardless of how civilized, and hence special, we think ourselves to be as a species, we're not so unique after all.

Empathy is, after all, another variation of "survival of the strongest".

Rearranging the Face (of Flickr)

2007-06-12T11:31:00.000-04:00

Just to let you guys know I rearranged my main page @ Flickr: Now photos look bigger and there are collections! :-D Whoooo!

Anyways: go, visit, feel free to comment here or there (for better or for worse).

Beautifying the Beast

2007-06-11T14:55:00.000-04:00

Well, since I spent my Sunday afternoon aimlessly ambling around the aisles at Walgreens (all the while cursing the dratted place for not selling packaging tape on Sundays), I decided to lift my spirits a bit by purchasing makeup replacements.

I was all out of pressed powder (I was dragging around small crumbs of face cake with the little sponge) and it was time to replace my mascara. Also, it's been a week or more since I last shaved my legs. After a lot of thinking, I decided to give up the razor in favor of a more "glamorous" way of getting rid of my leg hair. What got into me? Beats me! I just know I wanted a change in that sense, and after a lot of thinking, I decided in favor of waxing. At least you have to do it less often.

So I start looking for a wax that looks trustworthy and not too lethal. The variety of wax brands in here is fascinatingly sparse! My eye kept getting drawn to the tub of Nads, and in spite of the price tag ($20!!!) I ended up buying it.

In favor of Nads, I have to say that in spite of the bad rep, the thing does work. Most probably, a great deal of the people that have reviewed the product negatively have simply failed to note one detail in the instructions: when it says to spread a thin layer of the product over the area to be depilated, they mean thin. My first trial was with what i understood was a thin layer, and the strip took barely any hair at all. I was flabbergasted (and bummed out, since I thought it was $20 down the drain). But at the second try, Voilá! (and OUCHIEWAWA!) Lotsa hair off the skin! Yeah!

It will take a few days, since I don't want to overwork my skin (and I have tons of hair), but I will finish what I started.

When I got to my mom's home, I got handed this little particular tube:

It's a 'plumper', and the fucking thing works! It works at setting my lips on fire and making me look (and feel) like some superhero with spicy saliva gave me one fury-packed smacker! :-D Haha! Thanks, Tatts!

This morning I tried the new mascara I decided to buy:

Maybelline's Define-A-Lash Lengthening Washable Mascara (fucking long name!)
I wasn't wowed, but I wasn't disappointed either. And the little rubber brush is pretty funny to look at. Fun in the morning routine, yay!

Letting Out the Seams a Bit

2007-06-11T12:55:00.000-04:00

Eze has been working nights and weekends during these past few weeks. It's his second jobs, @ Border's. He took it up so we could have extra income, specially since he still has a few credit debts to clear. I've tried to be understanding and supportive of him and this new situation, but unlike last time he held a second job, this time is a little rougher on me.

Why? Well...

[rant mode] For one, last time he held a job the hours weren't as long. It wasn't retail, so the latest he was out was at 10 o'clock at night. In the new job, that's the earliest he arrives home the days he has to work.

However, he was miserable back then. Most of the time he was assigned to work the booth at a famous, money-wrapped church building (the one with the dinosaur posted outside. Yes, that one). Now he works around some of the things he loves (books, movies, music? his LIFE!), and it's just like an extension of his Saturday hobby. He's happy there.

But I miss him...

Back when he worked at the dinosaur church there was also a buffer around the situation. At least during half of that time I received a long-ish visit from my dad and his wife. They kept me company, I didn't feel so lonely. I could go home and just chill with dad, it was fun! My mind was elsewhere (i.e. Dad's problems, which were bigger than mine), and my responsibilities were not that many.

Today my life is led to a different pace. Things at home are far from being the same they were back then. I don't leave the room anymore except to get some water. I quit the kitchen a few weeks ago. Communal areas have been abandoned for a while. "Estrangement" is this home's middle name. Dust has been gathering at the corners for a while, it's just waiting for us to leave.

So I have my breakfast, lunch and dinner out of the house. I've gotten incredibly fed up with fast food junk. You have no idea how cranky fast food will get you if it's the only component in your daily nutrition. I'm fucking missing salads. The summer heat is on the rise and it doesn't help either. I have taken Eze's advice and I've spent more time at Mom's. It make me feel less lonely, more at home. But it's not easy feeling at home when you've arrived all drenched in sweat in the 100-degree furnace you call a car... and you can't get a bath. (Well, I could, but I'd feel I was imposing. Water is not coming by cheap these days. Nothing is.)

... And moving day is at hand, and until now, I've felt a little on the lonely side dealing with the idea (and with the boxes, and with the dust). Yesterday I got mad at a commercial institution (a convenience-pharmacy with a name starting with 'W' and ending with 'algreens') because on Sundays they cannot sell (by law) certain items, among which was included the one item I had been needing for the past few days to start dealing with boxes: packaging tape. When you get mad at an inanimate entity, something's really up with you. It's the same "something" that causes road rage and distasteful graffiti.

So weekends like this come and go without pain or glory, and then a week like this one starts (week #3? #4? of eating crap 24-7) and I start misfiring at my boss on the job. It's not his fault, it's purely mine, because god knows how the system fails here, it does! But that doesn't give me the right to talk back to a fellow worker.

So I need a vacation. I need to move and I need a vacation ... [/end of rant]

... and a salad.

Taking off on July (explained)

2007-06-07T16:37:00.000-04:00

Like I hinted at in my June 5 post, I will be taking off in July. To be more exact, on July 24, with return date: July 30.

Where am I going?

San Diego ComicCon, here I come!!!
Yes, my friends: joined by Ezequiel, Pepe and Maricarmen, we will take San Diego, CA by storm. We will see tha Pacific Ocean and pee on it. We will dishonorably not give up our seats to old women in the trolley. We will go to that convention and sell our collective asses to Kevin Smith in exchange for a single autograph. We will beat a path of drool for the Battlestar Galactica cast. We will look incredibly dumb shouting "YATAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" in unison to greet Masi Oka. Hopefully we will come back in one piece. Hopefully, the temperature in San Diego will not go upwards of 80 Farenheit (we like acting stupid in comfortable weather).

So there: it's all out. I'm happy. I'll bring back pictures, stories, merchandise and maybe more ...

Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go make this tongue ready to start licking Edward James Olmos and Katee Sackhoff on first sight.

Father of the Bride

2007-06-07T01:51:00.000-04:00

I just finished watching the 1950 version of Father of the Bride. I've always been a Steve Martin fan, and quite liked the 1991 version he starred in, so I had to see the original version, see how the most recent one pitted up against it.

Apart from the glaringly obvious changes and updates in style (from the fact that the original movie is in black and white, down to the old-fashioned model of Osterizer we get to see in a scene in the kitchen), there are also other changes that have more to do with politics, something I found to be quite interesting to watch.

To begin with, in the original version, the Banks family has a black maid. This in itself would cause a ruckus nowaday, given the political correctness that is demanded of the media (even if events of more violent nature due to racism occur on a daily basis). Even more interesting was the fact that it is implied that the Dunsts (the groom's family) are of a higher station, not only because of their bigger house, but because they have a white maid. I think I don't even need to say that no maids are to be found in the 1991 version.

In the 1950 version you never see the characters get messy, unruly or dirty. The movie is carried with the glamour that characterized the 50s: mother, daughter, father, beau ... not a hair out of place in their carefully lacquered coifs. The 1991 version shows most characters suffering the ups and downs of a wedding planning down to the dark circles under their eyes.

The 1950 version portrays what I would guess would be a typical 1950 family: father and mother, obviously the mother is a housewife (even though the cleaning and cooking is left to the maid). This is the kind of couple that, when he gets home, she's up and ready in her pumps and pearls to take the suitcase off her tired husband's hands. Both sons have leeway to leave the house whenever they please without so much as the bat of an eyelash, they're both in school, and no one worries about them. It is never clear wether the daughter is going to college (but apparently not, she's just being "kept"), and the father goes into a tizzy as soon as she announces that she's leaving for a date. She's the whole of his worries, to the point of keeping him awake at night. I think the 1991 version made the brother-sister contrast easier to deal with by making the only brother much younger than her. However, they updated the bride character by making her a young career woman who has just come back home from her solo trip to Europe (where she met her beau). Obviously, feminism has had a big hand on how we portray female characters in the media. By the way: mom and dad? Total busy wrecks, but it's cool! They look to be a co-op couple.

The details and small stories around the wedding planning are pretty much timeless, however. Obviously, the price tag has inflated from 1950 to 1951 (pretty much! I mean ... a $400 wedding cake nowadays is a steal!). But problems with the flowers, dresses, boudoir, fittings, bridesmaids, wedding rehearsals and so on will exist as long as weddings exist. However, the 1991 version tinges the situations with more than a little humor, while the 1950 version's humor is more subduded.

One character, the caterer, was taken advantage of and exploded in the latter film, though, and I think this is what made the movie a fine candidate for a sequel. Martin Short in the character of Franck is simply fascinating, very funny, and totally un-PC! Forget the black maid, now, this guy is outrageously gay! And I think most fans of the movie totally loved him. He's the reason Father of the Bride II exists.

There is but one very redeeming point in the 1950 version, one thing that won me over: the night before the wedding, Stanley Banks (the father) has a nightmare. A sequence fit for any 1950s horror movie, it was excellently made, I loved every second of it, and relished the fact that they found a way to fit in something so dreary in a picture that was later remade to glorify one of the scariest moments in a person's life. I wonder why they left it out...

Steve Martin made Stanley Banks his own characteer. The hysteria and the mushy-dad moments are all his, all made in his own particular style. In comparison, Spencer Tracy's Stanley Banks is perfectly ... glum. Sorry ... I'll keep Steve Martin as a dad any day over Mr. Tracy.

But I won't have a wedding.

Although, one can always dream a bit ...

Little Notes #3: Moving Days & Cruel Summers

2007-06-05T14:22:00.000-04:00

Summer's here (to my brother's chagrin, he's convinced that summer is jinxed for him), and there are plans around, waiting for the right time, the right moment. There's, for example, a group trip in the plans (for which I will furnish more details later). Closer still is our moving day. The date has been set for June 16th. Thankfully we don't own all that much shit, and we're basically moving our room only, so it should be a pretty simple (or at least short) affair. There have also been talks of going to the beach, going kayaking, a few summer-y things to offset our shut-in natural habits (Eze's and mine). In short, summer promises to be interesting at least.

Moving Day is at Hand (Diana & Eze Edition)

There are a few things I've been meaning to do as soon as we move. It's not so much that I can't do them at our current living space, most of them I can, but I never felt comfortable doing them. Besides, living out of a darkened room (in which only the distant, indirect rays of sun alighted dimly through the half-closed window shades) is at best a glum way to lead a Sunday afternoon.

Things I mean to do as soon as we set new camp in our own apartment:

1) Retake Yoga - it's been more than a year since I last did yoga. I'm sorely missing it... literally. I can feel my bones misaligned (one of the main reasons why I love yoga so much: there are some positions in which my back cracks, and that feels SO good!)

2) Give myself a pedicure and a manicure - my limbs need some TLC. They're dry, cracked and flaky. A nice Sunday afternoon spent soaking hand and feet in soapy water is just what I need.

3) Spend a Saturday morning with a huge coffee mug and a piece of warm bread with margarine in front of my laptop surfing the net, in nothing but my underwear... in the dining room ^_^ windows open to the morning breeze! YAY!

4) Take my sewing machine to be fixed. We'll have space for it now. Maybe I'll finally learn some sewing basics through hands-on experience. If you run into me in a misshapen dress, you'll know it's under way.

I probably have many more plans in my subconscious to carry out as soon as I finally feel "at home" somewhere. And I'll probably blog about them too ... or not.

It's a Cruel Summer

It's been years since I last went to the beach. I don't mean the occasional, full-dressed visit in which you stand at the water's edge and just breathe the salty breeze in, and talk about how pretty the water looks; or you just munch on a greasy fritter while contemplating pork's immortality ("contemplando la inmortalidad del marrano" is one of my favorite pastimes). I'm talking about the all-out, bikini-clad, sunscreen-stinking, sand-in-your-underwear, insecure-in-your-cellulite kind of visit. I haven't bathed in seawater since I got together with Eze. July 24, 2004 was the last day I went (to Playa Ballena, with Jorge Juan, to be exact). I spent all day thinking about the first kiss Eze gave me (the night before, while nursing a bad case of "drunk Diana"). A smile was permanently pasted on my face for the rest of the day. Maybe I would have dedicated a few more minutes to the water and the sand and the sun, had I known "being with Eze" would mean "you will never step toe on the beach again, missy!". ^_^ (I'm just kidding! I like teasing him that way)

We have a friend who's keen into internal tourism. He likes to spend weekends visiting places most Puerto Ricans take for granted. And he's been inviting us for a long time to join him in his trips. He's been wanting to go rappelling, something which Eze and I could marginally do given that the ropes don't break under the stress of our weight. Another thing our friend has suggested is kayaking at the bioluminescent bay in Fajardo. That's a night trip, that's what Eze calls a "boring" trip (mainly 'cuz he can't swim)... that's what I call "an offer I can't refuse". This is one thing I hope to be doing sometime this summer.

The other thing our friend has been insisting on is a trip to the beach. This vexes me a bit: my body is nowhere near "beach-ready". And I know I'll hear my friend's voice protesting because basically that would be product of one of my complexes. But let's talk truth here: my thighs are host to a valley of cellulite. Cellulite has invaded and conquered my thighs. And as much as I can hide and conceal this fact in my everyday clothes, that would be a no-can-do in a swimsuit or bikini. Which would leave me with two options:

1) Terrorize women and small children (plus gross out all those whose eyes are not tolerant of alternate realities to those sold by beer commercials)

2) Dress up in the boricua bestial makeshift beach-going attire par excellence: lycra biker shorts and a huge t-shirt. Which would make me incredibly ridiculous and would probably set a few individuals my way to ask for "el caldero de arroz con pollo" (the cauldron with rice and chicken).

I think I'll opt for #1 if we ever get to go to the beach again. At least people will recoil in horror and get away from me (i.e. leave me alone), instead of the other way around. ^_^

Take-off in July

(More information later on) ;-)

Coming Full Circle is a Coin with Two Sides

2007-06-03T03:38:00.000-04:00

June 2nd, 2003
The bad news: My home burned down. I was left pretty much homeless, peniless, with only the clothes on my back and a brand new car to pay for. My four dogs died in that fire, probably burned, most likely asphyxiated by the smoke. I was left desolate, depressed, feeling lonely, and mourning my dogs like a crazy woman.
But the good news was I was alive, I had survived, and my family was there to support me, if not financially, at least emotionally (which is the priceless side of things). I literally rose from the ashes, and come 4 years, I had arrived full circle.

June 2, 2007
The good news: Eze and I have just acquired our first owned home. This has been the definitive step in our relationship, making our commitment concrete as a house. This is one step in life my parents haven´t taken yet, one step toward security, our roots finally taking hold somewhere. Curiously enough, the day chosen to sign the contract is the 4th anniversary of my total loss. I arrived full circle. But full circle is a coin with two sides.
When I arrived home to pick my car up and go to my family to celebrate my brother´s birthday, the bad news were awaiting lying on the pedals of my car. Pucho had stealthily sneaked into my car last night as I arrived home. I didn´t notice. No one missed him. No one found out until I opened that car door at 4PM. The unvented heat in that car at midday must have been unsustainable. He died a heat death, he died an asphyxiated death. Just like my dogs 4 years ago. In the same car that had been the sole survivor property of that fire.

I don´t know how to pay homage to Pucho. I am well aware of the differences inside our household that stemmed from the habits around caring for him. I am well aware that after a while, at least for me, Pucho had become a nuisance more than a pet. But I never wished ill on him, much less death. And as irritated as I allowed myself to become by him at times, I could not speak ill of an animal that was just that: an animal, with needs and perks like any other.

And more than an animal, Pucho was a very affective pet. He had enough love to show around the whole neighborhood, and that is something that cannot be erased or obliterated by simple circumstantial situations. Pucho was not only cute because he was a beautiful kitty. He was cute because he was a devoted kitty. He will be remembered and mourned, much more so by his rightful owners than by me, but it doesn´t mean I don´t feel sorrowful too by his death. My deep condolences to his two equally devoted owners (you know who you are). I share the sting of the broken heart his departure leaves.

Coming full circle can be sweet, but it can be sour as well.

The Other Side of "Closer"

2007-05-30T14:53:00.000-04:00

Thanks to PandoraFM (one of the hybrids Ezequiel mentioned in Frecuencias Alterna's blog), I found "the softer side of Closer".

While Nine Inch Nails has created an anthem for gritty, dirty, animal-like sexuality, The Tiny offers through lyrics and video the raw reality of what human relationships go like.

Now I'm thinking maybe, I was stoned
I felt my feet lift off the ground
And my heart was screamin'
at my bones. I need you closer.
As he's in the middle of the street
then I pretend he's mine to keep.
Cars are running fast on both sides
of his head
as his eyes ain't closin'
closer closin'
I met him when the sun was down
The bar was closed
we both have had no sleep
My face beneath the street lamp
it reveals what it is lonely people see
closer closer
closer closer
And you're close enough to lose
close to the point to where you know that your mind
it cannot chose
close enough to lose
close enough to lose your heart
Now I'm thinking maybe
I was stoned I felt my feet lift off the ground
and my heart was screaming at my bones
I need you closer
closer closer
You met me whent he sun was down and the bar was closed
we both have had no sleep
my face beneath the street lamp
it reveals what it is lonely people see
closer closer
closer closer
than you're close enough to lose
close to the point where you know that your mind
it cannot choose
close enough to lose
close enough to lose
your heart

It's not easy to keep love as lively as when it begins. It's not easy to keep the heart of a relationship beating through hardships and emotional winters, while also keeping your own heart uplifted. Sometimes we draw apart, sometimes the space sneaks in between both hearts. As the honeymoon's over and the mold and soot of time start setting in, most of the times the butterflies in our stomachs die, queasiness ensues. We all want to believe love is forever, that our commitment will be effortless, that we're meant for each other without question and that life will make it so. Effortless love and commitment don't exist, though. The realization of this, and that you are two separate human lives struggling to stay together through thick and thin without losing your individuality ... that realization tastes of glum tears.

Now it's up to you then ... do you push on, for the sake of your love? Do you bail out for the sake of your self?

Or do you find a middle ground?

... Sometimes, we don't even get to the point of the realization, we don't get the chance to ask ourselves these questions, we don't get a chance to answer. Sometimes the space that sneaks in between your hearts does all the talking, you just get to walk away before it gets into your heart too.

So, I count myself fortunate to be able to ask and ponder. Those of us that do are the lucky ones.

Men I Love - Part 1: Eddie Izzard

2007-05-29T14:56:00.000-04:00

Just because I like to share the things I like and love, plus today I felt in the mood to get a dose of Izzard:

Hit the 3:00 minute mark to hear the funniest, best - and most resounding - line ever!

And I'm glad to say I finally got this part of his Dressed to Kill stand-up show:

As I was discussing with my brother the other day, he is definitely inspired by the Pythons, which pretty much explains why I love him so much ...

A Maria Von Trapp Moment

2007-05-27T22:30:00.000-04:00

There's some things money can't buy
... such as:

Knowing how to comb your hair in your favorite updo.

"Pretty days" in which you look thinner/cuter/of clearer skin in all mirrors available.

Noticing how you have been able to answer calls from your loved ones without feeling miserable because your job has made you hate the phone.

Realizing you have few loved ones, but the ones you love, love you right back.

Puppy breath.

The weight of your sleeping dog on your lap, shoulder or stomach.

Getting good news over the phone on a day that was turning to shit.

An unexpected tunnel of wind on an otherwise sweltering hot day.

Looking to the blue sky and, not only remembering those good ol' days when you were a carefree kid, but also getting that carefree feeling back, if only for a few minutes.

A sudden kiss that turns out just right and sends you reeling.

Library-like silence in a crowded bookstore.

Fresh ground coffee after weeks of tasting only the machine-dispensed type.

Butterflies in your stomach on a Friday night. Even if you're going nowhere, the feeling is exhilarating.

Watching the crowded highway at night from the balcony in your very-far-away house... even better if you're waiting to be picked up to head that way too.

Friday afternoons and Sunday mornings.

... for everything else, there's credit cards, debit cards, cheques, credit lines, loans, and obviously actual money.

Mid-weekend Burp

2007-05-27T03:12:00.000-04:00

I'm not feeling very hot right now (the allergies attack whenever they see I haven't been as dilligent as usual in taking my daily Ioratadine), I've had a pretty long day and another such one awaits me tomorrow.

Today was productive. I -
1) Bought the yearly marbete for my car (yeah, May's the painful month) @ approximately 9:30AM

2) Had breakfast @ the nearest McDonald's @ 10AM

3) Picked my sister up. That took the longest. Getting the kid to dress up to go out is like pushing an elephant up a staircase (which should be as difficult as pushing a cow down the same staircase, I guess)

4) Loaded my car's trunk with plastic bags full of old clothes and plush toys to be given away to the Salvation Army.

5) Drove to the Salvation Army I thought to be open, only to find it was closed. We took advantage of a discarded leather couch that was sitting in front to leave the two humongous plush animals that were dusting up (more!) my car inside. It was a bit sad, seeing the Sad Sam and big teddy bear sitting there, waiting for some lucky chance to be picked up, perhaps be taken to be loved anew all over again.

6) Went back to my house to pick up Luna's medical record, then went back to my Mom's to pick Luna up.

7) Took Luna to the Humane Society clinic for her yearly rabies shot and reinforcements. While I was there, I made the same mistake I always do: I went to the back room, where the animals that are up for adoption live. And I fell in love, like I always do, with every single one of them (of course with ones a bit more than with others). It's always a bit heartbreaking (since I can't have a dog of my own just yet), and always a bit encouraging (the world isn't running out of adorable dogs just yet).

8) Returned Luna to Mom's and headed back out to Caguas (not before watching an episode of Shear Genius, which was pretty entertaining, in the way of "reality TV talent shows").

9) Went to a place I know to wash my car (inside and out, it was in dire need!!! Plopped down $24 for the full treatment. Not sorry at all. At last I can see the color of my dashboard.

10) Met up with a friend of my sister's to help her out with the purchase of a set of makeup brushes. Turns out there was a really good set on sale @ Costco (and her cosmetology teacher recommended they get that one before next class). I have a Costco membership, so I gladly put in the name so she could get the benefit of the price. Got treated to Costco pizza afterwards (not bad at all!) and what was apparently an undercooked churro.

11) ... and then everyone headed off each way: my sister with her friend, me back to home, alone.

... feeling a bit lonely, a bit sad, a bit nervous. Hoping for a better week. Hoping for some much-needed changes soon.

Little Notes #2: Rabbit Schmabbit + Finally they have a living room!

2007-05-25T17:43:00.000-04:00

iGasm -
As soon as I sat down at my desk this morning and turned on my computer, Eze sent in this little article on the best gadget ever invented. Here's part of the pitch:

Load up your iPod with killa choons and take your appreciation of music to a whole new level. This genius little device hooks up to your iPod, MP3 player, laptop or CD player and vibrates in sync with the beat. Go at it hard and fast with a pounding drum and bass track or chill with the ambient classic.

I mean, HELL isn't that a nice thing to have? It's the perfect merge between two of my biggest passions: sex and music. If only I had the $50 to spare! :-\

For Rent - 3 Bedroom/1 Bathroom Apartment - Finally, after 4 years of struggle, my Dad has found a decent place to live. Four years ago, he took the decision to move out to the continental US, thinking that his business would fare better with the gringos. First he shacked in with his sister-in-law and her small family in San Antonio, TX (it was an uncomfortable affair for both ends, or so I'm told), then he moved out to Fort Myers, Flawriduh, and that's when his wife decided to join him. To the chagrin of the whole brood of children, they had to be content with squeezing their sore asses into a small, cramped studio that paid what they were paying here for a 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house. Now, after 2 or so years battling loneliness, dry heat, freak electricity storms and general unemployment, they moved to Orlando. And even though things started faring out the same or worse than before, he has finally been approved for the rent of a comfortable apartment in which the place you shit, eat and sleep is not the same. :-D

Yay for Daddy!!!

(click to view full size)

Bonus: the very cool, very silly Rick just sent me this:

(click to view full size)

Thank youuuu! ^_^ LOL!

The Voices in My Head

2007-05-24T12:13:00.000-04:00

Has it ever happened to you that when you're about to fall asleep, a throng of voices wakes you back up? There's not much in your mind, you're in that place in which you're not conscious, but you can still hear things from the outside, even if not comprehend them. Then, in a creeping crescendo, a voice shouts or shrills into your brain so hard, that you come back into consciousness with a scare. That's what I call "the voices in my head". I don't know if it's my imagination, or if its a phenomena based on scientific fact. But I know it's scary, specially when it's more than one voice. Or when the voice is a tortured scream, like the one I heard last night.

Lately, my nightmares have taken on an unexpected turn, and I'm guessing it has much to do with my recently acquired taste for Japanese terror flicks. A monster suit will leave me in stitches, but the simple image of a man transfixed in terror and trying to scream will make me shit my pants. Specially if his irises are not showing ... :-(

I was afraid that I'd be having nightmares last night. Thankfully, I didn't. Last time I had a real nightmare (not just a scary dream), Eze had to wake me up, to wrench me from whatever force I was feeling that was keeping me from screaming myself into consciousness. He told me I was mumbling. I felt like I was trying to scream, but something black and liquid was keeping me pinned down and silent (yeah ¬_¬ pretty much like Spiderman 3's venom suit). And this is not the first time he has had to wake me up. It's pretty disturbing to have to wake up a loved one because he or she is crying in his sleep (plus it sounds scary, damn! it happens to my mom, too). It's scarier still to feel that you do not have the power to wake yourself up from a nightmare.

To Do List 5/23/2007

2007-05-23T17:25:00.000-04:00

1) Calm down
2) Forget I dreamt such terrible dreams. Put away the image of Puerto Rican mountains and cities burning and waving in a nuclear shock wave.
3) Get my car to the service station for inspection.
4) Go home, wash at least one basketful of clothes.
5) Calm down.
6) Get a bath, get ready to go out.
7) Go to Walmart, send $100 to Dad. (He finally found a decent apartment!)
8) Calm down.
9) Look for black beads.
10) Go home
11) Calm down.
12) Work on the bracelets I still owe. Sorry, Tatts! Sorry, Chichi! :-( I'm a bad sister.
13) Obsess over my unbleached moustache, obsess over my un-pedicured feet. Put it off for someday soon.
14) Calm down.
15) Wait for Eze (if it isn't 10:30 or 11:00pm already)
16) Be sorry 'cuz it was yet another wasted afternoon.

... or was it?

Little Notes #1: On families, Cyberspace and Erotic Lyrics

2007-05-22T14:07:00.000-04:00

* Last night we visited a new friend's home. We were kindly invited there to watch the Season Finale of Heroes. Our friend's family was the kindest ever: we got well fed, and they tended to us as if we were kings. Talk about warmth and welcome in a family! It's not so much that they had droves of platters filled with finger food, chocolate-covered strawberries and fritters. That was very nice, indeed (as was the excellent piña colada! Thanks, Rebecca!) It has much more to do with the attention, the immediate welcome, not as a guest, but as family. The warmth that enveloped me as soon as I went through the door could only be topped by the warmth I feel around my family and very close friends. It was glaringly obvious right then and there that this family is filled with love to give: as they shower each other with love and acceptance, the warmth around them grows, and we, the moths of affection, adore hovering around such a family's glowing hearth.

** A few things that have been happening in my personal life have made me reconsider my "cyberspace presence". Not so much that I want to run away and hide, but there are parts of me and my personal life that I want to keep out of people's radars. I realized today (by way of a small, insignificant detail) that there are people out there that will react passionately or violently to things I say or things I do, by which I mean no harm. In this particular situation, it was someone I don't even know, but there will be times in which it will be people I DO know ... and sometimes it will be people that don't like me, or people I don't like. Do I want to expose one of my hobbies (internet surfing) to the possibility of scrutiny and pollution by people who would otherwise never care?

I'm a decidedly private person (after a few years in which I kept myself and all nasty details of my life in the open). I don't want to be in the radar of just anyone who wants to be. (This blog is not part of what I'm reconsidering, though. I'm pretty sure of the things I write here and how they might look to the anonymous public who comes in to read it.) So you might see some changes soon in the things that compose my cybernetic presence...

*** Musical Erotica ... Because these last few days, these two songs have been looping through my mind, perhaps little more than they should. Maybe my sensual side is calling for a renascent era ... or maybe I'm turning into a full fledged wiccan hippie and I don't know it yet ...

Oh well! Here they are... (both songs are from the 1973 version - the superior version!!! - of The Wicker Man)

Willow's Song
by Paul Giovanni

Heigh ho! Who is there?
No one but me, my dear.
Please come say, How do?
The things I'll give to you.
By stroke as gentle as a feather
I'll catch a rainbow from the sky
And tie the ends together.
Heigh ho! I am here
Am I not young and fair?
Please come say, How do?
The things I'll show to you.
Would you have a wond'rous sight
The midday sun at midnight?
Fair maid, white and red,
Comb you smooth and stroke your head
How a maid can milk a bull!
And every stroke a bucketful.

Maypole Song
by Paul Giovanni

In the woods there grew a tree
And a fine fine tree was he

And on that tree there was a limb
And on that limb there was a branch
And on that branch there was a nest
And in that nest there was an egg
And in that egg there was a bird
And from that bird a feather came
And of that feather was
A bed

And on that bed there was a girl
And on that girl there was a man
And from that man there was a seed
And from that seed there was a boy
And from that boy there was a man
And for that man there was a grave
From that grave there grew
A tree

I think I finally turned into a total nature-loving, tree-hugger hippie :-\

What a purse can do

2007-05-19T15:25:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I went shopping by myself after work. My sister told me there were Rocket Dog shoes on sale at Montehiedra's Marshalls store, so I had to go and check that out (I'm a hardset fan of Rocket Dogs, they're so comfy! ^_^).

But no luck was to be had on that mission. There were Rocket Dogs alright: ugly, ill-fitting affairs (are they really Rocket Dogs?), or not in my size. So I started browsing around and headed for the purse area. A few weeks ago my messenger bag purse suffered its "demise" along with a shirt I held as a favorite (they were both drenched in earthy water that sprayed out of the A/C console of the office's trolley van. I looked like a ladybug for the rest of the day).

The bags I liked right off the bat surprised me with very steep price tags ($100+, damned be leather and it's powerful, attractive smell and feel!!!). I took my very sweet time shopping around, comparing, sweating it out. My brother called me in the middle of it all, and I realized I was shopping like my mother shops, with the only difference that I wasn't inflicting anybody else with the pain of it. I'm definitely a slow shopper. I finally decided myself on a red, crocheted bag from The Sak (It even has a metal tag that assures me that it is "The Original" ... how comforting! 8-D )

After that, I decided, halfway to the register counter, that I might as well change my wallet too. It had been years since I had last bought a new wallet. 'Kitty wallet' (a small, black wallet with Emily Strange's black cat patched on top) was running small on me, I don't know why. It's not like I applied for a thousand new credit cards all of a sudden, but it wasn't buttoning up as well as it should have. So I got an indigo-colored, leather Tignanello wallet (damned be leather!).

The whole purchase amounted up to a bit over $50. I'm still a bit weirded out at myself. My brother kept telling me it was weird seeing me with a purse. And so it is! I've been holding onto my college buying-and-wearing habits, I think out of fear of turning into a corporate, suit-wearing zombie lady. Yeah, the one that buys The Sak handbags and Tignanello wallets, I think. But I feel strangely fine about all this, because what I thought it represented is not gonna happen anyway.

Yesterday I ran into an old college aqcuaintance, and I realized that in spite of the 8 years past, I am still the same garbled mess of a person I was back then (albeit fatter ... or more pregnant-looking, thank you ¬_¬). And I like it that way, but at the same time my instincts tell me that it's time to grow up into the woman my mother and stepmother have been nudging me to be. I suspect I might turn out to be a garbled, messy version of that, but I'm fine with that too.

I'm beginning to feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin (sagginess and cellulitis included), and oddly enough the crocheted, red handbag that now hangs from my shoulder, with the indigo, leather wallet inside it are proof to myself that ... precisely ... I don't need to prove anything to anyone other than myself. And that I can give myself permission to be as "adult" as I've always feared to be (lest I start growing old, god forbid!) ... of course, in my own, particular ... idiom. (thank you, sweet Concorde! :-D)

Sea Bullies

2007-05-18T18:00:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to keep up with Discovery Channel's/BBC's Planet Earth at a friend's house. He happens to have High Definition Cable TV (with an HD monitor), so his first invitation to enjoy these new goodies was specifically to view Planet Earth. The documentary series was filmed in high-definition format over the course of 5 years, hence producing crystal clear, sharp images never before seen through television.

This following scene in particular was the one that hit me the strongest. Scary as shit, imposing ... it demands newfound respect for the Great White...

Cute Videos Part 1

2007-05-18T14:05:00.000-04:00

I hope not to be doing this too often in here. I have the habit of bookmarking everything. I may not be your regular storer or "trinkets-saver": this would be the kind of person that saves everything he/she comes across, down to the last newspaper, which would be somewhere among the pile of yellowed papers from 1968 right by the fridge. I don't do that. However, I do the equivalent in cyberspace: bookmark pages I like, pages I deem relevant, pages I think I might want to keep up with, pages which at some point might prove useful, someday ... That's why I love del.icio.us so much.

I also bookmark in places I have a profile like Youtube.com or Bettycrocker.com. And some days, when I'm bored, I like coming back to those bookmarks, while away a bit of time.

Well, today is one of those "dead-day-at-work" days, so I'm gonna come forward a bit and share some of the "cute" videos in here (kind of as if the CuteOverload gods had taken over me)

#1 - Dog Tickles Baby

The amount of controversy this video has aroused is absurd. Some people (roughly a half, maybe more) think that it's dangerous to let such a big dog play with a baby. Others think dogs are lovable, tender creatures when treated well and taken care of, hence it would be very improbable for a dog in a situation like the video shows to turn on his owner's baby and attack. I agree with the latter half. With some exceptions, specially some races of dog that are typically more aggressive than the others (like the chow-chows), most big dogs are of a gentle temperament, and will take care to be gentle around smaller creatures, specially if they can "smell" they are babies. Next video proves the point.

#2 - Siberian Husky & Kitten

This is just plain fucking cute! No more explanation needed!

#3 - Kawaii

This little girl would floor everyone at talent shows like American Idol by force of charisma alone.

#4 - Bengal Kitten (23)

This video has become part of the family lore. "Twenty-three" is something I say fairly often as a response to "Really?" ... It's silly, and my boyfriend finds it annoying. But the memory of this kitten chattering away at the window always brings me a smile.

#5 - El Metro

It may not be cute 'per-se', but it's incredibly touching. That's the kind of hang-out I find romantic and wins me over. No flowers and candlelight over bubbly champagne could compensate for an adventure-ridden night in the subway system!

#6 - We Will Rock You (Water)

Imagine Queen's classic hit "We Will Rock You" performed by a 7-year-old water-balloon-kid ... cute!

#7 - Otters holding hands

This video traveled 'round the globe quite recently. The end is the part that makes it worth it. Heart melting!

Tried and True Recipe #1: Pepperoni and Bacon Pasta Salad

2007-05-17T11:47:00.000-04:00

Prep Time:15 min
Start to Finish:30 min
Makes:4 main-dish servings
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1 package Betty Crocker® Suddenly Salad® ranch & bacon pasta salad mix
1/4 cup cold water
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 cups frozen broccoli flowerets, thawed and drained
1 package (3 1/4 ounces) sliced pepperoni, cut in half (1 cup)
1 medium tomato, coarsely chopped (3/4 cup)
1 jar (2 1/2 ounces) sliced mushrooms, drained

1. Empty Pasta mix into large pan 2/3 full of boiling water. Gently boil uncovered 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
2. Stir together Seasoning mix, cold water and oil in large bowl; set aside.
3. Drain pasta; rinse with cool water. Shake to drain well. Stir pasta and remaining ingredients into seasoning mixture. Serve immediately, or refrigerate.
High Altitude (3500-6500 ft) Increase boil time to 20 minutes.

This is a recipe I found through Bettycrocker.com. Tried it a couple of weeks ago, sans the broccoli (I'm not a big veggie fan). I also changed a few other ingredient details:

1) Changed the Betty Crocker® Suddenly Salad® ranch & bacon pasta salad mix for some regular ranch dressing and some mayo to thin the flavor out (ranch is a nice flavor, but it can be pretty strong if it's the only thing you're mixing with the pasta)

2) Added the bacon separately. I used bacon pieces (which can usually be found in the refrigerated cold cuts area). However, after the first trial, I am convinced that bacon bits might be an even better option.

3) I now realize I totally forgot to add the mushrooms and the oil, however I did add diced onion, which gives it a nice, crisp feel.

** On second thought: I think that from now on, I might be suppressing the pepperoni entirely, since I find it doesn't add all that much to the recipe's flavor. I also intend to use the mushrooms from now on (how could i FORGET mushrooms?!).

The ghosts of dogs

2007-05-16T11:47:00.000-04:00

(click to view bigger version)

Strips like this one always pull at my heartstrings. It's a pretty well known fact that I love dogs to the point of tears, specially now that, after a lifetime of having at least one as a companion, I can't own any (for a variety of reasons). Hopefully that will change soon ...

The comic strip above is part of an ongoing series named Mutts, by Patrick McDonnell. McDonnell is part of a few organizations and funds for animals (and against animal cruelty), and it shows in his strips. The ongoing theme is the animals' relationships with their caregivers, with themselves and with each other.

To be truly honest, sometimes the punchlines fall a little bit on the flat side, but the strip seems to be made with a heartful of love. Plus I share McDonnell's motives and interests in relation to animals, so I've come to respect his work for what it really is: a call to conscience in favor of animals, specially in favor of loving the animals that already accompany us day by day.

Window Shoppin' on the Internets

2007-05-15T13:30:00.000-04:00

These past few days my online hobby has been a different one from the usual. The blogs I read have been mostly ignored in favor of something so girly, that having fun with it is a bit embarrassing.

It all began, ironically, with one of the blogs I read daily: Beauty Dish (an extremely engrossing blog by an Avon saleslady living in some very arid place of the USA). She placed the link to ShopStyle.com on one of her entries, and I, being the curious little cat that I am, logged in ... and got carried away for a few days (and still going).

I am not a very fashion forward person, never been a trend setter (that I know of). I catch trends late, and sometimes I don't even adopt them (for example: the ruffled miniskirts that were all the rage 2 years ago? You would have never found one of those little numbers in my closet). I guess I am sort of a "conscientious dresser": I pick or discard trends (and sometimes non-trends) depending on whether they suit me well or not. And most of all, it depends on whether they suit my budget or not.

So ShopStyle.com lets me dream a bit, put 'looks' together without thinking about budget at all ... maybe even inspire me a bit in my everyday pick-of-the-closet. It has even linked me to two brands I didn't know and that I have really liked: Free People and Forever 21.

So pop in and have some fun (it's like playing with paper dolls, only you can really wear what they're showing in the pictures!!!)

Here are the looks I've created until now:

... and here are the things I have liked until now (other than what I've built into a 'look'):

:-D Pretty fun (in a very girly way!)

Snow White, Grass Bright

2007-05-14T17:11:00.000-04:00

I got a call earlier last week from a friend that had been away for a while. The call in itself was a surprise, then the other shoe dropped: she wanted me as a stand-in for a photography class assignment (again). I had worked with her before. As a matter of fact: those brief incursions into what "being a model" would feel like were interesting at their worst, pretty fun at their best. I've always hated to be on the other side of the camera lens, the side that exposes more of my body and less of my mind. But helping her with her projects opened up my curiosity about how is it that people see me from outside myself. I like exploring the possibilities other brains find around my physiognomy.

This photo shoot was considerably simpler than the ones I had worked with her before. She picked me up a little after 9 AM last Saturday and we went to a nice park a few blocks away from my house. The place is wonderfully green and fresh, filled with trees, with a few playground areas, a basketball court, a tennis court, and a walking path all throughout. Add to that the quiet nature of our neighborhood, and the park turns into a small emerald paradise among our homes.

My friend's idea for the photo shoot was a modern-day Snow White theme, using the blue, red and yellow colors (typical Disney Snow White scheme). She brought two apples, and I was a happy camper. "Apple shoots" get me a free apple after we're done. I was supposed to lay on the ground and play dead, which was fine by me (despite the prickly grass). We were done quickly, in spite of prickly grass, the pesky sun in my eyes, and territorial mosquitoes. I realized that simpler photo shoots also make for simpler dynamics: less people means less crossed thoughts. It was a fun, sweet time, and the product of it is not half bad either (although the model, a.k.a. me, looks like a beached whale). But I instantly loved the vibrance of the colors. She still hasn't showed me all the pictures she took. She worked with a digital camera, the picture on top came from that one. But she also used Colorsplash and Holga cameras - which is film - so we still have a few results to view.

Photo by Lyraida M. Caraballo.

Turtles rock!

2007-05-14T11:45:00.000-04:00

... and cats suck!

Or so it appears nature is pointing at that fact through these two videos:

Found through the mightily therapeutic CuteOverload blog. (If you're feeling blue on any given morning, just pop into this blog, I can guarantee an instant smile).

Other cute blogs to brighten up your days (from my del.icio.us collection):
The Daily Puppy
The Daily Kitten
I Can Has Cheezburger?

Wishlist by Froogle

2007-05-12T13:57:00.000-04:00

I remember making wishlists on a regular basis in my different blogs. I barely ever go shopping, and when I do, most of the times it has to do with something I need, not something I want. But I also "fall in love" and wish for clothes, kitchen appliances, books and shoes like any other girl, with the difference that as soon as I say or express my wish, I forget about it.

I don't usually shop around for things in my wishlists. I think it mainly has to do with the fact that I have forgotten what it is that I wanted. Yesterday, while I was fooling around with my profile, I saw there was a space for a "wishlist", managed by Froogle.

I fiddled with it a bit until I understood how it worked, and voilá! I have a wishlist!!! Completely updatable, it keeps things in one place, and I can add whichever type of product that comes into mind (not books & CDs only, like in Amazon... or even "books only" like in Half.com --- which is awesome, of course!).

So there it is (wink wink, nudge nudge! Wanna make a gift? ^_^ j/k!)

En la pata de vaca a la izquierda

2007-05-11T12:38:00.000-04:00

Hay cierta calidad de surrealismo en el hecho de que el camino hacia mi oficina está pavimentado con partes putrefactas de animales. La nueva dirección física para llegar a mi oficina es "en la #1, en la pata de vaca, a la izquierda". Un aroma orgánico del proceso de descomposición en su plenitud es lo que le da ambiente al estacionamiento frente a este edificio. Me cuentan mis compañeros que viajan hacia más allá sobre la #1 que "más abajo hay una cabeza".

No quiero imaginarme si en lugar de estar rodeados de partes de vaca, fueran partes humanas: sería una imagen de pesadillas. Hace dos días llegué tarde a mi trabajo por lo que provocó esta situación: en la madrugada entre el martes 8 y el miércoles 9 de mayo, un camionero (probablemente medio dormido o naturalmente despistado, como yo) se fue por toda la #1 con su cargamento de desperdicios animales, y aparentemente quiso compartir de su riqueza y permitió que la portezuela de atrás se abriera, así repartiendo cabezas, patas, estómagos, orejas, tripas (y su usual contenido), etc por todo el pavimento.

Claro, sabiendo que la Ley de Murphy la tiene agarrada conmigo, estas cosas pasan en la temporada en que tengo el aire acondicionado del carro jodido (y en pleno inicio de verano, para acabar de joder!). Cuando pasé por ahi el primer día, lo q predominaba era un olor q supe reconocer aunq rara vez pasa por mi nariz: el olor a muerte, a sangre animal, a masacre. No era descomposición, eso vino luego, por la tarde, al día siguiente. El primer día era olor a recién muerto ... y a mierda, obviamente, confirmado por la tripamenta aplastada (y vaciada a punta de tráfico pasándole por encima) un poco antes de la luz al lado de mi trabajo. Ese olor se me quedó pegado en la nariz el resto de la mañana.

Ya hoy la peste no es tanta, pero la pata de vaca sigue ahi. Me pregunto si los gusanos ya la habrán agarrado, si dispondrán de la piel (y el pelaje), dejando la figura al hueso ... o si el sol estará disecando esa pieza solitaria poco a poco, para dejarla como marcador semi-permanente de la dirección física de mi trabajo.

La vaca era marrón.

UPDATE (13:05PM): Ya retiraron la pata de vaca de la carretera. :-( Ya no hay pata de vaca para que la gente llegue aqui. So many lost people...

An introduction ...

2007-05-10T13:45:00.000-04:00

I have this knack for beginning things and not give them their fair conclusion. It happens mostly with what I write: blogs, short stories, poems, journals, diaries. This inconsistency might seem to most people like a surefire sign of a weak will, but I see it as an opportunity to reinvent and reassert myself with each beginning (such as this one).

However, I don't plan to completely ignore what I've written or created before. On the sidebar you may find links to other websites I've left my footprints on, such as MySpace, Facebook and Flickr. The ones on the sidebar are the ones I intend to keep current as long as I keep wishing to.

You may find my other (older) blogs if you follow the link to my profile. I don't expect to be updating those anytime soon, but you're welcome to look if you'd like to see some backstory to whatever happens here.

So, without further ado ...

:-)

PS: I forgot to point out that this blog will be bilingual (English & Spanish) ... and who knows, a smattering of French might seep through, since I'm learning the language.

Girl Anachronicles

Si me dejaras estudiar...

We've moved!

I *think* I may have a type...

Ballet Pointe Shoes: An Obsession

OMG We're Gonna DIE!

When it Rains ...

"Mi palabra favorita es..."

Érase una vez ...

The NYC Expirience: Summer Edition

In New York - Summer Heat Sucks

Raíces

Hey, kiddo!

NYC [Planning] Wish/Playlist

I've been airlocked, now what?

Revisiting: Boots

Adulthood Dementia

OMG!!!1! I could cry!

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Little Notes #8: Next Few Weeks and What it Means

Molting: Breaking the Shell

Self-Reminder

Confession is Good for the Soul

Uneven Score

The Man Who Made Me Believe Again

The Nose Experience

Disconnected - Disjointed

30th

From The Heart

The Beautiful Fat Girl - A Fallacy

Dump one in favor of the other

One Month Down, A Few More to Go

Happy New Year!

El Perfume

Realization

Want!

In Pain

I loooooove my perfume

Playlists - Intro and Part 1 of 9: A Cry From the Inside

This was supposed to be different

Little Notes #7: This must be my day!

Just like a newborn

Until you came into my life (finally!)

In Absentia

In Shambles

A Hole in My Forehead

Our Visit to the San Diego Zoo

Our Visit to San Diego - The Town

Teaser for Memoirs on San Diego Comic Con 2007

San Diego Comic Con 2007 Update #1

The 1-Day Week

Little Notes #6: Time Traveling with Bunnies

Catching Up after the Switch

UGHS 1995

UGHS

Memories: a Preview

Thinking With My Stomach #1: Antojito Paisa

The Slow Goodbye

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Perception of a Weekend: Before (Micro)

Little Notes #5: Obsessive Compulsions, a Sci-Fi crush (again), E-mail Forwards and Changes Afoot

What's Happening in my Kitchen

Harry Potter & Willow meet in Middle Earth

Little Notes #4: Nothing's Gonna Change My World

Trailer [Spaghetti] Confusion [Pretzel]

Meme (#001) - Ocho cosas

Bueno, ahora les toca a ustedes!

Preview: Home Sweet Home

Summer: To Job or Not to Job?

Animal Extravaganza

1 Buffalo, 2 Buffalo, 3 Buffalo

Rearranging the Face (of Flickr)

Beautifying the Beast

Letting Out the Seams a Bit

Taking off on July (explained)

Father of the Bride

Little Notes #3: Moving Days & Cruel Summers

Coming Full Circle is a Coin with Two Sides

The Other Side of "Closer"

Men I Love - Part 1: Eddie Izzard

I think I may have a type...