After the Sunday Asado I was invited to by my new friends, I am finally able to write about my experience. It took me 2 full days to recover; easily the best meat of my life. Now, I know all the rage in Argentina is the beef- how decadent and delicious it is. No one is lying. It really is THAT good. It´s not just the beef, either. I had a hot dog that probably could have boasted better than some cuts of steak back home. But at the weekend Asado, I ate things that are only served to royalty. Everything (except one piece of something or other) was cooked to perfection. If it had a bone, the juicy meat slid off effortlessly. Using my knife, I created mini ponds of meat juice that I so gracefully sopped up with my loaf of bread. The marinade was to die for.
Now, I mentioned that this family was not a group of small, thin individuals. They are indeed larger than life. Ma and Pa, and the 4 kids. The 2 girls, seemed to be straying from the family tradition of obesity, but the 2 boys, well, they appear to embrace the family way. Even the pets were massive. The fish got fed double portions and the dog, well his name was Spanish for Hot Dog. He looked to be around the size of a large pig. I´m sure if I wanted, it would have been possible to strap on some reins and ridden him home, like a pony, or one of those freakishly funny mini horses.
I arrived at the house which is conveniently located behind the Panaderia around 2pm. All of us sat at the table and our eating commenced shortly after that. The food wasn´t limited to meat and bread. The feast was complete with 2 types of salad, grilled veggies, and numerous drinks. Trying to never show up empty handed, I brought along a bottle of Malbec. They were very pleased and said since I was a guest, they were bringing out a different wine for me to taste. Well, it was nothing short of scrumptious. Needless to say, we finished that bottle. After we all finished our first serving of heart attack on a plate, we all went for seconds..and thirds...and some of us fourths. (Maybe that was me.) I only had trouble once when the piece of meet I was trying to slice refused to be cut. At home, I would have showed that hunk of stubborn food how we do things in ´Merica, and chewed that sona´bitch right to pieces. (Yeah sorry, I really did say that in my head with a hickish accent.) Sergio saw my troubles with this and informed me that that it was a bad piece of meat. It was too thin to be cooked with the others so instead the suspicious meat burned itself and was basically no longer edible. He threw it away and gave me another another. We have gone nearly an hour and a half, eating, laughing, talking, and people seemed to be winding down. Not Courtney Beer. I gracefully stabbed my fork into a piece or chorizo and made a petite sandwich...chori y pan...one of my favorite things to eat here. Yes friends, I out ate the fat people. (Please read that last sentence again; first for the emphasis of my accomplishment and second , for you gutter minded people, it does NOT say what you think it says.) It was so good I couldn´t afford not to.
After lunch, we had cocktails. Fernet is a popular alcohol here. It´s derived from an herb, has a slight medicinal taste to it, maybe like Campari, (Only not like ass), and is normally mixed with coke or pepsi. The alcohol content is not extremely high and is popular throughout Argentina. It tasted delicious post eating a small farm.
From here on out, the story only goes downhill.
There I am drinking my beverage and looking at amazing books with photos of Argentina, and getting recommendations on where to travel. The eldest daughter enters the room with 3 boxes. They are all Ice Cream. (Dear God, I can´t eat anymore.) I was prepping my ´thanks, but no thanks´ phrase in my head when a massive bowl is put in front of me. It is Dulce de Leche flavor with HUGE chunks of chocolate. Full or not, I am eating you, ice cream! We all get down to business. Ice cream is being devoured all over the place. Someone gave to dog ice cream. We were all smiles, and giggles. (Weird how ice cream does that to you. Somewhere after the second or third bite, I think people are brought back to the memory of running after the ice cream truck on a hot summer afternoon. After eating the gummy eyes off an ice cream shaped like a popular action figure, giggling seemed to take over everyone.)
I was just getting ready to undo the button to my pants when I was offered another serving of dessert. I declined and was very thankful they asked me this time. We proceeded to watch re runs of Jack Ass which everyone though was knee slappin´ hilarious. About 15 minutes post ice cream, someone started boiling water for maté. Even though this isn´t a food, and merely a tea type beverage, I had no room left in my body for it. Did that stop me? Nope. I wanted to prove I wasn´t a wimp. Don´t bench me coach, I´m a team player, and I play tough!!!
We go through a few rounds of this. (Quick insight to Maté in case anybody is unfamiliar...It is a herb tea drunk from a gourd communally through a bombilla ((metal straw with a filter on the end, so you don´t suck up the leaves)) and usually has sugar added. Each person is passed the maté and drinks it dry, passes it back for another round, and it goes around again.) Some other family and friends show up- I´m introduced at the Funny American, and we all talk some more...and laugh.
In the time that I try and explain the location of New Mexico to someone, tell them that it is NOT a part of old Mexico, and try to explain the word ´flip-flops,´ Sergio has left and returned. With him he has actually brought the devil. He has 2 bags of rolls, one large container of dulce de leche, and a tray (not a plate, but a tray) of doughnuts, pastries, medilunas, and other baked goods. Only one thought ran through my head. Please imagine the banner at the bottom of the television screen on Head Line News or the large news strip on the buildings in Times Square that posts news updates- running through my head. it says:
WHERE.IS.ALL.OF.THIS.SUPPOSED.TO.FIT!!!!!!!
We´re working on 4 hours of continuous eating here. It´s not that I´m not a fan of eating, because it surly is one of my favorite pass times, but physically, I am unsure of the foods ability to create room in my little stomach. I have already used up the spare space from for the 5 extra pieces of unidentified, yet disgustingly delicious meat. I manged a small piece of bread, with some dulce de leche, and then I put a stop to the madness. Lucy asked my why I didn´t want anymore, and I looked at her...then my stomach...then back at her...and finally said, ¿Donde ponerlo? I think my Spanish was incorrect, but she understood and laughed. Everyone laughed. We spoke some more, and I promised to come back before I left Argentina. I had to call and tell someone about my afternoon, if only to describe how incredible the food was. My family (The Beer´s) likes to eat as much as I do and they enjoyed the story!
I got home and was unable to eat dinner with my other family. I was sent home with bread and dulce de leche for the next day; souvenirs of my expedition climbing Comida Mountain. Even though I had tapped out on the food eating (bench me, coach...I played hard and tough, but even the best need to rest), it took everything in me not to steal a piece of meat from the fridge- it was that delicious. All of Monday I was full. And up until lunch yesterday, I thought I had stocked up for the winter. I ate like it was going out of style, like I was Jesus and this was, in fact, The Last Supper. Today I am fully recovered, well rested, ready to take this world by the horns.......
...or I was until being rudely awakened at 7 am by the neighbor blaring DISNEY SONGS and jack hammering things. I contemplated murdering him. To make it worse, and if I wasn´t already awake, I got humped viciously by the family dog. I was on my bed, and he straight up mounted me, little erection and all. I almost cried. I did learn however that they do not have the reflexes that of which cats do and when launched across the room at the speed of light, do not land on their feet. I almost felt bad, and then I saw his massive doggie balls and got over it.
Buen día para todos!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Peased y Pan
I had the highest hopes of beginning this story with my how I have new bakery friends- but THAT will have to wait. I have just sat down at the table. My family is in the room, playing video games, listening to Katy Perry at a deafening level on the other computer speakers. Andreita and Andrea are talking and laughing, and I realized they are talking to me. I kinda laugh, not knowing what´s being said because my head is swimming with Katy P, and I know it will be followed by Metro Station...(I can only hope the Jonas Brother´s are skipped on this play list). Finally, Andreita asks me something I definitely do not understand. The conversation went something like this:
Andrieta ¨Who peased on hour rag?¨ This was in English, because I didn´t get it in Spanish, either.
Me ¨What??? What did you ask me?¨
Andreita ¨Who.Peased.On.Hour:Rag?¨ Rag??? tú sabes?¨
Me ¨Andrieta (laughing) I don´t know wha- No me intende. ¿Que?
Andrea (mama) ¨Peased, Courrrney, PEASED.¨
Brother ¨haha, Peased. (To mother and sister) A ella no le sabe, haha.¨
Me ¨¿Que te dijiste? Como es Peased? I don´t understand what you are telling me.
---Everyone is laughing at this point. I look like a fool, and they might even be laughing at me. I finally get what PEASED is when Andreita makes the sitting-on-the-toilet gesture and immatates peeing.
Me ¨Oh!!! Pissed. Wait...Who pissed on my rag?
Andreita ¨Si. ¿Quien?
Me ¨Uh, what? No one pissed on my rag. What rag? What is a rag?
Andreita & Andrea simultaneously ¨RAG!!!!!!!¨
Me ¨I DON´T GET IT. WHAT IS RAG??? WHY ARE WE ALL YELLING???
Andrea(mama) ¨Que?¨
---Andrieta has to explain to her mom what I have just yelled in English. I have no clue what´s going on in this conversation at this point. I´m not sure what or where my rag is or WHO the hell pissed on it. Finally Andrea walks out side and picks up my RUG that I gave her yesterday because there seemed to be a puddle of PEE on it.
Me to everyone ¨RUG!!!!!!!! Ah, who pissed on my rug? Not Rag, Andrieta R-U-G!¨
Andrieta¨ That is what I said.¨
---Oh blast, I blamed the pee pee stain on her and everyone laughed.
The real answer to the question ¿Quien PEASED en tu fombra? or Who pissed on your rug?
---The damn dog
Now that the Mystery of the Yellow Stain has been resolved, I can get back to how I have Panaderia friends.
I was working on Thursday at Casa Regina, where in days passed I was called names and punched. Thursday was looking pretty uneventful and one of the other people there asked me if I wanted to go to the Panaderia with her. One of the other residents works at this bakery and she wanted to say hi and see how his day was. I´m never one to pass up an opportunity to expand my knowledge of the city and perhaps get some bread out of it.
The short walk brings us the the Panaderia I pass daily on the way to the gym. (Okay, not daily, but maybe 2 or 3 times a week). I am always tempted to skip the gym and dive head first into the bin of baked goods, but there is ALWAYS an absurd line. It was my thought that this town outta get another Panaderia. (Later I will find out that there are PLENTY of other Panaderia´s in Villa Allende and that this one is the oldest, having been around for nearly 100 years- and DUH white girl, simply the best one in this town).
We walk in and Silvia, the woman I have arrived with, exchanges some friendly words with the gentleman behind he counter. I have not understood one thing she said since we left. I actually don´t think she was speaking Spanish, because oddly enough, I can understand most things spoken to me here. (By the way, upon entering this marvelous place of which I imagine Heaven will smell like, I´m sure I gained a minimum of 10 pounds- You could almost FEEL the butter seeping in through your pores, YUM). He looks at me, smiles, and we all walk to the back. I am not expecting this, but end up getting the grand tour. Backs of restaurants or kitchens of delis are nothing new to me. With my Pops in the food business, I have seen almost every restaurant in Albuquerque from back to front, all before the age of 10. I was constantly late in elementary school due to the 7am visits to the Bagel Shop in Rio Rancho- No problem for me, I always left with a NYC style bagel, bigger than my face.
I learn the man, named Sergio, is one of the owners- his wife being the other. He is nothing short of a linebacker past his prime. It is quite possible that this man ate a loaf of bread and fresh pastries daily for 20 years. We got to talking, laughed at me being American, spoke of Global Warming, and laughed at Silvia, for speaking in a Spanish that I couldn´t understand.
I tell him of my fond addiction to Dulce de Leche, the sweet goodness they put on bread and crackers, in pastries, the flavor of ice cream, and keep in the fridge which I constantly dip my finger in and run away in my house. It is kind of like a Nutella, only the color and consistency of Carmel, and an extraordinary flavor. He laughs and says I will be fat in the future. (I didn´t find this funny). A few moments later, a woman, of approximately the same size enters the kitchen. She has a presence that demands cooperation, looks like she could snap her husband in half, command an army of 10,000, and give you the beast bear hug you could ever want. She is the Señora of the house, Lucy. She looks at me and asks my name. I have stepped foot in her kitchen and I´m not too sure of she likes it. She might kill me and put me in the dough for tomorrows bread. (Which would be delicious, I may add). Instead, she asks where I am from, I make a silly joke and she laughs until hey eyes water. We talk of the history of the bakery and that it was her grandfathers. I say my great grandfather owned a butcher shop. (I am almost positive this is accurate, but if anyone from my family can correct me, by all means...) We laugh, and I say that I like meet. And Wine. This is where the friendship blooms into BFF status. We speak of all types of wine, boxed and not, Italian, and Argentine, she likes that I like wine. Right about now, she has handed me a freshly baked roll. There is no comparison to how undeniably delicious a freshly baked piece of bread is. She explains to me the difference between the ones with grasa, and sin grasa. (Bread that will make your ass fat, and bread that will make your ass fatter). She said she thought American girls were funny when they ordered hamburgers without the bun, or diet cokes. I replied, ¨yo también.¨ I´m not even going to suggest the idea of whole wheat bread here in her kitchen, for fear that I may be shunned.
This is when Sergio comes in with a fresh pastry stuffed like an eclair with Dulce de Leche, topped with powdered sugar, and a cute little cherry on top. Oh my! He thought my love for the sweet nectar of Baby Jesus could be empowered if I ate one of these nifty little creations...He was right. With powdered sugar all over my lips, and some crumbs in my shirt, I mumble how splendid it tastes. We all laughed some more. (My guilt for having left work to eat Argentines´ delicacies lessened when Lucy then brought me another piece of ¨pan.¨ It was small and cute. I was already full. Were they testing me- let´s see how much the American can eat before she explodes??? Never one to insult people and their creations, (unless you created that fancy BS version of Campbell's Tomato Soup, I hate you) I stuffed that little number in my mouth. I tasted the butter before it touched my lips.
Lucy loved that I was enjoying this. It was approaching time to go, and Silvia had to get back and finish the work I skipped out on by having a field trip to the Courtney Turns into a Circle Person, factory. (Thanks, JP;) Lucy and Sergio speak among themselves for a few seconds and turn to me, both bearing the widest grins I have ever seen. Boarder line creepy, but mostly friendly. The ask me if I would like to come to an Asado on Sunday. They say there will be wondrous amounts of food. Oh, and there will be wine, naturally.
Count me in!
Lucy leaves, and I make quick plans with Sergio, and say ciao to everyone else in the kitchen. Lucy comes back from the front and hands me a bag full of rolls, ¨Para meriendas, y con dulce de leche, jejeje.¨ SCORE! She Makes sure I´m coming on Sunday, I thank them for everything, and make my exit.
After telling all of this to my host mother, she was so excited that I made random friends. Andreita, on the other hand, says that I´m friends with her competitor...I forgot she too works at a panaderia! Well, you snooze you lose, I can´t be friends with everyone, and I never received free bread from your neck of the woods, sorry sister! Haha.
I bought a delicious bottle of wine. (well, 2, one for myself, and one for my Sunday friends...I had to make sure It was good before showing up with it). I plan on stuffing myself sick tomorrow. You will be informed of this, too...whether you like it or not!
---
Andrieta ¨Who peased on hour rag?¨ This was in English, because I didn´t get it in Spanish, either.
Me ¨What??? What did you ask me?¨
Andreita ¨Who.Peased.On.Hour:Rag?¨ Rag??? tú sabes?¨
Me ¨Andrieta (laughing) I don´t know wha- No me intende. ¿Que?
Andrea (mama) ¨Peased, Courrrney, PEASED.¨
Brother ¨haha, Peased. (To mother and sister) A ella no le sabe, haha.¨
Me ¨¿Que te dijiste? Como es Peased? I don´t understand what you are telling me.
---Everyone is laughing at this point. I look like a fool, and they might even be laughing at me. I finally get what PEASED is when Andreita makes the sitting-on-the-toilet gesture and immatates peeing.
Me ¨Oh!!! Pissed. Wait...Who pissed on my rag?
Andreita ¨Si. ¿Quien?
Me ¨Uh, what? No one pissed on my rag. What rag? What is a rag?
Andreita & Andrea simultaneously ¨RAG!!!!!!!¨
Me ¨I DON´T GET IT. WHAT IS RAG??? WHY ARE WE ALL YELLING???
Andrea(mama) ¨Que?¨
---Andrieta has to explain to her mom what I have just yelled in English. I have no clue what´s going on in this conversation at this point. I´m not sure what or where my rag is or WHO the hell pissed on it. Finally Andrea walks out side and picks up my RUG that I gave her yesterday because there seemed to be a puddle of PEE on it.
Me to everyone ¨RUG!!!!!!!! Ah, who pissed on my rug? Not Rag, Andrieta R-U-G!¨
Andrieta¨ That is what I said.¨
---Oh blast, I blamed the pee pee stain on her and everyone laughed.
The real answer to the question ¿Quien PEASED en tu fombra? or Who pissed on your rug?
---The damn dog
Now that the Mystery of the Yellow Stain has been resolved, I can get back to how I have Panaderia friends.
I was working on Thursday at Casa Regina, where in days passed I was called names and punched. Thursday was looking pretty uneventful and one of the other people there asked me if I wanted to go to the Panaderia with her. One of the other residents works at this bakery and she wanted to say hi and see how his day was. I´m never one to pass up an opportunity to expand my knowledge of the city and perhaps get some bread out of it.
The short walk brings us the the Panaderia I pass daily on the way to the gym. (Okay, not daily, but maybe 2 or 3 times a week). I am always tempted to skip the gym and dive head first into the bin of baked goods, but there is ALWAYS an absurd line. It was my thought that this town outta get another Panaderia. (Later I will find out that there are PLENTY of other Panaderia´s in Villa Allende and that this one is the oldest, having been around for nearly 100 years- and DUH white girl, simply the best one in this town).
We walk in and Silvia, the woman I have arrived with, exchanges some friendly words with the gentleman behind he counter. I have not understood one thing she said since we left. I actually don´t think she was speaking Spanish, because oddly enough, I can understand most things spoken to me here. (By the way, upon entering this marvelous place of which I imagine Heaven will smell like, I´m sure I gained a minimum of 10 pounds- You could almost FEEL the butter seeping in through your pores, YUM). He looks at me, smiles, and we all walk to the back. I am not expecting this, but end up getting the grand tour. Backs of restaurants or kitchens of delis are nothing new to me. With my Pops in the food business, I have seen almost every restaurant in Albuquerque from back to front, all before the age of 10. I was constantly late in elementary school due to the 7am visits to the Bagel Shop in Rio Rancho- No problem for me, I always left with a NYC style bagel, bigger than my face.
I learn the man, named Sergio, is one of the owners- his wife being the other. He is nothing short of a linebacker past his prime. It is quite possible that this man ate a loaf of bread and fresh pastries daily for 20 years. We got to talking, laughed at me being American, spoke of Global Warming, and laughed at Silvia, for speaking in a Spanish that I couldn´t understand.
I tell him of my fond addiction to Dulce de Leche, the sweet goodness they put on bread and crackers, in pastries, the flavor of ice cream, and keep in the fridge which I constantly dip my finger in and run away in my house. It is kind of like a Nutella, only the color and consistency of Carmel, and an extraordinary flavor. He laughs and says I will be fat in the future. (I didn´t find this funny). A few moments later, a woman, of approximately the same size enters the kitchen. She has a presence that demands cooperation, looks like she could snap her husband in half, command an army of 10,000, and give you the beast bear hug you could ever want. She is the Señora of the house, Lucy. She looks at me and asks my name. I have stepped foot in her kitchen and I´m not too sure of she likes it. She might kill me and put me in the dough for tomorrows bread. (Which would be delicious, I may add). Instead, she asks where I am from, I make a silly joke and she laughs until hey eyes water. We talk of the history of the bakery and that it was her grandfathers. I say my great grandfather owned a butcher shop. (I am almost positive this is accurate, but if anyone from my family can correct me, by all means...) We laugh, and I say that I like meet. And Wine. This is where the friendship blooms into BFF status. We speak of all types of wine, boxed and not, Italian, and Argentine, she likes that I like wine. Right about now, she has handed me a freshly baked roll. There is no comparison to how undeniably delicious a freshly baked piece of bread is. She explains to me the difference between the ones with grasa, and sin grasa. (Bread that will make your ass fat, and bread that will make your ass fatter). She said she thought American girls were funny when they ordered hamburgers without the bun, or diet cokes. I replied, ¨yo también.¨ I´m not even going to suggest the idea of whole wheat bread here in her kitchen, for fear that I may be shunned.
This is when Sergio comes in with a fresh pastry stuffed like an eclair with Dulce de Leche, topped with powdered sugar, and a cute little cherry on top. Oh my! He thought my love for the sweet nectar of Baby Jesus could be empowered if I ate one of these nifty little creations...He was right. With powdered sugar all over my lips, and some crumbs in my shirt, I mumble how splendid it tastes. We all laughed some more. (My guilt for having left work to eat Argentines´ delicacies lessened when Lucy then brought me another piece of ¨pan.¨ It was small and cute. I was already full. Were they testing me- let´s see how much the American can eat before she explodes??? Never one to insult people and their creations, (unless you created that fancy BS version of Campbell's Tomato Soup, I hate you) I stuffed that little number in my mouth. I tasted the butter before it touched my lips.
Lucy loved that I was enjoying this. It was approaching time to go, and Silvia had to get back and finish the work I skipped out on by having a field trip to the Courtney Turns into a Circle Person, factory. (Thanks, JP;) Lucy and Sergio speak among themselves for a few seconds and turn to me, both bearing the widest grins I have ever seen. Boarder line creepy, but mostly friendly. The ask me if I would like to come to an Asado on Sunday. They say there will be wondrous amounts of food. Oh, and there will be wine, naturally.
Count me in!
Lucy leaves, and I make quick plans with Sergio, and say ciao to everyone else in the kitchen. Lucy comes back from the front and hands me a bag full of rolls, ¨Para meriendas, y con dulce de leche, jejeje.¨ SCORE! She Makes sure I´m coming on Sunday, I thank them for everything, and make my exit.
After telling all of this to my host mother, she was so excited that I made random friends. Andreita, on the other hand, says that I´m friends with her competitor...I forgot she too works at a panaderia! Well, you snooze you lose, I can´t be friends with everyone, and I never received free bread from your neck of the woods, sorry sister! Haha.
I bought a delicious bottle of wine. (well, 2, one for myself, and one for my Sunday friends...I had to make sure It was good before showing up with it). I plan on stuffing myself sick tomorrow. You will be informed of this, too...whether you like it or not!
---
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Foul Play
The other day, I was wondering why I never joined sports in high school. I saw some kids playing basketball here, and it looked really fun. The kids playing soccer looked like they were having even more fun. While at work with the older kids today it dawned on me why I never participated in activities. The fear of balls flying at my face is a little terrifying. Basketballs, dodge balls, man balls; any of which coming directly at my face with a rapid speed is not my idea of fun. When the two boys at my work, Claudio and Boy-whose-name-I-forgot stopped, Claudio asked me to play. We kinda made up a new game which was a mix of soccer and volleyball, neither of which I am good at. I seem to lack a small, yet important factor of the hand-eye coordination. Today was an exception. I kicked some ass at this sport of basically passing the ball back and forth. At one point, I served it with such precision and force, it bounced off of the kids head, and into the old school basketball hoop mounted on the wall. (Actually, that didn´t happen..but it would have been cool.)
I should mention that this pelota (ball) was not the average ball for sports. It had no bounce, was made of hard plastic, and I´m sure if I hit it wrong, I could have shattered every bone in my wrist. (And really, I don´t know why I was playing with my wrists instead of my hands, but whatever). So just when I think that the day can´t go any better, Claudio serves the ball with such power it shoots directly over my head and I miss. Shoot. I tell him he got the point for that round. How are we scoring you ask? He get´s all of the points and wins the game, that´s how. I guess on my attempted jog to get the ball which seemed to have traveled a half mile down the road, he got angry. Your girl already worked out for the day, so running for the ball was not in my plans. We had been playing for nearly an hour in the sun, and I was wearing black. (Another reason I didn´t join sports other than Cross Country...because I´m a pussy.) And with that, I hear Claudio scream ¨puta!¨ This is the equivalent of ¨slut.¨
What?!? Where did a kid with Down Syndrome even learn this???
I turn back, and he follows his potty-mouth words with a familiar gesture I reserve for Albuquerque Road Ragers. He flips me off with his tiny little fingers. (Another reason I didn´t join team sports, people are mean). Normally I would have thought this to be hilarious, but I think he was making fun of me. He started doing flamboyant flips and dance moves to what looked like The Macareña, and pointing to me. The guy, whose pants are barley buttoned up and shoes are on the wrong feet is making fun of ME? You´ve got to be kidding. I decided I needed a five minute rest.
I walked inside to see a poor kid hyperventilating. Well, this is just great. I start thinking that I will be be the only one around when he passes out, (and then it will look like I tried to kill him). After a moment, I did the logical thing and tried to calm him down. I spoke calmly and sat next to him. In less than 30 seconds he stopped. Thinking I have the gift of Mother Teresa, I get up to go outside and finish my throw down with Claudio. Before I can stand I get pulled by the arm and back of the head. This kid is trying to make out with me. No joke, he´s leaning in for it like my face is dinner and he hasn´t had a bit to eat all week.
Really??? Was he at the Boliche the other night, too? This has got to stop; I´d rather have been present for when the kid may have passed out and looked like I tried to kill him, rather than be caught with him trying to kiss me, and me look like I´m molesting the residents. I did the only natural thing, I ran away. Actually.Ran.Away.
I get back outside and see Claudio. (It´s on, little hands). I serve the ball and we start playing. It turned out to be a ¨good match,¨ and to my surprise, there was no more foul language. Clearly, I would not have written this story without some sort of humiliation on my part, which is exactly what happens next. Claudio kicks the ball and it whizzes through my legs. It ended up going behind a tree. I began looking for it (rapidly this time, for fear of being called another name) and see my friend standing next to me. We can´t see the ball, and Claudio thinks I have hidden it. He laughs at this and then punches me in the stomach. He laughs some more. I almost vomit.
(In his defense, I don´t think he wanted to make my insides scream with heinous pain, but I´m pretty sure he is unaware of how much force he possesses. Either way, I´m positive that´s what I deserve for calling him ¨little hands.¨)
This is where I have to draw the line. I suggest he does cartwheels in the grass, and God decided to throw me a golden bone, because he thought this was a FABULOUS idea. I slouched to a bench and sat for about 2 seconds when I got pummeled with a ball. Slammed right into my shin. I didn´t think it was possible to acquire as many bruises as I did in 2 1/2 hours unless you were in the WWF.
Gladly, I will look at these hematomas as a day well spent; battle scars if you will. For me, it´s not rare to be called a name such as ¨Puta¨ or even to be flipped off...but by a kid...with special needs, oh yes, this was priceless. I couldn´t imagine a Tuesday better spent.
I should mention that this pelota (ball) was not the average ball for sports. It had no bounce, was made of hard plastic, and I´m sure if I hit it wrong, I could have shattered every bone in my wrist. (And really, I don´t know why I was playing with my wrists instead of my hands, but whatever). So just when I think that the day can´t go any better, Claudio serves the ball with such power it shoots directly over my head and I miss. Shoot. I tell him he got the point for that round. How are we scoring you ask? He get´s all of the points and wins the game, that´s how. I guess on my attempted jog to get the ball which seemed to have traveled a half mile down the road, he got angry. Your girl already worked out for the day, so running for the ball was not in my plans. We had been playing for nearly an hour in the sun, and I was wearing black. (Another reason I didn´t join sports other than Cross Country...because I´m a pussy.) And with that, I hear Claudio scream ¨puta!¨ This is the equivalent of ¨slut.¨
What?!? Where did a kid with Down Syndrome even learn this???
I turn back, and he follows his potty-mouth words with a familiar gesture I reserve for Albuquerque Road Ragers. He flips me off with his tiny little fingers. (Another reason I didn´t join team sports, people are mean). Normally I would have thought this to be hilarious, but I think he was making fun of me. He started doing flamboyant flips and dance moves to what looked like The Macareña, and pointing to me. The guy, whose pants are barley buttoned up and shoes are on the wrong feet is making fun of ME? You´ve got to be kidding. I decided I needed a five minute rest.
I walked inside to see a poor kid hyperventilating. Well, this is just great. I start thinking that I will be be the only one around when he passes out, (and then it will look like I tried to kill him). After a moment, I did the logical thing and tried to calm him down. I spoke calmly and sat next to him. In less than 30 seconds he stopped. Thinking I have the gift of Mother Teresa, I get up to go outside and finish my throw down with Claudio. Before I can stand I get pulled by the arm and back of the head. This kid is trying to make out with me. No joke, he´s leaning in for it like my face is dinner and he hasn´t had a bit to eat all week.
Really??? Was he at the Boliche the other night, too? This has got to stop; I´d rather have been present for when the kid may have passed out and looked like I tried to kill him, rather than be caught with him trying to kiss me, and me look like I´m molesting the residents. I did the only natural thing, I ran away. Actually.Ran.Away.
I get back outside and see Claudio. (It´s on, little hands). I serve the ball and we start playing. It turned out to be a ¨good match,¨ and to my surprise, there was no more foul language. Clearly, I would not have written this story without some sort of humiliation on my part, which is exactly what happens next. Claudio kicks the ball and it whizzes through my legs. It ended up going behind a tree. I began looking for it (rapidly this time, for fear of being called another name) and see my friend standing next to me. We can´t see the ball, and Claudio thinks I have hidden it. He laughs at this and then punches me in the stomach. He laughs some more. I almost vomit.
(In his defense, I don´t think he wanted to make my insides scream with heinous pain, but I´m pretty sure he is unaware of how much force he possesses. Either way, I´m positive that´s what I deserve for calling him ¨little hands.¨)
This is where I have to draw the line. I suggest he does cartwheels in the grass, and God decided to throw me a golden bone, because he thought this was a FABULOUS idea. I slouched to a bench and sat for about 2 seconds when I got pummeled with a ball. Slammed right into my shin. I didn´t think it was possible to acquire as many bruises as I did in 2 1/2 hours unless you were in the WWF.
Gladly, I will look at these hematomas as a day well spent; battle scars if you will. For me, it´s not rare to be called a name such as ¨Puta¨ or even to be flipped off...but by a kid...with special needs, oh yes, this was priceless. I couldn´t imagine a Tuesday better spent.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Boliche the Second
I have to preface that this little (long) story will contain some immature adult language and foul words. It was my in my best intentions that I would abandon my sailor mouth and gutter mind while writing these fascinating little updates, however, after last night, this story would be incomplete without them.
I attended my second Boliche. Please reference other my story, Boliche Faced, if you are unclear of the meaning.
I was excited to go because I could finally wear the ridiculous dress I purchased from Loli in NYC. That woman convinced me this was a versatile purchase, and in retrospect, it´s an awesome dress, but making it into a shirt was not happening. Being disappointed, I settled for a FUGLY white top which I borrowed, highlighting my tacky white bra. If I ran into any Fashion Police, arrested, booked, sodomized, and death row is where I would have landed....oh well, oddly enough, I fit in.
This time, we ventured out of Villa Allende and into the City of Cordoba. The Small group of 3, Andreita, Tatiana, and myself started at a bar. I should say that I was really excited. I haven't had a cocktail in over a month and I could actually hear the gin whispering sweet nothings into my ear. After we got there, this bar was not going to sell me gin for a reasonable price. Instead, I settled on a vicious cocktail containing vodka and lime...simple. I was thinking about ordering number 2, when it came to y attention that Tati had not made a dent her Cotton Candy tasting mojito. OHHHH, so I´m hanging out with this crowd... No problem, I will play this game sober, again. I´m positive that I sighed outloud and physically had to lift my drooping head.
We arrive at the Boliche, named Peñon de Aguilr...which is similar in English to the name Bird Mountain- whatever. It is an Irish themed club, if you can imagine that. All the signs were in English, and said stuff like ¨Irish I were Drunk¨ and ¨Bless the Irish.¨ There was also a massive sign labeled ¨Irish Music¨ ...and there were no songs on it- i Thought that was pretty amusing. It is my personal opinion that this Boliche should abandon the Irish theme, and follow through with its true feeling, the RAPE theme. This will become evident shortly.
As soon as we arrive, it is clear to me that Argentina is unfamiliar with the Maximum Capacity law. This provides for not only uncomfortably crowded or even claustrophobic, but the If-I-Wern´t-Wearing-Clothes-I´d-Be-Pregnant close. Never have I been that close to so many people...and I did eat onions for dinner. Excellent. The 3 ladies try and make our way to the bathroom, and fall into the Vultures Nest, IE hungry drunk guys. NO biggie, we smile and dance a bit, and before I know it, I´ve got some fuzzy haired kid wrapped around me. Oh no son. I start to leave, and he point blank asks me if i´m drunk. I reply no, and I see it coming. I see it like you can see a tornado coming. He plunges for a full on kiss. And inches from my face, I shoot up my and, all 5 fingers, and kinds hold his face for a minute. Excuse the fuck out of me, this is not okay. We leave only to run directly into the Great Wall of China- of people. There is no choice, we have to back track through the mess I have just created by denying Peter Griffin. We try and sneak past, and Señor kissy pants immediately latches to me I keep walking, and he tries kissing my neck. WTF, this ain´t no raunchy beach read, kid. And I realized, he had quite the tight grip, on my waist. Holy smokes, I´m going to be devoured right here, i think and immediately ram my head into his face. Please imagine a sideways head-butt! He drops his grip, and I walk away, but not before I feel that he has drooled on my shoulder. Gross, he´s dumb AND sloppy. Bad combo. When I go to wipe off his saliva, i realize it´s blood. Great, someone get this guy a tampon. I look back and see that I have seriously busted his lip. I mangled him. His friends are laughing hysterically. Awesome way start to this dance fest.
(I´m happy i decided against wearing my classy shirt dress, I don´t think blood washes out of silk easily).
We reach the horror of which is the bathroom and am not shocked when I find absolutely no toilet paper, or the fact that the one toilet doesn´t flush. I contemplated peeing on the floor to show Argentina and this Boliche my gratitude and Appreciation. While waiting for the other ladies, I found my new favorite sport. Watch drunk girls apply black eye liner. Naturally, these ladies resembling raccoons are sharing the same eye liner. Clearly sanitary. This was amazing. Pink eye anyone? Would you also like to use my already waxy Q-Tip too?
Getting back to the dance floor, a few noteworthy events happened. First, since I am cautious Courtney, I tried identifying my nearest exit in case of an emergency. Along with the Max Capacity deal, there are no clearly illuminated exits. Fuck. I´ll just jump up with the DJ and use the fire extingusher if anything happens. Also, since this is a classy joint, they don't use plastic cups- just glass, and glass pitchers. (I´m hoping this is the type of pitcher to serve beer and not balls). Well some other girls we met up with had one and decided to share. I already knew how this was going to turn out. Too many people jumping up and down dancing and a big heavy glass near my renovated and expensive teeth. No. And then it happened, a girl got RAMMED and chipped a tooth. Sucka, get a straw...like I did. And thus I drank beer from a glass pitcher in the middle of a dance floor. It was around this point that poor Andreita got burned in the ear with a cigarette. I now see the purpose for banning smokes in clubs...It´s pretty dangerous.
Right about this time is when the second attempted rape occurred. There I was hanging out dancing like a fool, not understanding any songs, when I get a familiar sensation on my waist. It seems the guy behind me in red has confused my waist for his. I try and help him by removing his hand. This way he´ll get the hint and we can bypass the embarrassing rejection scene I perfected earlier on. But with no surprise, he truly believes that his hands belong on my waist. I turn around and stare at him, with a rather puzzled look. That´s all. No dancing, no smiling, nothing. Standing 100% without movement, staring at this fellow. I know this is awkward, and he feels it to and stops. I turn back around and continue my Cindy Lauper/Steven Taylor dance imitation when I get someone´s hands on my my neck and head. What? Who? Aw, yes, the gentleman in red...again. Here I though he left. He was less threatening than my former gentleman almost lover, so rather than gearing up for my second WWF move of the night, I just put both of my hands on top of his head and messed his hear up badly. He didn´t like this one bit, and the last I saw, he was heading towards the baños. My friends are now doubled over laughing at me and my antics. Silly American.
We make our way over to the bar, because I decide for everyone it is Shot time, and we NEED tequila. It went down smooth, and I was getting ready to order another round. (You can see where this night WOULD have gone if it were not for the following events). I looked for the Bartenders, and saw all of them, in the middle of the bar. One with a whistle blaring at every beat to the song. The others actually playing the drain covers and other metal appliances as instruments. Shit no. I will not tip people making ruckus like this. Instead, I drank more beer and that was that. The only song that I knew all evening was Santeria by Sublime. I was the hit when I sang all the words. One guy even shouted Viva Estados Unidos. I love him. I was also worried he was going to get the shit kicked out of him, so I chose not visit with him.
The last man of the evening approached me like he was the guy I had been searching all of my young life. He gave me the, ¨Hey, it´s okay, I´m here¨ look. HE also proceeded and didn´t ask me to dance, but actually said, ¨we dance!¨ I replied ¨we don´t.¨ I´m sorry, but this out of place troll had to be in his 50s and actually was beaten with an ugly stick. Hey, I maybe be foreign, but I´m not stupid Gandolf!
I ended the evening with a bang when I shoved a fat girl on the bus back to Villa Allende because her drunk ass decided to sit on me. Normally, I´m okay with lap sitting, but it was 7 am, and I was worried that I may suffocate. When she yelled at me, I looked at her, straight faced, and said (In Spanish) ¨No hablo español.¨ She apologized, surprisingly, and wobbled to the back of the bus.
I made a divine face plant into my pillow at 7:32 and actually saw the sun peaking through the curtains. What a marvelous evening.
I attended my second Boliche. Please reference other my story, Boliche Faced, if you are unclear of the meaning.
I was excited to go because I could finally wear the ridiculous dress I purchased from Loli in NYC. That woman convinced me this was a versatile purchase, and in retrospect, it´s an awesome dress, but making it into a shirt was not happening. Being disappointed, I settled for a FUGLY white top which I borrowed, highlighting my tacky white bra. If I ran into any Fashion Police, arrested, booked, sodomized, and death row is where I would have landed....oh well, oddly enough, I fit in.
This time, we ventured out of Villa Allende and into the City of Cordoba. The Small group of 3, Andreita, Tatiana, and myself started at a bar. I should say that I was really excited. I haven't had a cocktail in over a month and I could actually hear the gin whispering sweet nothings into my ear. After we got there, this bar was not going to sell me gin for a reasonable price. Instead, I settled on a vicious cocktail containing vodka and lime...simple. I was thinking about ordering number 2, when it came to y attention that Tati had not made a dent her Cotton Candy tasting mojito. OHHHH, so I´m hanging out with this crowd... No problem, I will play this game sober, again. I´m positive that I sighed outloud and physically had to lift my drooping head.
We arrive at the Boliche, named Peñon de Aguilr...which is similar in English to the name Bird Mountain- whatever. It is an Irish themed club, if you can imagine that. All the signs were in English, and said stuff like ¨Irish I were Drunk¨ and ¨Bless the Irish.¨ There was also a massive sign labeled ¨Irish Music¨ ...and there were no songs on it- i Thought that was pretty amusing. It is my personal opinion that this Boliche should abandon the Irish theme, and follow through with its true feeling, the RAPE theme. This will become evident shortly.
As soon as we arrive, it is clear to me that Argentina is unfamiliar with the Maximum Capacity law. This provides for not only uncomfortably crowded or even claustrophobic, but the If-I-Wern´t-Wearing-Clothes-I´d-Be-Pregnant close. Never have I been that close to so many people...and I did eat onions for dinner. Excellent. The 3 ladies try and make our way to the bathroom, and fall into the Vultures Nest, IE hungry drunk guys. NO biggie, we smile and dance a bit, and before I know it, I´ve got some fuzzy haired kid wrapped around me. Oh no son. I start to leave, and he point blank asks me if i´m drunk. I reply no, and I see it coming. I see it like you can see a tornado coming. He plunges for a full on kiss. And inches from my face, I shoot up my and, all 5 fingers, and kinds hold his face for a minute. Excuse the fuck out of me, this is not okay. We leave only to run directly into the Great Wall of China- of people. There is no choice, we have to back track through the mess I have just created by denying Peter Griffin. We try and sneak past, and Señor kissy pants immediately latches to me I keep walking, and he tries kissing my neck. WTF, this ain´t no raunchy beach read, kid. And I realized, he had quite the tight grip, on my waist. Holy smokes, I´m going to be devoured right here, i think and immediately ram my head into his face. Please imagine a sideways head-butt! He drops his grip, and I walk away, but not before I feel that he has drooled on my shoulder. Gross, he´s dumb AND sloppy. Bad combo. When I go to wipe off his saliva, i realize it´s blood. Great, someone get this guy a tampon. I look back and see that I have seriously busted his lip. I mangled him. His friends are laughing hysterically. Awesome way start to this dance fest.
(I´m happy i decided against wearing my classy shirt dress, I don´t think blood washes out of silk easily).
We reach the horror of which is the bathroom and am not shocked when I find absolutely no toilet paper, or the fact that the one toilet doesn´t flush. I contemplated peeing on the floor to show Argentina and this Boliche my gratitude and Appreciation. While waiting for the other ladies, I found my new favorite sport. Watch drunk girls apply black eye liner. Naturally, these ladies resembling raccoons are sharing the same eye liner. Clearly sanitary. This was amazing. Pink eye anyone? Would you also like to use my already waxy Q-Tip too?
Getting back to the dance floor, a few noteworthy events happened. First, since I am cautious Courtney, I tried identifying my nearest exit in case of an emergency. Along with the Max Capacity deal, there are no clearly illuminated exits. Fuck. I´ll just jump up with the DJ and use the fire extingusher if anything happens. Also, since this is a classy joint, they don't use plastic cups- just glass, and glass pitchers. (I´m hoping this is the type of pitcher to serve beer and not balls). Well some other girls we met up with had one and decided to share. I already knew how this was going to turn out. Too many people jumping up and down dancing and a big heavy glass near my renovated and expensive teeth. No. And then it happened, a girl got RAMMED and chipped a tooth. Sucka, get a straw...like I did. And thus I drank beer from a glass pitcher in the middle of a dance floor. It was around this point that poor Andreita got burned in the ear with a cigarette. I now see the purpose for banning smokes in clubs...It´s pretty dangerous.
Right about this time is when the second attempted rape occurred. There I was hanging out dancing like a fool, not understanding any songs, when I get a familiar sensation on my waist. It seems the guy behind me in red has confused my waist for his. I try and help him by removing his hand. This way he´ll get the hint and we can bypass the embarrassing rejection scene I perfected earlier on. But with no surprise, he truly believes that his hands belong on my waist. I turn around and stare at him, with a rather puzzled look. That´s all. No dancing, no smiling, nothing. Standing 100% without movement, staring at this fellow. I know this is awkward, and he feels it to and stops. I turn back around and continue my Cindy Lauper/Steven Taylor dance imitation when I get someone´s hands on my my neck and head. What? Who? Aw, yes, the gentleman in red...again. Here I though he left. He was less threatening than my former gentleman almost lover, so rather than gearing up for my second WWF move of the night, I just put both of my hands on top of his head and messed his hear up badly. He didn´t like this one bit, and the last I saw, he was heading towards the baños. My friends are now doubled over laughing at me and my antics. Silly American.
We make our way over to the bar, because I decide for everyone it is Shot time, and we NEED tequila. It went down smooth, and I was getting ready to order another round. (You can see where this night WOULD have gone if it were not for the following events). I looked for the Bartenders, and saw all of them, in the middle of the bar. One with a whistle blaring at every beat to the song. The others actually playing the drain covers and other metal appliances as instruments. Shit no. I will not tip people making ruckus like this. Instead, I drank more beer and that was that. The only song that I knew all evening was Santeria by Sublime. I was the hit when I sang all the words. One guy even shouted Viva Estados Unidos. I love him. I was also worried he was going to get the shit kicked out of him, so I chose not visit with him.
The last man of the evening approached me like he was the guy I had been searching all of my young life. He gave me the, ¨Hey, it´s okay, I´m here¨ look. HE also proceeded and didn´t ask me to dance, but actually said, ¨we dance!¨ I replied ¨we don´t.¨ I´m sorry, but this out of place troll had to be in his 50s and actually was beaten with an ugly stick. Hey, I maybe be foreign, but I´m not stupid Gandolf!
I ended the evening with a bang when I shoved a fat girl on the bus back to Villa Allende because her drunk ass decided to sit on me. Normally, I´m okay with lap sitting, but it was 7 am, and I was worried that I may suffocate. When she yelled at me, I looked at her, straight faced, and said (In Spanish) ¨No hablo español.¨ She apologized, surprisingly, and wobbled to the back of the bus.
I made a divine face plant into my pillow at 7:32 and actually saw the sun peaking through the curtains. What a marvelous evening.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
It became clear to me that much of my literature collection´s back covers will soon read ¨For International Sale Only.¨
I took it upon myself today to make a trip to the city today and purchase some novels. I have run low on my Jodi Picoult supply and because I have a slight obsession with this author, I found it necessary to obtain more of her novels. When I successifuly found a bookstore that would cater to my needs, (as in selling more than just English text books) I went to the very obsolete section of ¨Libros en Inglis.¨ To me defeat, there were no more Jodi Picoult novels left...that I haden´t already read. No prolem, I assume there is at the very least a wide selection of Dean Koontz, Danielle Steel, or Dan Brown available. Dissapointed again. I setteled for a Stephen King and the novel ¨Get Shorty.¨ (I have just become vaguely aware, from a quick flashback of a college edition of MLA that I think I should be Underlining the titles of the novels...neither here nor there). I forgot that earlier in life i tried reading ¨It¨ by Mr. King. I also ceased to remember that I disliked his style of writing. Oh well, I´m sure it will be a good mind jumble.
While I was in the book store, I was able to read the last chapters of the book that the families dog decided to feast on before I could finish. Sorry Dean Koontz, I wasn´t impressed.
After that, I met up with Andreita and we had some well deserved lunch. I was thinking a cool place with a beer, maybe some authentic food... Instead we went to a fast food joint similar to McD´s and I had a burger, fries, and a coke. Well, you can´t win em´all.
Finally, we needed to make a stop of at the University so she could pick something up... honestly, I didn´t understand much of what was said this day and I was just along for the adventure. We walked what I would deem 3 miles, before we got to the school, and had to return. I enjoying walking as much as the next guy, but I was TOTALLY unprepared for the 6 mile treck in my flip flops, (up hill for the first 3 I may add). Even worse on the way back, Andreita realized we needed to catch a bus in about 7 minutes, when we had close to over a half hour to walk. I swear, even after living in NYC and walking like I actually purchased and owned the city, I have ever WALKED that fast in my life. I wasn´t even looking before I crossed streets, and this is no good since I have a track record of running into cabs, (Or better yet, them, litterally, running into me).
On our way to el colectivo (bus), I come across some crazy Man Purse Action. I have always thought it´s no biggie for a man to carry a shoulder bag. Hell, the one I am currently using from the buckle (purchased in USA) is actually designed for the male, but after today, there is NO REASON a man should EVER carry a blue, yellow, and purple bag over the shoulder. I wonder if her carried his ¨junk¨ in there too?!!?
We made the bus in record time, which left me standing for 45 minutes more. ¨ Don´t worry guy with backpack on unoccupied seat, the swolen feet and blisters I will soon endure are made for this, thanks.¨ He didn´t decect the sarcasim in my undertone of grunts and evil eye, so I remained standing. It´s okay, I am ALL woman.
Once I returned home, and washed the pain from my feet. (And like a weenie, applied cream and put on cute comfy socks). I sat back with my glass of wine, (which turned into 3, hello light weight) and lounged pool-side sans mosquito repellent; come devour this sangre de americana, insectos!!!
I promise not to regale you with raunchy stories of itchy bug bites in the near future!
I took it upon myself today to make a trip to the city today and purchase some novels. I have run low on my Jodi Picoult supply and because I have a slight obsession with this author, I found it necessary to obtain more of her novels. When I successifuly found a bookstore that would cater to my needs, (as in selling more than just English text books) I went to the very obsolete section of ¨Libros en Inglis.¨ To me defeat, there were no more Jodi Picoult novels left...that I haden´t already read. No prolem, I assume there is at the very least a wide selection of Dean Koontz, Danielle Steel, or Dan Brown available. Dissapointed again. I setteled for a Stephen King and the novel ¨Get Shorty.¨ (I have just become vaguely aware, from a quick flashback of a college edition of MLA that I think I should be Underlining the titles of the novels...neither here nor there). I forgot that earlier in life i tried reading ¨It¨ by Mr. King. I also ceased to remember that I disliked his style of writing. Oh well, I´m sure it will be a good mind jumble.
While I was in the book store, I was able to read the last chapters of the book that the families dog decided to feast on before I could finish. Sorry Dean Koontz, I wasn´t impressed.
After that, I met up with Andreita and we had some well deserved lunch. I was thinking a cool place with a beer, maybe some authentic food... Instead we went to a fast food joint similar to McD´s and I had a burger, fries, and a coke. Well, you can´t win em´all.
Finally, we needed to make a stop of at the University so she could pick something up... honestly, I didn´t understand much of what was said this day and I was just along for the adventure. We walked what I would deem 3 miles, before we got to the school, and had to return. I enjoying walking as much as the next guy, but I was TOTALLY unprepared for the 6 mile treck in my flip flops, (up hill for the first 3 I may add). Even worse on the way back, Andreita realized we needed to catch a bus in about 7 minutes, when we had close to over a half hour to walk. I swear, even after living in NYC and walking like I actually purchased and owned the city, I have ever WALKED that fast in my life. I wasn´t even looking before I crossed streets, and this is no good since I have a track record of running into cabs, (Or better yet, them, litterally, running into me).
On our way to el colectivo (bus), I come across some crazy Man Purse Action. I have always thought it´s no biggie for a man to carry a shoulder bag. Hell, the one I am currently using from the buckle (purchased in USA) is actually designed for the male, but after today, there is NO REASON a man should EVER carry a blue, yellow, and purple bag over the shoulder. I wonder if her carried his ¨junk¨ in there too?!!?
We made the bus in record time, which left me standing for 45 minutes more. ¨ Don´t worry guy with backpack on unoccupied seat, the swolen feet and blisters I will soon endure are made for this, thanks.¨ He didn´t decect the sarcasim in my undertone of grunts and evil eye, so I remained standing. It´s okay, I am ALL woman.
Once I returned home, and washed the pain from my feet. (And like a weenie, applied cream and put on cute comfy socks). I sat back with my glass of wine, (which turned into 3, hello light weight) and lounged pool-side sans mosquito repellent; come devour this sangre de americana, insectos!!!
I promise not to regale you with raunchy stories of itchy bug bites in the near future!
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sun of a Beach
So in Argentina, the Thursday and Friday before Easter are Diás de los Santos, holy days. There is no work, and most businesses are closed. This means that I have been on vacation from my vacation for 4 days. It was my thought that I would sun bathe, and read, and drink wine, and eat, and not work out, and hang out for 4 days.
Holy days are work, my friends. I have now been to church more times in the past 4 days than I have in total over the last year. In addition, these are days of sacrifice- no red meat, no booze. I could have opted for the, ¨sorry, I don´t celebrate that way¨ gig, and gone with instead, ¨I only drink wine on these holy days,¨ routine, but I figured that´s NOT what Jeusus would´v done.
In turn, I also was unsure of the egg coloring ritual here. I have a holiday trasition, I love to decorate and drink. Eat and drink. Open presents and drink. Cook and drink. Really, I have been told that ¨I have a holiday problem¨ word for word. So when it turned out that we were not coloring eggs, and that the Easter Bunny hadn´t made a visit here since Full House started playing reruns, a little dissapointment washed over me.
I am pretty particular about holidays in general. My favorite is Thanksgiving, and if things aren´t right, like perhaps the stuffing is made wrong, or the cranberry sauce is hole cranberrys in sauce instead of the jellied kind that glugs out of the tin looking like a fruity replica, I freak out. Two years ago, when I was informd my family was changing the present-opening schedule from before church to after church on Christmas, I almost needed a brown paper bag for breathing purposes. Easter, however, has been one of those holidays that since attending college has fallen at akward times and has less of a novality holiday factor to it. (Sorry, Jesus). What I did experience here on Easter in Argentina was consistant with years past; in the sense it was different than any other, yet filled with family and fun.
After sleeping through church, (I was up VERY late watching Passion of the Christ- geeze Mel Gibson, you think we could make that any bloodier) I awoke to a very normal day. Had some coffee, chated up the fam, and then went to a birthday party in another town. The food was massive, the cake was the size of a toddler, and Budwiser was present for the occasion. Good conversation, which I was able to understand for the most part, and good food- Sounds like the ingredients for a fantastic celebration to me. After returning home, the family sat on the patio, discussing, a wide range of odd things. Birthdays, American fashion, tea, expense of college, how along with America, I too am in massive Student Loan debt, and the difference between ¨sun of a beach¨ and ¨sun of a bitch.¨
The other day when I was asked what insults were thrown around in my homeland, this one came up. I had to explain the difference between sun, sol, and son, hijo. It was then that I realized the English language is a joke. There, their, and they´re...ate and eight, whose, and who´s.... pull and pool? Who came up with this?!? Finally, when speaking to Martita in English, I had to help her with her pronunciation with the word ¨can´t.¨ When said with an accent, it offers a whole new, possibly grotesique and insulting meaning, which I too had to explain. Having everyone in stitches about the word, Andrea, la mamá, began calling everyone this highly inappropriate noun.
...Easter doesn´t get better than that
We finished the night with everyone trying to speak English, and having me say phrases in my native tongue so they could repeat them.
fin
Holy days are work, my friends. I have now been to church more times in the past 4 days than I have in total over the last year. In addition, these are days of sacrifice- no red meat, no booze. I could have opted for the, ¨sorry, I don´t celebrate that way¨ gig, and gone with instead, ¨I only drink wine on these holy days,¨ routine, but I figured that´s NOT what Jeusus would´v done.
In turn, I also was unsure of the egg coloring ritual here. I have a holiday trasition, I love to decorate and drink. Eat and drink. Open presents and drink. Cook and drink. Really, I have been told that ¨I have a holiday problem¨ word for word. So when it turned out that we were not coloring eggs, and that the Easter Bunny hadn´t made a visit here since Full House started playing reruns, a little dissapointment washed over me.
I am pretty particular about holidays in general. My favorite is Thanksgiving, and if things aren´t right, like perhaps the stuffing is made wrong, or the cranberry sauce is hole cranberrys in sauce instead of the jellied kind that glugs out of the tin looking like a fruity replica, I freak out. Two years ago, when I was informd my family was changing the present-opening schedule from before church to after church on Christmas, I almost needed a brown paper bag for breathing purposes. Easter, however, has been one of those holidays that since attending college has fallen at akward times and has less of a novality holiday factor to it. (Sorry, Jesus). What I did experience here on Easter in Argentina was consistant with years past; in the sense it was different than any other, yet filled with family and fun.
After sleeping through church, (I was up VERY late watching Passion of the Christ- geeze Mel Gibson, you think we could make that any bloodier) I awoke to a very normal day. Had some coffee, chated up the fam, and then went to a birthday party in another town. The food was massive, the cake was the size of a toddler, and Budwiser was present for the occasion. Good conversation, which I was able to understand for the most part, and good food- Sounds like the ingredients for a fantastic celebration to me. After returning home, the family sat on the patio, discussing, a wide range of odd things. Birthdays, American fashion, tea, expense of college, how along with America, I too am in massive Student Loan debt, and the difference between ¨sun of a beach¨ and ¨sun of a bitch.¨
The other day when I was asked what insults were thrown around in my homeland, this one came up. I had to explain the difference between sun, sol, and son, hijo. It was then that I realized the English language is a joke. There, their, and they´re...ate and eight, whose, and who´s.... pull and pool? Who came up with this?!? Finally, when speaking to Martita in English, I had to help her with her pronunciation with the word ¨can´t.¨ When said with an accent, it offers a whole new, possibly grotesique and insulting meaning, which I too had to explain. Having everyone in stitches about the word, Andrea, la mamá, began calling everyone this highly inappropriate noun.
...Easter doesn´t get better than that
We finished the night with everyone trying to speak English, and having me say phrases in my native tongue so they could repeat them.
fin
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Oddly, Vino
Days productive are subject to the opinions of many people. Having one of which I consider productive is open to the scrutiny of anyone; however, I think many would agree that going to the bank, having coffee, AND purchasing bugspray and wine counts as crazy productivity! In addition to my day of success, it was also a day of peculiaritys as well.
After the bank, I made my way over to the supermercado to purchase some lotion, bugspray, and a new razor. (It seems that I am not the only one using my Shick Quatro, purple razor, hmmm). I browsed the selection of lotion and mosquito repelants, and moved on to the razors. after 15 minutes of looking the isle up and down, I discovered there were none. Fine. I checked out, and walked out the door, receipt in hand. I was approached by a friendly security guard asking to see my bag. I look at him and hand him my plastic one complete with the contents I PURCHASED along with the receipt. He looks at me and refers to my purse. I didn´t realize SWEATY American girls in trendy shorts were nabbed as the type to shoplift. So as he took a gander through, he stumbled across the massive amount of tampons and panty liners I have yet to unpack from last month, and I give him the eyebrow glance, as to suggest, ¨really, Raul, are we going to do this today?¨ He turns a pleasant shade of red, and smiles. I finish up with the ¨esta bien?¨ which, though it was phrased as a questions absolutely was not, and move on almost before I have gained complete possision of my purse again.
Puh-Lease Argentina, who do you take me for, Sarah Palin´s sister in law?!?
Oddly enough the day continued in the out of the ordinary fashion. As I´m at work, folding clothes with Valeria, I spot a tiny bug...fear not, I am a big girl. SQUASH. Ha, I´m thinking I´m tough. This is until the massive uncle of the tiny bug shows his face and it turns out to be a roach. NOT GOOD. Without trying to upset my special friend, I back up and point. She doesn´t quite understand what I´m pointing at. I try and keep my cool, while breaking out in the second pit drenching sweat of the day, and say, ¨cucaracha!¨ I thought she may be freaked out, because she stumled backwards and fell. (Great, now I´m at fault for hurting the residents), and when I go to help her up, she has a shoe in her hand. I wondered if she might throw it at me, because last Tuesday, I got hit with a shoe while there. Instead, Valeria said something, and beat the living crap out of it. The first few times she missed, but once she got it, she didn´t stop... Throw your hands up in the air for roach Pureé!
...Then she laughed at me for being scared of a bug, like I had serious problems. (I do). So finally, when I leave work, I decided a bottle of wine NEEDED to be purchased. I make my way to the only place open at 5...(Okay, 4:45, I left early) because it´s still Siesta time. The only bottle in my price range (which is CHEAP) was the 2liter. Oh, well, more bang for the buck, I suppose. Sadly, while in the Kisocko, I hear the most disturbing sound in the world, and realize a poor dog has just been hit by a car. WTF Argentina? They´ve got dogs on the street like Central Park has hobos. Almost crying, I take the bottle and leave, and nearly miss a pile of caca-on-sidewalk.
Damn dog.
I´m off to finish my productive day and open the bottle....
Cheers!!!
After the bank, I made my way over to the supermercado to purchase some lotion, bugspray, and a new razor. (It seems that I am not the only one using my Shick Quatro, purple razor, hmmm). I browsed the selection of lotion and mosquito repelants, and moved on to the razors. after 15 minutes of looking the isle up and down, I discovered there were none. Fine. I checked out, and walked out the door, receipt in hand. I was approached by a friendly security guard asking to see my bag. I look at him and hand him my plastic one complete with the contents I PURCHASED along with the receipt. He looks at me and refers to my purse. I didn´t realize SWEATY American girls in trendy shorts were nabbed as the type to shoplift. So as he took a gander through, he stumbled across the massive amount of tampons and panty liners I have yet to unpack from last month, and I give him the eyebrow glance, as to suggest, ¨really, Raul, are we going to do this today?¨ He turns a pleasant shade of red, and smiles. I finish up with the ¨esta bien?¨ which, though it was phrased as a questions absolutely was not, and move on almost before I have gained complete possision of my purse again.
Puh-Lease Argentina, who do you take me for, Sarah Palin´s sister in law?!?
Oddly enough the day continued in the out of the ordinary fashion. As I´m at work, folding clothes with Valeria, I spot a tiny bug...fear not, I am a big girl. SQUASH. Ha, I´m thinking I´m tough. This is until the massive uncle of the tiny bug shows his face and it turns out to be a roach. NOT GOOD. Without trying to upset my special friend, I back up and point. She doesn´t quite understand what I´m pointing at. I try and keep my cool, while breaking out in the second pit drenching sweat of the day, and say, ¨cucaracha!¨ I thought she may be freaked out, because she stumled backwards and fell. (Great, now I´m at fault for hurting the residents), and when I go to help her up, she has a shoe in her hand. I wondered if she might throw it at me, because last Tuesday, I got hit with a shoe while there. Instead, Valeria said something, and beat the living crap out of it. The first few times she missed, but once she got it, she didn´t stop... Throw your hands up in the air for roach Pureé!
...Then she laughed at me for being scared of a bug, like I had serious problems. (I do). So finally, when I leave work, I decided a bottle of wine NEEDED to be purchased. I make my way to the only place open at 5...(Okay, 4:45, I left early) because it´s still Siesta time. The only bottle in my price range (which is CHEAP) was the 2liter. Oh, well, more bang for the buck, I suppose. Sadly, while in the Kisocko, I hear the most disturbing sound in the world, and realize a poor dog has just been hit by a car. WTF Argentina? They´ve got dogs on the street like Central Park has hobos. Almost crying, I take the bottle and leave, and nearly miss a pile of caca-on-sidewalk.
Damn dog.
I´m off to finish my productive day and open the bottle....
Cheers!!!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Hot Topic
On Friday evening, I found myself at a very interesting place. Not physically, because, we all know I´m in Argentina...or so I have been told. I never actually did see a ¨Bienvanidos a Argentina¨ sign. But sitting around the table with my foreign family, and we got into a heated discussion.
The topic: ABORTION
I´m not one to push my views on anyone, and my family isn´t crazy conservative, yet there was a major difference in opinion. With the language barrier, I found it very difficult to make my point, so instead I kept saying ¨ciao, niños¨ and drawing a big X over my tummy. Surprisingly, everyone found this quite amusing. Getting down to the nitty gritty, I learned that in this country, abortions are illegial, that there are MANY young single mothers, and that contraceptives are widly available for free.
After the word ¨selfish¨ was thrown into the mix, I gave the ¨what if¨ senerio of an 11 year old girl... and the phrase ¨rape¨ somehow got mixed in. I followed with the ¨fatal disease¨ instance, and topped it off with the ¨deadly for mother¨ bit. The cherry on top came when I reminded them that I was working in an orphanage of 300 kids. Even without the last resort of abortion, this could have been prevented. I explained the actual purpose of the ¨morning after pill,¨ because it was thought that this was a ¨Kill Pill.¨ We ended up joking and there was more laughing in this conversation than when we discussed the history of The Simpsons.
Odd.
In the end, however, we all agreed on the need for more sex education and better availability of condoms. I will chalk this up as one of my favorite stories while here; I learned a lot and it got us talking about the history of the word ¨Fuck.¨
I´ll get back to you on that.
The topic: ABORTION
I´m not one to push my views on anyone, and my family isn´t crazy conservative, yet there was a major difference in opinion. With the language barrier, I found it very difficult to make my point, so instead I kept saying ¨ciao, niños¨ and drawing a big X over my tummy. Surprisingly, everyone found this quite amusing. Getting down to the nitty gritty, I learned that in this country, abortions are illegial, that there are MANY young single mothers, and that contraceptives are widly available for free.
After the word ¨selfish¨ was thrown into the mix, I gave the ¨what if¨ senerio of an 11 year old girl... and the phrase ¨rape¨ somehow got mixed in. I followed with the ¨fatal disease¨ instance, and topped it off with the ¨deadly for mother¨ bit. The cherry on top came when I reminded them that I was working in an orphanage of 300 kids. Even without the last resort of abortion, this could have been prevented. I explained the actual purpose of the ¨morning after pill,¨ because it was thought that this was a ¨Kill Pill.¨ We ended up joking and there was more laughing in this conversation than when we discussed the history of The Simpsons.
Odd.
In the end, however, we all agreed on the need for more sex education and better availability of condoms. I will chalk this up as one of my favorite stories while here; I learned a lot and it got us talking about the history of the word ¨Fuck.¨
I´ll get back to you on that.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Fanny Packs and Larg Insects
I thought this might be a festive time to do some writing. On my walk to the gym this morning, I made some observations. There are things here which I love. Certain things I love so much it´s border-line obsession. (Dulce de Leche...must smuggle back to US). Ice cream shops, (heladrias) on EVERY corner, siestas... There are also things here that I consider to be less than fashionable for my taste. Things like: men with fanny packs (which seem to be the IN thing, this season), mountains of dog poo in the middle of sidewalks, cats with one eye, and BUGS the size of birds.
I´m sure you all know, I´m not a big fan of bugs. Who is? (Besides Dr. Craddoc, and his silly red shoe laces). I have matured a bit in the past few years. I don´t cry anymore when I see a roach, I can walk away from spiders, I can even trap moths. Yesterday, though, is an ENTIRELY different story. I was hanging out on the patio, enjoying the breeze of the afternoon. Andrea and I were talking about the parent-less children. We shared maté. We talked about the dog (who conventiely ate the last chapter and a half of my mystery novel). I look over to see a leaf fall from the tree and dust the ground for a moment. The dog we were just talking about leaps from inside the house onto this leaf, as if it were a Deak Koontz novel. It´s at this moment that I realize this massive leaf is not actually a leaf, but a creature resembling a grasshopper on steriods!
It took all I had to not jump up and scream like a boy struggling through puberity. The dog happily disabled the mutant, yet it continued to make its way around the patio...getting closer to my personal bubble. (It´s easily the size of my hand).
While I have been striken with fear and panic, Andrea has mearly just noticed and laughed at the dog. I´m getting nervous now, because what I fear most is that this bug will jump in my lap and I will actually die. Just when I´m about to make a run for it, say ciao to Andrea and hide under my covers, the bug takes a suicide plunge into the pool.
Sweet, I think to myself, regaining color in my face.
...That is until IT STARTS SWIMMING. C´mon, give it up...you´re mangled you crazy psycho demon bug.
Apparently, from what I could understand, these insects are good, and though they look like flying, jumping, hopping freakyness, they eat mosquitos. Wonderful, the only chance I have at saving myself from Dengue (which is either malaria or that other disease from mosquitos) is via this thing that is now, scaling the side og the pool; as if it may have packed it´s mountain climbing tools that morning.
After this charade, I went inside and never saw it again. It´s probably lurking out there...waiting to jump out of a man´s fanny pack at any moment...
I´m sure you all know, I´m not a big fan of bugs. Who is? (Besides Dr. Craddoc, and his silly red shoe laces). I have matured a bit in the past few years. I don´t cry anymore when I see a roach, I can walk away from spiders, I can even trap moths. Yesterday, though, is an ENTIRELY different story. I was hanging out on the patio, enjoying the breeze of the afternoon. Andrea and I were talking about the parent-less children. We shared maté. We talked about the dog (who conventiely ate the last chapter and a half of my mystery novel). I look over to see a leaf fall from the tree and dust the ground for a moment. The dog we were just talking about leaps from inside the house onto this leaf, as if it were a Deak Koontz novel. It´s at this moment that I realize this massive leaf is not actually a leaf, but a creature resembling a grasshopper on steriods!
It took all I had to not jump up and scream like a boy struggling through puberity. The dog happily disabled the mutant, yet it continued to make its way around the patio...getting closer to my personal bubble. (It´s easily the size of my hand).
While I have been striken with fear and panic, Andrea has mearly just noticed and laughed at the dog. I´m getting nervous now, because what I fear most is that this bug will jump in my lap and I will actually die. Just when I´m about to make a run for it, say ciao to Andrea and hide under my covers, the bug takes a suicide plunge into the pool.
Sweet, I think to myself, regaining color in my face.
...That is until IT STARTS SWIMMING. C´mon, give it up...you´re mangled you crazy psycho demon bug.
Apparently, from what I could understand, these insects are good, and though they look like flying, jumping, hopping freakyness, they eat mosquitos. Wonderful, the only chance I have at saving myself from Dengue (which is either malaria or that other disease from mosquitos) is via this thing that is now, scaling the side og the pool; as if it may have packed it´s mountain climbing tools that morning.
After this charade, I went inside and never saw it again. It´s probably lurking out there...waiting to jump out of a man´s fanny pack at any moment...
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