Sh*t Cell Phones Ruin

Cell phones are cool.  I have one and I love it but I also know when to store it away and focus on living and enjoying life in the moment.  Unfortunately, not all appear to agree with me on the proper use and etiquette of cell phone use.  To these people, I dedicate this blog post.

Sh*t cell phones ruin…

1. Concerts!!  I recently had the luck to go to an Elton John concert.  It was absolutely amazing EXCEPT for the cell phones and their idiot owners.  People had their cell phones lifted over their heads to record parts of every frickin’ song during the concert!  WTF?!?  He’s RIGHT THERE!  Watch, listen, and remember how it feels to be alive in this moment!  We all know that you are not going to watch your shitty recording of the concert to “relive” what it is like.  NO!  Your recording sucks in comparison to what you are missing while watching it through your dinky little cell phone screen.  Thanks to the cell phone idiots, I watched most of the concert with cell phones blocking my live shot of Sir Elton and in the middle of his face on the big screens.  When not totally emerged in how amazing the concert was, I was fantasizing about having a bag of tennis balls (and great aim) that I could use to pick off the cell phones one by one.
2. Dinners….or any meal that you are with others with whom you enjoy, or would like to enjoy, a fluid, intellectually conversation.  We’ve all been there…no need for further explanation.  Only rules for social etiquette that parents, kids, friends, etc. should really follow.
3. Arguments…Yes, arguments.  How can you really resolve anything when 25% of one’s person’s attention goes to his/her cell phone?  It’s an immediately accessible form of distraction and distancing that people engage in when feeling uncomfortable or not wanting to deal with something.
4. Photography...If you have a cell phone it likely has a camera and can immediately upload any picture to your Facebook/Twitter/Instagram/Snapchat/etc, etc.  Does that mean you should upload each and every photo to these social media?  NO!  We don’t want to see your millions of Selfies, your mediocre food, uncomfortable pictures of your loved one sleeping, etc.  There was a time when people took time to take pictures, review them and then only print/publish the best ones…I miss those times.
5. Children…Ok.  I know cell phones don’t “ruin” children but similar to excessive use of video games, children becoming dependent on cell phones for entertainment limits their interactions with other people, nature, etc.  Yes, I realize that my addiction to books when I was young could be construed as the same and I will not argue against that but, seriously, does a 6 year-old really need 24-hr access to mom or dad’s cell phone to keep him/her quiet?  Are 6 year olds even supposed to be quiet?  A quiet 6 year old seems to go against nature.

Have a cell phone pet peeve?  We’d love to commiserate!

Lessons From a Displaced Yankee

I was born in Ohio and basically raised in Michigan.  For all purposes, I’m a Yankee...although I never even considered this word or it being used to describe me until I moved to Tennessee at age 25.  Oddly enough, I experienced more culture shock when I moved from Michigan to Tennessee than when I moved from Tennessee to South America.  It took me 1.5 years to fully adjust to the US South….and I wasn’t even that far South!

During my first 1.5 years in Tennessee, my family received regular phone calls that started…"MOM!  You won’t believe what happened at work today!?!?!”  (To which she would just start laughing diabolically, enjoying my reactions to leaving the liberal university bubble I had lived in for the past 7 years.)  Despite my initial culture shock, I absolutely love the South and learned to function quite well as a displaced Yankee.

For those Yankees who have never lived or worked in the South, I've come up with a quick list to help give you a head start in your acculturation process…. 

1. “Bless your heart” can mean anything from “F--- you” to “I’ll be praying for your soul because you are going to Hell in a hand basket” to “You silly little thing, I don’t think you have any idea what you are talking about”.  In any case, no matter how much the person is smiling when they say it, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of this.

2. Southerners have awesome phrases to describe people’s behavior.  

Some of my favorites are: (1) “S/He is talking out of her/his head” (S/He is ranting, raving or truly insane), (2) Too big for his/her britches (They think they are all that and they are not and could stand to be “taken down a peg or two”), (3) “Busy as a cat on a hot tin roof” (this is crazy busy), (4) “My eyeballs are floatin’” (Gotta pee so bad I’m about to pee my pants) and (5) Madder than a wet hen. (Irate, furious, etc.)

3. Even if a person is smiling when talking to you, if you “feel” that they are mad at you, they probably are livid. 

For a Northerner, the cognitive dissonance this creates is mind-boggling.  I made several trips to my boss’s office where the conversation started out, “I think _____’s family is going to file a complaint against me but she was smiling and really nice….however, I just feel she really wanted to rip my face off.”  100% of the time, I was right in these cases.  (And no, I did not do anything wrong…it was a job hazard of where I worked)

4. Manners are important!  In Michigan, it was perfectly appropriate to call a colleague at work and say, “Hi ________.  It’s ________.” and get down to business.  This is considered very, very rude in the South.  (Took me 1 year to learn this…old habits die hard). 

If you don’t at least ask how the person on the other end is, maybe how their weekend was, answer questions about how your family is…even though they’ve never met them nor have ever heard of them (and take the time to listen to their responses), you do not pass go, do not collect $200. 

My first mental reaction to this was, “Who are you and why are you asking me about my family???” General rule in the South: You must be nice, thoughtful and follow the script.  (And no, they are not collecting information on you and your family you crazy, paranoid Yankee ;-) 

5. For better or worse, everything is SLOWER. 

I was accused of running everywhere (I’m a fast walker), frequently asked what my hurry was and accused of talking fast on purpose so people wouldn’t understand me.  In the South, you need to relax, take your time and know that you will still make it to your destination….I still suck at this.

One of the highest compliments that you can get as a displaced Yankee is, “You know, you ain’t too bad for a Yankee”….when I got this from a patient, I knew I was golden. J  However, “You damn Yankee” never means good things and usually requires bringing in a Southern colleague (or “ally”) to help diffuse the situation.

6. Want to know where the Southern drawl comes from?  It comes from talking so frickin’ slow! 

You don’t need to “adopt” the Southern accent when living in the South, it comes naturally when you are forced to slow down your rhythm of speech.  When I got home from work, or was talking about my work with family or friends, I would frequently get accused of “talking Southern”.

7. If you are female, you will be called sweetheart, honey, etc.  (I'm a die hard feminist and yes, I came to accept this)

Usually, this is harmless, but sometimes it will make you homicidal…especially by a car repair guy who’s dealership messed up your car 3 different times in 2 weeks resulting in missing work.  I learned that there were times and places to call on my displaced inner Yankee self to get things done.

Are you a Southern?  Displaced Yankee?  We’d love to hear your loves and tips about living in the South!

The Horrors of Digital Photography: Selfies…

You could chalk this post up to jealousy.  I suck at taking selfies.  I also don’t have the time nor interest in perfecting the art of the selfie.  (I can barely look presentable in pictures that other people take of me, let alone a picture I take of myself.)  Some people rock the selfie and that’s cool.  I have some Facebook friends that never cease to amaze me in how fantastic they look in pic after pic.  HOWEVER, there are times and PLACES that selfies are unnecessary and outright ridiculous.  My most recent unfortunate, “nails on the chalkboard” discovery….Travel Selfies.  WTF people!  No one wants to see photos of you right after you pass airport security, after buying stuff in Duty Free (with shopping bags in hand, of course), waiting for the plane, after the plane took off, eating your crappy airplane MEAL (yes, there were people on my last trip taking selfies of them and their food…and not just one, but 8 or 9 selfies), and after picking up your bags at baggage claim!!! 

“Yea!  I made it and so did my bags!  This is the best vacation ever!  I must document this and send it to 600 of my closest friends!”

(Ok, I do admit that on some airlines….this could be a photo worthy event)

In addition to blaming the idiots taking these ridiculous pictures (and praying to all that is good in the world that they do not feel obligated to share them with ½ the world), I blame digital photography.  Back in the “good ole’days” you had to PAY to look at your pictures, which, while lacking actual scientific backing for this claim, I believe had to drastically reduce the number of stupid shots of stupid stuff that people took…including selfies!!!  With digital photography, you can take and share with a click of a button, no payment required.  Thus, instead of boring all your friends with pictures of your vacation when they come to your house (admit it, back in the day we (or your parents) all did this!), you can beat them over the head with minute by minute shots of your vacation….as you relive it yourself a second afterwards instead of real-time because you are too busy analyzing and posting ever frickin’photo from the horribly mundane parts that make people have to choose between committing social media suicide and hiding your photo-happy ass to the beautiful ones that you really do want to remember in the future. 

Seriously…who will ever review their selfie after passing airport security and think,

“What an amazing experience!  I can’t believe I actually passed Airport Security!?!  It was soooo magical!”

Seriously folks, think before you shoot!  To help you figure out what is and is not an appropriate time to take a selfie...I offer you the following guideline: 

3E Selfie Guidelines:  If you wouldn’t be able ask a 3^rd party to take your picture (and verbalize a rational justification of said picture request), you probably should NOT be taking the f#*@ing photo!  Why?  Because it’s RIDICULOUS!!!

 

 

Why are you touching me??? The 3E Reproductive Diaries

So, as a follow-up on the last blog post...I am no longer TTC but am almost 5 months pregnant!  Yea!  And during the 1st trimester I have come to find out that it was not the pain during child birth that God gave Eve as punishment for eating the damn apple....Nope!  It is the 1st trimester!!!  Holy Hell!  I can wait a bit before I subject myself to that again.

 

As a Gringa living in South America, I knew that I would have some cultural adjustments to make when I got pregnant.  I knew that people that I didn't know or knew but weren't intimate friends with would touch my stomach without asking as soon as they found out I was pregnant, thus when I got pregnant and started showing I made a conscious effort to psychologically prepare myself for this....I repeatedly told myself 3 things:

 

1. This is a happy time and they just want to partake in the happiness. (Which is true...however, this is based on the belief that most people are not perverts)

 

2. They are transmitting good vibes to me and my baby. (This is questionnable but I could dig it)

 

3. Pregnancy in Latin American culture is a familial and community event that brings happiness to all. (Yeah, I was reaching but there is some truth in this...I think).

 

I prepared myself for the belly touching from the time I found out I was pregnant and was so proud of my consciousness that this could be an issue for me and proactively preparing myself accordingly.

 

Me being proud and prepared :-)

 

 

Soooooo......did it work?

 

Nope!

 

Despite all the Zen I had going into this, the end result is that I just want to break people's hands or do something that makes them feel equally as uncomfortable.  At what point does me being pregnant mean that people get to lay hands on my body without my permission. 

 

A general rule:  If you didn't touch my stomach BEFORE I got pregnant, you have no right to touch my stomach WHEN I'm pregnant.  (At least without first asking....asking would be good)

 

You want to feel the baby?  Yeah, by touching ME your only feeling ME...sorry folks, baby is pretty well cushioned there.

 

Anyway, despite all the wicked t-shirts, bumper stickers, etc. that I've found to warn people of pending harm to their physical beings and/or psych, I'm still working up the nerve to creatively combat this problem without ending up in jail.  So until then, I react appropriately.  Allowing those with the happy hands to be happy while making mental notes of how to possible ward off future molestation.

 

Got any tried and true ways to keep happy hands off your happy belly??

 

Do share!  We'd love to know what you've come up with!!

You know you are trying to conceive when...

Think trying to get knocked up is easy and filled with flowers, butterflies and fluffy stuff?  For a minority of women, this is true...for the rest of us, a sense of humor is a prerequisite.  Here is a short list of the "joys" of trying to conceive. Sure, there is all that fluffy stuff too but there are enough blogs that focus on that and, as you know, fluffy stuff just isn't our style.  

You know you are trying to conceive when.....

1. You are measuring and quantifying everyhing you can in your life.  Basal Body Temperature, cervical mucus, lh predictor kit results, exercise, food, caffeine intake, etc.  Thank goodness for apps but good luck not losing your sanity...even just a little bit.

 

2. Your regular cycle gets wacky....just to keep you on your toes.

3. Those damned pregnancy tests all measure different levels of HGC and claim to be able to confirm pregnancy on different days of your cycle....resulting in fighting the urge (and often losing) any day after ovulation.  (Never knew that HPTs could be such a great business.)

4. TTC (Trying To Conceive) blogs become your greatest hope and worst enemy.

5. As ridiculous as all those TTC blog abreviations are, you start using them.  AF = Aunt Flow?  Seriously ladies, we are not in middle school...I hope!

6. You're partner has never been more interested in and open to talking about your cycle...and you realize just how much they didn't pay attention during high school sex ed.

7. Two weeks of each month feels like an eternity.

8. Sex, while still enjoyable, also feels like Olympics.  You may be exhausted, sick, battered or bruised but you still go for the gold!

9. Any PMS symptom now becomes a possible pregnancy symptom...damn you TTC blogs, websites and books!

10. Foreplay becomes "I think I'm going to ovulate soon" and it works, every time.

11. The idea of nausea, weight gain and breast tenderness has never sounded so good. 

That is my list!   Got any to add to?  We'd love to hear from you!

Not everything is Disney’s fault

So, this is the thing.  Every time I am introduced to someone it goes something like this:

Me: Hi! Nice to meet you.

Anyone: Nice to meet you too. Are you married?

(Seriously!!!!! Like your marital status is the most important thing about you. Not only that, whenever I see someone that I haven’t seen in a long time, the conversation goes “Are you married yet?” or “Did you finally get married?” (I’m almost 40, you see).

Part II.

Me: No, I’m still single.

Anyone: (sigh) Oh well! (followed by the universal look of pity/sadness/compassion…fill in the blank).

And the cherry on top…                                                     

Anyone: Don’t worry, you will find someone soon.

At this point I’m looking dangerously like the Vesuvius about to bury Pompeii and I am fighting hard to control a homicidal impulse. So I just change the topic and think to myself that it is not strange that I have lost most of my desire to socialize these days.   

You may have heard (repeatedly) that we are to blame Disney and his promotion of “princess waiting for prince charming” stereotype for false hopes and shattered dreams regarding romantic relationships, or in other words, for shaping our vision of life in an unrealistic way making us think we could get a prince when what we are most likely to get is, well, the frog.  Don’t get me wrong, frogs can be lovely, but they’re no princes.

I manage to see the point in these accusations, but what I would really like to know is who is to blame for the “other illusion”, namely that a woman’s only chance to fulfillment and bliss is to be married and have kids. (Enter the sad and pitiful look if you are not among the “blessedly” married-with-kids ones.)

I would love to have a kid, but as for marriage…Let’s just say it is not part of my fantasy. It never was. I honestly (cross my heart) never dreamed of a church, bells and flowers, nor a white dress or a husband. I never had a dream where I was Mrs. Prince Charming or Mrs. Frog. I’m simply not the marrying kind and that’s fine with me.

The problem is, it seems I’m the only one who’s fine with it because strangers and acquaintances definitely sense something’s just not right with this picture…Especially other women!  Most of the time I think they are so fixated about my couplessness because they are envious, plain and simple. They must think: “Well, if I have to put up with all this, why do you get a free pass?”.  Even if they’re not thinking it, they certainly look like they are.

But deep down I know there’s more. There is this socially accepted “truth” that women achieve happiness through childbirth and marriage. It is a woman’s role, a woman’s task, a woman’s gift, her woman’s destiny, hell…. It is a woman’s “nature”!!!!  Blame it on nature!?! Genius! So, of course they’re sad and compassionate, your nature is out of tune, meaning that you are likely damaged.

The very well known explanation for this social setting is the distribution of work: males have the productive role, females the reproductive one. Fine, we know that. But hello!!!!! It’s not like humankind is an endangered species anymore, we could actually benefit from a pause in reproduction.

However, when I have these conversations with other women (or they have them with me) I can’t help but to think on a different version of that explanation: one fine day, there was a guy who –presented with the puzzle of coexistence between woman and man- came up with a brilliant solution! “Let’s set separate roles for males and females: we produce, they reproduce”, said the founder of human society. It could not have worked without a brilliant marketing strategy too: the miracle of life creation is a gift of (for?) females, a wonder of nature and whoever has that gift and does not use it has to be crazy right? To other women, who actually know the real cost of using their gift and decide not to, you’re a bitch.

To all those women who pretend to pity you because you’re single: envy is a capital sin, you’re all going to hell.

And to the “founder” of this brilliant idea and all your followers….I am coming for you!!!!!! 

"My Morning Fail as an Understanding Wife" or "Attack of Kryptonite Dog Poo"

Last Wednesday I was having an amazing morning.  Got great sleep, woke up in agood mood, went to the gym, made it to work early.  It was quite amazing.  And then....the hubby calls. One of the dogs had an accident (not the easy to clean up kind) in the guest bedroom on the carpeted floor.  He was hysterical, hollaring and the whole 9 yards. I was empathetic for about 5 minutes as he was freaking out, lamenting how the house smelled like poo and how he "couldn't" clean it up without dying, etc.  I came up with the ingenious solution that he should ask and offer to pay his dad's housekeeper to clean it up.  (His parents live next door)  Then came the 20 questions of how it should be cleaned, with what products, how she should get it off the carpet, etc.  I told him where everything was for her to use.  Then, out of the blue,  starts telling me how I need to leave him notes to feed the dogs because he can't read my mind when I leave at 6am, that the dogs should be left outside when I leave, etc, etc.  Slightly annoyed with these new "instructions" but in adament refusal that he should ruin my great mood, I ask him if there was anything else.  He starts the hollaring all over again about how the dog pooped on the floor, how the house smells awful, etc....so....I happily hung up. 

(If you are married you know this is not the way to help your spouse regain his senses)

He called back furious that I hung up on him and ended the call.  I oddly maintained my great mood.

3 minutes later I get a call saying that he can't find the carpet cleaner, the housekeeper still isn't at his parents house and is Dad already left and he was going to leave everything for me when I get home....in 9 hours.  Lovely.  I finally talked him into leaving the front door open today so I can call his Dad's housekeeper and pay her to come clean up the mess.  

What came out of this....I believe we (women) should organize our partners into an efficient network of "crisis control prevention teams" based on a systematic analysis of our partners strengths and "kryptonites" and activate the team to come "save the day" when a kryptonitic "crisis" hits (poo of any kind, rodent capture and disposal, ect.)... because, as much as we love them, in general, individual men are largely useless in the face of household crises...but a team might just be able to handle it.  (We could even make them were sexy uniforms ;-)

(To the hubby's credit he did soon regain his senses and organized the clean up the toxic poo ;-)

Happy 4th!

Yeah... Happy 4th... Despite how crappy your 4th of July was, I bet it was better than mine!

It all started the night before. I simply did not sleep. The husband is sick, and only God knows how much a pain in the ass he is when he is sick.Wait! only God and all the other wives of the universe know how much a pain in the ass sick husbands are! He kept waking up, coughing and claiming he was about to die (of a mild cold!) I gently offered a hot herbal tea with ginger and honey, he accepted it with his sad puppy face. So went to the kitchen in the middle of the night (it is winter here, so make it in the middle of a cold night!) and came back to bed to find out that he was back to sleep (not dead for sure, just back to sleep)... With every new cough episode we both woke up, the 3-month old baby who typically sleeps through the night woke up as well, and to top it, the 3-year old woke up at 4 screaming because he had wetted his bed... Awesome right? The fact that I had to shower him and soak the clothes and clean the mattres that EARLY are nothing compared to the fact that he never got back to sleep. Nope. He just stayed there asking why he could not get up and why it took so long for the morning to come. The agonizing husband was clever enough to get up, take a shower and head to the office at 5. He knew the office would be a much more comfortable place than our bed with 2 very awake kids on it!

After the hard night and considering I had a meeting on the afternoon I decided to get myself a treat and have my hair washed at the salon (if you saw my hair you would know why this is faster and cheaper than doing it myself!). So, OK. I did not sleep but I got some "me" time. Not bad...  My hair was half blow dried when the cell rang. It was from  home. The 3-year old had stuffed a good amount of play doh into his ear. Nice, ah? So I thanked  and paid the lady who ran after me with a brush across the salon and ran home. I called the doctor (I am fundamentalist of the "What to Expect" series DO´s and DON´Ts so I did not try to remove the dough myself). It took long enough for the doctor to come that the dought found its way out on its own... The doctor just came  to confirm no serius damaged had been caused.So, OK. That was solved.

After the incident I realized that I really needed to rush if I wanted to get on time to a radio interview. So I ate lunch on the go and left. When I was 5 blocks away from the radio, one tire exploded. Are you fucking  kidding me? A tire explostion in the middle of the city? Now? It was not a huge explosion and I was almost parked when it happened and I was half a block away from a repair center, but seriously... I did not need the extra pressure!

The interview went well, the tire got repaired and I came home exhausted to find out that the new puppy (the one I so hard refused to have because I really cannot cope with three kids under age 4 AND a puppy) ate a plastic bag... The puppy actually "stole" candy from one of the kids and ate it all, including the bag... One vet said we needed to take her immediatly to the clinic so she could be monitored.  Another option included a special diet and monitor her at home. Guess what I did? I just needed the dog to shit the plastic with fireworks sounds to have my 4th of July celebration completed!

Pinterest

Ok....I have a confession.  I, like many people, am addicted to Pinterest.  Despite my boards with hundreds of recipes (of which I've made 3 that have turned out), quotes, workouts and crafty stuff I'll never do, I probably spend 1/3 of my online leisure time on that damned website.  Pinterest freaks me out too, though. You know more about those Pinning via Pinterest than you do via Facebook!  You can look your homepage and know exactly who is going on a diet, who is remodeling their home, who has a messy house, who wants a firmer stomach, who is pregnant, plans to get pregnant or trying to get pregnant, who's planning a party (and its theme), going on vacation, etc.   Freaky!

My most resent peeve is the house remodeling pins.  Partially because we are looking to build and partially because people don't think.  Have you seen some of the stuff that people post as "sooo cool", "I'd love that!", or "my dream house"?  Growing up in the US and being responsible for the cleaning the majority of my adult life (not that I was ever any good at it), I see some of these things and think...really, you'd love that???  How the hell are you going to clean the 100 shoe cubbies that you have just installed in your "dream closet" or how will that vintage wooden magazine rack that you love hung next to the toilet in your "dream bathroom" stand against little boy (and, lets face it...and big boy) pee.  Who gets to clean that gem?

Right in line with home remodeling are all the "organization" pins that people post....which are basically made up of little cubbies, shelfs that fit everything just perfectly.  My organizational strategy?  Drawers and things that shut....mostly to contain what is shoved inside.  As long as I know what room it is in, I can access it.  Start putting stuff in little plastics, cubbies, color coordination....WTF?  You have to, like, maintain that!  If you take something out, you have to put it in the exact same place in the exact same little cubby or you will never find it again.  And you can't buy more stuff...once you build those crazy little cubby holes and shelves, you're stuck with it.  Buy something new and it better be the exact same/shape/size as something else b/c that is where it will have to go.  If not, your organizational scheme is ruined.

You know what you can do with drawers?  Shove more stuff inside and shut them.  Done!

People who are that organized freak me out....especially because you know you have to clean all those little damn cubbies with toothbrushes and stuff because if you are that organized, you probably have some OCD cleanliness issues going on too.

I'll stick to my drawers.

Planning Skills, Hair Removal and Human Rights

One of my high school friends was getting married in town. I was excited for her, and for the fact of seeing the old gang again. The hubby was on a trip abroad, so I was going by myself.  I made all the arrangements well ahead: my toddler boy was staying with my mom so I could do something about my hair, and then he would spend the night with the grandparents that live nearby. All was perfect. I could not help but thinking “What a good planner I am”.

So, it is Saturday afternoon, and I even manage to take a short nap. The wedding is at 6, so I head to the hair stylist at 4. Nothing fancy, but my hair looks decent again. I head home, play with my boy and then I realize it is time to get dressed or I will not make it on time. Damn! I am a bit late already. I will wear a short dress I love (I might not say it looks like a million bucks, but it certainly looks more than the 8-dollar bargain from the Target clearance rack it was!). I put my make up on and select the jewelry (not that it is hard to select among two rings and a necklace). I look for my panties and suddenly... Oh no... I had totally forgotten to remove the hair from my legs!

First thought: “Wear a long dress!” Second thought: “You are pregnant silly girl; there is only this dress for you to wear!”

 The usual options of either waxing or going for the electric hair remover were not good plans due to time constraints. And then the, thought: “Why, why do I always have to run to get to places on time? Why, if I really plan ahead?” OK, no more regrets, I need an action plan.

I never (OK, I rarely) use razors, but well, I will use the hubby´s razor... That is a good one. And it has saved me more than once (shh, don´t tell him). Oh no, the razor is in god damn China, with the hubby... I need to think... Fast… There has to be a razor somewhere.

My little boy cries for mommy, which freaks me out... My mom tells me not to worry... The thought of never being able to actually enjoy a night out again hits back... OK, back to the search.

Awesome! I find a razor abandoned in a drawer... It looks weird. Sure it does: it is old, it is used, and it is probably there because it doesn´t work anymore. Oh well, maybe it does not work for the pretty face of the hubby, but I am a real man, I can live with a less than brand new, fancy razor. All I need now is foam.

Oh, wait. I don´t have foam (I don´t shave, remember?) I will use the hubby´s...Not an option either, as it is in China with the hubby and the razor. Shit! OK then, it will be soap.... No, I will rather do it on dry skin, it will be faster... Great! Back on track again!

Really? Old razor + dry skin + woman in a hurry are not a good combination. In less than a minute I end with my legs looking as if a wild cat had attacked them with fury (not to mention that part of the hair was still there). I watch the clock; I really need to go. I grab moisturizing lotion, apply it to my legs, shave again, and now the legs are hair-free, but they look pink (as in blood + lotion pink). Never mind, I am done. It hurts, it burns, it itches, it bleeds, but I am done. I remove the excess blood and lotion, put the panties on, put the dress on and grab the purse... When I dare to look down, my legs are full of many little (and some not so little) red dots... Yes, that is blood... I remove them with a towel, it works. Thank you God for cheap panties.

I kiss the baby good bye, thank the mom, and rush to the car. I get to the wedding and it seems I made it there before the bride. Huge success! As I lock the car, I look down again...Damn! The red dots are back... I have no towel at hand here, so I use my (previously wet in saliva) fingers. But the result this time is that blood is spread, not removed. As I do this, my heels get stuck in the grass... and I think: Laser hair removal should be declared a Human Right. (Click here if you agree!)

Note: This is an old e-mail I sent to the other evils almost two years ago. For publication, I just polished it a bit so other than the evils could actually understand what the heck I was talking about. Things have changed a bit since then… More to come in a follow-up post.

Cussing in Spanish: An instructional video

In follow-up to my post "Cussing in Spanish", I invite you to check out the following video on how to cuss...in Spanish.  Enjoy and use your newfound skills well!

My overseas trauma....my hair

For full disclosure, I always have the urge to get my haircut right before big events, photo shoots, etc.  It's what I do.  I don't know why and don't realize what I'm doing until its done....and lately, this habit has not boded well for me. My luck (or kharma...who knows how many people I might have pissed off as a hairdresser in former lives) has been so bad that I've seriously considered taking before/after shots and tape recording my conversations with the hairstylists for proof that I'm not secretly requesting that my head be all but shaved every 4-6 months. The most recent hairstylist wasn't an exception....She spoke English as well as Spanish so in addition to discussing what I was going for in the 2 languages just to be sure we were on the same page, I employed the customary hand gestures to make sure she understood the length I wanted, layers, etc.  Basic instructions, the same hairstyle, just a trim.

After confirming that she understood what I was going for she commenced the "trim".  About 3 minutes in, I started to see the tell-tale warning signs of a haircut gone wrong...with the hopes of being mistaken, I asked..."You are not going to cut my hair short are you?  I've had traumatic experiences with stylists who tell me no and then cut off all my hair".  To which the lovely hairdresser responded, "Oh, no my sweetie, I'm just trimming it to give it more form/volume"...  

Breath in...breath out...breath in...breath out...This will end okay.  You can do this.  It's all good.  You can do this.  Ahh, happy, relaxing thoughts....Oh, sh*$.

Disaster.  Believe it or not, I'm fairly laid back about my hair, however cutting shorter hair without all but shaving your head appears to be quite a feat where I currently live and there is no way in h*#% what I got was remotely close to what I had before.  (I used hand gestures and everything!!! I wanted what I already had!!!)

Even as I was looking at the finished product, obviously not excited...she was convinced that what she gave me was what I asked for and, at the same time, that the new hairstyle she gave me was much better than what I previously had...and yes, apparently you can hold these two beliefs at the same time.  

As I was kicking myself, fighting back tears, fighting the urge to fling the mirror across the room in frustration and not tipping her (which I did...I can't leave without tipping) I decided that I'm going to make a deal with the next stylist...If I'm happy, she can keep her hair.  If not, I get to cut hers :-)   It's only fair.  At least it will make it more entertaining.

On the upside, no haircuts needed for the next 6 months ;-)

Cussing in Spanish

I've lived in South America for 3 years now and I've learned to insult someone in more ways than I ever thought possible.  Naturally, I blame my husband (a native Spanish speaker with an artistic flair for insulting unwitting strangers doing stupid stuff), however, some of our friends, after witnessing mini-displays of these flare-ups, have laughingly told me that I've channeled my inner Latina.  My Angry Spanish was the first Spanish that was really fluent for me.  I couldn't partake in a general conversation to save my life but try to screw me over because I'm a Gringa (white and female...both can have their barriers) and I could tell you what the problem is, why it's a problem, what you are going to do to fix and show you why what you are telling me is the stupidest thing I've ever heard and why you are an idiot for buying into it. In the beginning, the Angry Spanish was activated in 2 situations:  (1) Someone trying to screw me over and (2) getting screwed over by a nonsensical rule that someone put in place without taking the millisecond required to think through the consequences (South American bureaucracy).  Unlike in the US, I have found that activating the Angry Spanish is a very effective way of getting things done...something those who have born here have known since birth.  After 3 years in South American, my Angry Spanish has become more multi-purpose.  Interestingly, my temper is shorter and flares up as quickly as it cools down and just driving usually entails a artful display of vernacular aimed at people blocking traffic, parking in the middle of the street, cutting me off, not using turn signals, blind traffic cops, and people in fancy cars with their kids flopping around the front and/or back seats. (I still don't understand why it is so hard to put a kid in a carseat or make them buckle-up).  Is Spanish such a much more romantic, eloquent sounding language than English, making muttering (or yelling) insults about someone not seem quite so harsh or do people just take stupid stuff to the level where such outbursts are necessary to bring "reason" back to the table?   (Or has my husband just rubbed off on me?)  I'm personally torn on the issue.  All I know is that Angry Spanish works....and I sometimes wonder if part of its power is that it is coming from a Gringuita who 5 seconds earlier was all sweet, calm and polite....until you did something stupid and ticked her off.

Any ideas?

For the sake of expressing yourself correctly

How many times a day do you start a sentence with WTF? Sadly, I do it way too many times. Like: WTF was I thinking when I accepted to go out for coffee with this guy? or WTF did I do with the keys? There is, of course, the very popular WTF is he saying? and to think I got up early for this!

Comfy vs. Sexy

Are you familiar with the TV shows “How do I look?” or “What not to wear”? Well, I just love them, but I do in the sense pre-teens love horror movies: I find them enjoyable and terrible scary at the same time. My worst fear: I am one of those women with no fashion sense whatsoever. 

Ok, I am one of those women, I might not be one of them in theory, but I am certainly one in practice.

In theory, I like designers, shoes, and bags. I have a more or less refined, classic taste. In practice, I am a total mess. I do not wear my nice, classy (and not always but sometimes expensive) clothes because they are not comfy enough, or because it is too cold, or because they don´t match my new supercomfy cargos.

In my heart, comfy beats sexy any day of the week, pretty much for every purpose. And I think I am right. See this, out of many (probably way too many) real-life examples:

Husband – Those PJ´s are not sexy.

Me – No. They are not. They are comfy. And warm [big smile].

– But you do have sexier sleepwear.

– Yes. I do.

– So... Why don´t you wear it?

– Because sexy is not comfy. Nor it is warm.

– Still.

– All right. Let´s do this: I wear the sexy sleepwear if you get up when baby cries/phone rings/dog needs to pee/ (fill with your own misery here), so I don´t feel cold.

– [Silence].

– [Silence].

So, I have decided to tell the world I am done with my struggles between theory and practice. I am embracing comfy all the way. You are welcome to join me!