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!