Shoe-icide

My feet are killing me.

I just returned from work and even though I’m wearing flats I still feel like my toes and nails are screaming to get out of dodge.

It’s amazing what a bad inheritance does to your lifestyle.
Instead of being graced with my mother’s thin, narrow feet, I get stuck with my father’s “empanada style” lower extremities.

Having a messed-up base for my contexture in direct contact with the ground makes it almost impossible for me to walk charmingly as a model… not that I have the body (nor the feet for that matter) to achieve this, but as a woman, it’s a must have necessity to present yourself with grace while walking.

My husband knows not to push or criticize neither my posture nor my walking, however, he sometimes asks me to wear these uncomfortable high heels that destroy my feet beyond recognition.

No pedicure can sustain the amount of stress my nails endure daily, and sometimes I find myself polishing them several times a week to beautify them in a futile effort to make them look presentable.
The sole of my feet suffer as well, and sometimes I have to really be on top of them not to develop a second pair of shoes on them as well.

The only characteristic that my feet offer, which saves them from exile, is that the sizes of my toes are perfectly even between each other.
The longest one if my big toe, and the smallest one it’s my pinkie toe.
This feature is a rarity in female foots where sometimes the middle toe is the longest one… but my mother’s genes took a pity on me and at least, they grazed me with that attribute.

So here I am: feet over head in my couch, my husband looks at me from his peripheral vision and makes a smirk; I’m sure he’s laughing on the inside.. My feet, on the other hand, are full-on, completely careless, free as birds, laughing on the outside.

Good bye flats, hello socks!

Be patient... or not

Patience it’s an alien concept for me.

Rather you're patient, or you aren't: there's no in-between.
When reading a book, I sometimes need to scroll down to the end and then I’ll be able to continue reading; knowing that the hero or heroine of my story are having a happy-ever-after ending.

Books are one of my hobbies, and even though I know it’s like an assassination to the whole process of reading a novel, I just can start in the first page if I know that the ending wouldn’t be as satisfying as I expect it to be.

My twin sister and I share this curse.

Even with movies, I have to ask: - How does it end? -

My friends think I’m crazy and they don’t want to spoil the experience for me, but thank god for Google and the “spoilers alert” when reading reviews.

I always look for those because they’re sure to tell you if you’re headed for disappointment.

This particularly impatient side of my personality is not always reflected only on my hobbies, but rather all of my life.

I love surprises, but I prefer to know them ahead of time.

I know: contradiction alert!

 I do my research if I suspect of something; that’s why my husband could never surprise me when he was living abroad and tried to visit me without me knowing of it.

I’m a sucker for romantic gestures, but most of the time I predict them before they happen, so they don’t have the same effect on me.

My husband can usually work his way around my impatience and we’ve gotten to a point where if he asks me NOT to ask him something about anything: I hold my end of the bargain; even though sometimes it costs me my sanity.

What can I say: I wasn’t born in this world to die of a ‘surprised’ heart attack.

So there you have it: I read non-stop, but I always have to know the end of the books, I go to the movies, but I always read the “spoilers alerts” before paying for my ticket and most importantly, I’m never ever going to be caught off guard with a surprise… the last time that happened was when I got engaged, and let me tell you, it wasn’t an easy feast to work around my astonish face and create a reasonable thought to answer one of the most important questions in my life.

Needless to say, I’m NOT looking forward to anything out of the ordinary to make my life exciting.

I just looove happy “everybody knows about” endings.

To write... or not to write... that's the dilemma

I started a non-fiction writing workshop to improve my Spanish writing skills.

Not that I have none, rather that most of the time I create my stories in my head, and all of them are written in English.

I think it’s a phase; something related to the fact that I live and breathe in an English speaking country, and that forces you to doubt when putting your ideas to paper in Spanish.
My stepmom has been pushing for me to change my writing ways and embrace my mother tongue, but it’s proven to be more difficult than I thought.

Today I’m working on my first assignment: I have to write a letter to someone that hasn’t been in contact with me for the past ten years and I have to put him/her up to speed with my life.

Conflict arises when my first sentence comes alive:

"No time, no see"

The Spanish translation for this phrase is not as catchy, so I start over.

Hernán, our teacher, understands my predicament because he’s been living in the USA for a long time and he tries to use examples from several authors (not just Spanish speaking ones) to make a point over a lesson.

In our next class we’ll have to share what we wrote, but I’m worried that mine will look like a battlefield between the Spanish and the English Armada; with a mixture of Spanglish so entangled that I’ll need a dictionary to put it to sense.

Hopefully, we’ll run out of time in class before it’s my turn to present.

If not, there’s always the “bathroom” excuse or the “I don’t feel that well” excuse; men always think that you’re having your period and they leave you alone, oblivious to your lie.

I’ve never performed really well with an audience.
I was never a very good joker, I don’t have charisma to mingle with people, and I don’t feel comfortable being the center of attentions… so blogging and writing are perfect for me.

My sisters are already suggesting blogs to improve my Spanish writing techniques; and my mom sent me a list of books that I’ll have to decide if they’re too boring or worth my effort after I’ve perused them all (she sent me a 3-page document).

My friend, R.B. subscribed me to a magazine from Spain that’s proven to be really helpful… so luckily, it won’t be long until my pen name will be:

Casada pero desempleada.

Hasta la vista!

http://orsai.es/blog/

http://www.hernanii.net/