Manso "The Holligan"

We’ve a dog in Argentina; he’s called Manso, which in Spanish means tame.
This is an irony on itself because our dog is a Hooligan.

Our pets don’t behave like they KNOW; rather they behave the way they’ve LEARNED (not necessarily well) to behave.

Manso "the Holligan" learned to bark, be rude and incite fear on every visitors.

I stay at my home in Argentina at least two times a year.

This guy knows me and my husband, but every time we arrive at the door and press the ring bell, we have to be careful not to be eaten in pieces because he’s barking and chewing at the steel bars trying to get to us.

I’ve resourced to soothing voices, calling ahead so someone can wait for us at the door, but most times, Manso it’s the dictator at the door, barking away like a stressed/high dog.

He needs a daily Valium dose. That would be my prescription to make him normal.

In the mean time, I’m sure he’ll continue to be a thug.

A thug/hooligan/ruffian called “tame”. 

This is the weirdest paradox ever!

Cow Intestines in Argentina means: Chinchulines!!

My husband loves his meat.
I couldn’t believe his mother when she told me that he was a vegetarian for the first 1/3 of his life, I mean, he sure as hell is taking advantage of lost time, because I have to cook him skirt steak twice a week (minimum).
I don’t know how his stomach takes it, but he hasn’t dropped flat from indigestion so I assume, the meat is not killing him… or so it appears.
I still remember our first trip to Argentina to visit my family.
Buenos Aires is a pretty tough town; known for its coarse traditional fare like guts and tongues, all the parts of the animals that other parts of the world, throw away.
My father does this amazingly huge barbecues with lots of meat varieties (and non-meat varieties as well).
My husband took in his responsibility to try everything that was put in front of him, so my father, who does not miss a challenge, put in his mind the idea to make him cry uncle.
I was 100% confident in my hubby’s strength and resilience towards my father’s efforts to exhaust his oesophagus; however, my convincement started to crumble once the aliments changed from cow meat to everything else.
His cow intestines tasted OK (for me), as long as he didn’t think too much about what they were. They’re cooked in the barbecue, with just salt… and the intestines had a kind of… well… intestinal consistency. Kind of like liver, buy mushier.
I could see my husband’s face and even though he wanted to spit the thing out of his mouth, he didn’t want to disappoint so his mind tried to imagine other flavours than the ones he was experiencing, other consistencies…. and failed… miserably.
He did well until he started trying to think how he should describe the dish and he thought: it doesn’t look like intestines... It actually look like worms.
Just then, he pushed it aside and asked for a salad.
- You don’t like it? – I asked, batting my eyelashes like an innocent angel
- I bet you’ve never ate cow intestines in your life – he said gagging.
- Of course I have!
- No, you couldn’t. Not even wholesome carnivorous could eat... that.
- But carnivorous don’t have to eat that, because intestines aren’t meat, honey, they’re just.. shit.

YUMMY!!

Every time my husband and I spend some time apart; we cannot find our usual rhythm right away

When I returned from Argentina (thankfully with the good news that my grand-father was back at his house, driving our grand-mother crazy again) I had tons of work to come to, and my husband just started a financial course… and my brother in law was visiting… and our dog needed a bath… and all the household duties were pretty much falling behind… so no time for chit-chat either.

However, we both appreciate each other’s company very much, so while he was doing his thing, seated in the couch, I would find something useful to do while accompanying him; that way, we could share, at least, our presence.

I’m awful with finance and economy and all that involves my husband’s work. I love marketing, and promotions, and commercials… you know: funnier things. But every time we’re seated together, doing what we like, with the muted TV as our witness, he always tries to involve me in his things, so I can learn the stuff that he finds most interesting (the key word being: HE).

So he starts these monologues, presenting all kind of boring facts, whit the enthusiasm of a two-year old with a Popsicle and I stare, trying to look interested... and failing.

After he finishes (I notice because his lips stop moving) he looks at me intently, waiting for an answer, and I try to say something dazzlingly amusing and erudite in reply, but I can’t think of anything, so instead I just give him my most gaily smile, hoping to get away with it.

That’s when he stands, looks at me in a reproachful way and storms off, thinking to himself: how is it that I cannot show curiosity for something as interesting as finance?

Pluh-ease!

It happened to me for trying to reach higher than what I’m intended to… I have to stick to books, food, cinema, TV, history and maybe some maths… or not!

Greetings from you serial overachiever who just learned a hard lesson: being married to someone doesn’t mean that you like or enjoy the same things… most of the times, it means the exact opposite… opposites do attract.

9 days and an epiphany later…

I started working, and although the commute time was a torment, moving around a schedule was comforting nevertheless.
My husband didn´t get to spend much time with me, but at least I was working with a goal in mind: to prove myself and (hopefully) ascend into the marketing position that I´ve been waiting for so long.
However (and there´s always a however in my life lately), things didn´t went as planned… I love my life, it´s all worked out so I never get bored of it!
My sister was getting married so I had to book a three days trip to Argentina, an eleven hour flight to get to the bottom of the hemisphere.
I started to get the “please… it´s only one favor” requests (as I like to call them)… all the last minute requisites of my dear family members and friends who don´t understand the significance of carry-on and short trips.
The four “twilight series” books, because apparently, in Buenos Aires you don´t have bookstores… a pair of shoes because after eight months of searching, five days before my arrival my friend realized that Nine West was the answer to all her prayers, an iPod speaker because my cousin´s girlfriend´s birthday was coming up (it seems that 30% cheaper it´s an incentive to ask for technological products made in the US), a mattress cover for my dear sister that can´t make a stop in a Sealy store and decided to shop online and make her twin sis bring it all the way from the Big Apple, underwear for my other cousin that only likes North America made boxers… jeez, don´t you people have any restraint??
I had to carry a luggage the size of a car seat, huge enough to support all this paraphernalia and work my poker face in the Customs area of the Buenos Aires Airport to avert their attention elsewhere, because I was sure to pay taxes if they swipe my bag through X-Rays.
Finally, "my job époque" ended after only nine days when I had the epiphany that Marketing was my dream job and if I decided to diversify elsewhere, I wouldn´t be able to keep looking for what I really wanted; because three hours commute time and eight hours shifts can´t possibly help you to make time for job applications.
I have a few more working days until they find a replacement, I´m back to being UNEMPLOYED (in capital letters… luckily I never changed my blog´s name), the trip to Argentina was embarrassing, everybody kept congratulating me for my job and I had to explain that I quitted… nine days and an epiphany later…
I mean, how bizarre is that?

15 hours and a back pain later… we arrived to the sizzling hot summer of Argentina

We arrived at JFK with a temperature below freezing, wrapped in our coats and day dreaming about summer and a warmer weather. As predicted, our suitcase was overweight (13 lb above limit), so we decided to travel with two carry-on valises so the amiable lady in AA wouldn´t charge us USD 50 for it.
That we were over loaded with things was an understatement. My purse weighed two pounds, my husband has one of those Mac laptops that weights a ton, plus our coats, scarves, and a carry-on each of us - that was made to be dispatched in the first place - so my shoulder was killing me!!
As for the cordial lady who checked us in, at that moment she was pleasant enough… until the point when we were boarding the plane and our eight-month-old reservation, with incredible good seats was changed for two seats in the 41 line - two rows before the bathroom - and 250 people before us to get out when we arrived at Buenos Aires; this meant a two hour immigration line (Argentinean airport personnel are really friendly so no comment on that one) and an endless journey home… because, you see, my husband says I deflate during flights, as I go to the bathroom five times (minimum) hence I need an aisle seat, however I prefer the window because I can rest my head in the side panel. So I spent 12 hours jumping over my husband, but as I´m a little clumsy, I always ended butt first onto him … he was sleeping soundly until the moment where I landed flat on his face… and off he started with the cursing, half-awaked as he was…I don´t think he remembers every time this happened (is not as glamorous as I want to be remembered…a girl can dream).
Other thing to consider, is the on-flight entertainment. I was expecting a bunch of premier movies, something to help the time fly faster… we were completely unlucky because ¨Legally Blonde¨ was the only option (a eight hundred dollar ticket and not even a decent movie!); so I grabbed my book (reading is my hobby / fascination / obsession) “Twenties Girl” by Sophie Kinsella (I love her! Her Shopaholic series aren´t as good as her other books) but after ten minutes I started getting dizzy (other side effect that travel – by any transportation – gives me) so I dropped the book and opted for my iPod… after a while I was asleep, but nature calls really often in my department, and sleeping wasn´t as pleasurable for neither of us… me as the affected with the insistent calling of my urinary tract, and my husband as the bystander victim with a wife with early symptoms of temporary urinary incontinence… where would us be when we turn 80 if aging symptoms start now?

So long bone chilling cold!!!
Your 25 year old unemployed house wife on vacation…. Jealous?

Luggage keeps pilling up and I didn’t even put my clothes in yet!!

Here we are, 3 days before our departure, and as always, we women tend to get ahead of things so I started packing for our holiday trip to Argentina.
Have you ever lived outside your home country? It’s like this:
2 months prior to our arrival, I started to get these emails:
“Could you please bring me a blouse / pant / shoes / boots / wallet / purse / belt that I saw online, is really tiny, and it’s not heavy, I promise” or “I’m dying to have those new sunglasses / watch / key ring / cuff link, but here they’re really expensive, would it bother you if I ordered them and you can, maybe, bring them with you in a small corner of your bag?” or “I want an iPod / headphones / cover case / new laptop / Wii / Stereo system… I’ll pay the custom taxes, but could you please go to the store and bought them for me? They don’t accept international cards”… (To someone else with that story; do I look stupid to you?... ok, don’t answer that) and they add “pretty please?” as if THAT is going to make the difference… come on! You’re asking for a 10 pound favor… didn’t you notice that we have weight restrictions in airplanes now? Where do you want me to put MY clothes? Send them by courier? Pay overweight for my 0.01 pound bathing suit?
What is it with people and decency? Forget about shame... nowadays people just ask and expect that you’ll be OK with them; don’t even think about deny them a favor… let me warn you, families keep grudges; so if you want to be in the white list, you better do whatever it takes to get that stuff down there; and I mean WHATEVER IT TAKES!
It all started with this spectacular idea that today I’ll finish with the packing business, so I dived inside our spare mini-room / closet to get our biggest valise; and I started to put the presents and requests first; big mistake there; because now the bag is full and where am I suppose to put all of our stuff? Is not like I can tell my husband to bring a few things, it’s a 3 week trip! Its summer there, so no coats or heavy clothes, but a girl needs her attire!! shoes, bathing suits, hair products, make-up… options, options, options!
So, yeah… maybe I’m a bit stupid because you should really see my luggage! I look like a walking department store; except for the beauty department (thank god for small favors! or our very nice relative that forgot to ask for a perfume / rejuvenating cream / make-up, etc.).
Anything to be kept away from the family's black list; I don’t want to be poisoned when we get there… and I want nice Christmas presents. So I did the second logical option: I found the other big valise and started dividing the weight between both of them… problem is; both are overweight now; and I’ll probably pay USD 200 to get them to Argentina; USD 500 when we arrive at customs and USD 75 to rent a mini-van to transport them to my father’s house.
In short, next time, don’t even let them know you’re coming! A surprise is much more fun, don’t you think? And you don’t have to worry about requests!... or better yet, change your email address and don’t even tell them… or commit to everything they ask and arrive with your empty hand and tell them you got robbed!
Laugh now, but this is definitely going to happen to you as well, and when it does, don’t say I didn’t warn you.