Human beings are wired to always have something to complain or pout about.
Doesn’t matter if you’re the King of Persia or a regular guy with a regular job, one would always want a low profile life and the other would always regret not to have born with royal blood and have lots of millions.
As Michael Bublé said: That’s life (or Frank Sinatra for the previous generation).
So now I’m working from 9 am to 4 pm, arrive at home 20 minutes to 6 pm, put on my rubber gloves and I summon the energy to scrub every place in our house, but if I choose to clean, grocery shopping and poop-scooping our balcony (Buono keeps doing his business even though he knows I don’t have time to clean up after him) have to be left for the next day.
On the other hand, attending my hubby is in my priority list; so if I’m too tired to do anything at home, I just cuddle by his side and harass him the rest of the afternoon, so he doesn’t feel that he’s been left out and I have the perfect excuse not to move a finger.
However, we manage as a team together. He helps with small menial task that in the long run, reduces my available time to do anything else.
Dinner is another issue. Who has time to cook a proper meal when you can’t even see straight, and the recipes gets mixed in your head. I’m opting to freeze some dishes, having an endless load of cereals and sandwich ingredients to get by during the week, and make more elaborated dishes during the weekends.
Dieting is always the best excuse. I always say that we should take care of our weight, and keep the line, when I’m not in the mood to go near the stove.
Having a blog damages all my chances to keep pretexts (because my husband is the first one to read my posts), so if you have some new ideas that I can use from now on, please write.
In the mean time, regards from yours truly.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Happy B-Day, Feliz Cumpleaños, Bonne Fete, Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Buon Compleanno… do I need to make myself more clear?
Birthday days have their pros and cons.
Presents and family love are definitely pros.
Even though every family has that pesterer individual that calls you at 6 am, makes you talk with every member of their household (dog and maid included) even thou it’s too early for you to process any information and most importantly: WTF is he doing calling at this hour??
So you mumble incoherent sentences while the penance endures, and then hang-up, already sleepless and in a bad mood because you missed your extra 45 minutes of sleep.
Twenty-six years of experience and you still haven’t mastered the expertise of filtering caller-ID’s during your sleep.
But you cheer up, because nobody can ruin this day for you… until you open the window and rain is pouring uncontrollably, everything is grey and depressing and you wish your birthday would have been another day of the week, maybe Saturday or Sunday if you were lucky enough… but NO, Monday and rainy for you, missy!
Suddenly, the bed looks really appealing and you’re trying to make an excuse to miss a day in your first 2 weeks of work; but you man-up, lock your back straight, walk to the bathroom and wash the sleepy feeling away.
In our birthday, we always want to look our best, so I picked my nicest outfit and accessorized it with a headband, a present from my twin sister for when my hair is unmanageable and blow-drying sound really difficult.
I’m heading to the door, and suddenly I hear a heavenly music in my ears, because I just suddenly remembered that going down the elevator, parked in our garage is our new car!!
So God isn’t that mischievous, and you have a perfect day ahead of you.
All of a sudden, the prospect of driving 40 miles, shuffling the music in your iPod and accepting calls with the Bluetooth device imbedded in the car doesn’t sound so awful.
It even sounds glamorous.
Unsafe, considering the storm; but attractive, nevertheless.
So long public transportation, hello Doris!!
Presents and family love are definitely pros.
Even though every family has that pesterer individual that calls you at 6 am, makes you talk with every member of their household (dog and maid included) even thou it’s too early for you to process any information and most importantly: WTF is he doing calling at this hour??
So you mumble incoherent sentences while the penance endures, and then hang-up, already sleepless and in a bad mood because you missed your extra 45 minutes of sleep.
Twenty-six years of experience and you still haven’t mastered the expertise of filtering caller-ID’s during your sleep.
But you cheer up, because nobody can ruin this day for you… until you open the window and rain is pouring uncontrollably, everything is grey and depressing and you wish your birthday would have been another day of the week, maybe Saturday or Sunday if you were lucky enough… but NO, Monday and rainy for you, missy!
Suddenly, the bed looks really appealing and you’re trying to make an excuse to miss a day in your first 2 weeks of work; but you man-up, lock your back straight, walk to the bathroom and wash the sleepy feeling away.
In our birthday, we always want to look our best, so I picked my nicest outfit and accessorized it with a headband, a present from my twin sister for when my hair is unmanageable and blow-drying sound really difficult.
I’m heading to the door, and suddenly I hear a heavenly music in my ears, because I just suddenly remembered that going down the elevator, parked in our garage is our new car!!
So God isn’t that mischievous, and you have a perfect day ahead of you.
All of a sudden, the prospect of driving 40 miles, shuffling the music in your iPod and accepting calls with the Bluetooth device imbedded in the car doesn’t sound so awful.
It even sounds glamorous.
Unsafe, considering the storm; but attractive, nevertheless.
So long public transportation, hello Doris!!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
A new member of our “electronic” family is born
I’m neither dead nor kidnapped; I was just acclimating to my new job and time schedules, before I decided to start writing again... don't fret!
As some of you might know, my new job demanded a huge amount of commute time, as well as different types of transportations, all combined to allow me to go back and forth from work.
The peculiarities of this commute was that arriving in time was of the essence if I didn’t want to be left stranded in a deserted industrial NY area, with my husband having a heart attack while waiting for me at home.
So, being that our problem lies in reconciling our gross habits with our net income; we decided to buy our first car… all for the sake of my husband’s health and the improvements of having 10 more hours of leisure every week, of course!
I’m awful with highways and maps, I can manage to learn the perfect grid of Manhattan’s streets but unfortunately, learning a whole new area without getting lost in the process was too difficult for me, so a Navigation system was in order to accommodate my inabilities.
So now we have a talking car, which guides you around, let you know if there’s traffic ahead, where the best parking spots are, if there’s a hot spot restaurant nearby and manages my music.
Doris is the best travel companion ever, if you have seen the Nemo picture, you can guess why we named her that… my stepmom was the one with the idea, and now, Doris became another member of our electronic family, altogether with our 2 iPhones, the iMac, the Mac Book Pro, the Dell laptop, the super efficient refrigerator, our top of the line oven, the miracle worker dishwasher, the AirPort express, our Sony Bravia, the DVD player and our huge printer machine (an inefficient decision from my husband who believes that big is better).
No wonder that we have less time to read, talk, play board games and everything else that could occupy your time if you didn’t have all the other cool stuffs around you that distracts you from the other boring stuffs that earlier generations did before technology led light in our lives.
Thanks god for small favours… and Doris for reducing my commute time 2 hours a day and making my life easier.
As some of you might know, my new job demanded a huge amount of commute time, as well as different types of transportations, all combined to allow me to go back and forth from work.
The peculiarities of this commute was that arriving in time was of the essence if I didn’t want to be left stranded in a deserted industrial NY area, with my husband having a heart attack while waiting for me at home.
So, being that our problem lies in reconciling our gross habits with our net income; we decided to buy our first car… all for the sake of my husband’s health and the improvements of having 10 more hours of leisure every week, of course!
I’m awful with highways and maps, I can manage to learn the perfect grid of Manhattan’s streets but unfortunately, learning a whole new area without getting lost in the process was too difficult for me, so a Navigation system was in order to accommodate my inabilities.
So now we have a talking car, which guides you around, let you know if there’s traffic ahead, where the best parking spots are, if there’s a hot spot restaurant nearby and manages my music.
Doris is the best travel companion ever, if you have seen the Nemo picture, you can guess why we named her that… my stepmom was the one with the idea, and now, Doris became another member of our electronic family, altogether with our 2 iPhones, the iMac, the Mac Book Pro, the Dell laptop, the super efficient refrigerator, our top of the line oven, the miracle worker dishwasher, the AirPort express, our Sony Bravia, the DVD player and our huge printer machine (an inefficient decision from my husband who believes that big is better).
No wonder that we have less time to read, talk, play board games and everything else that could occupy your time if you didn’t have all the other cool stuffs around you that distracts you from the other boring stuffs that earlier generations did before technology led light in our lives.
Thanks god for small favours… and Doris for reducing my commute time 2 hours a day and making my life easier.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Adding a bunch of new tasks in my routine list… sanity isn’t one of them
Having a new job can get you really excited and it can make you feel really accomplished, even more if the job involves doing something challenging and fast paced; however, if your nerve cells have been on vacation for quite some time, it can be a handful to get them back and running again.
I feel a pool of little creatures inside my head (because even thou they’re kind of lazy, I can vouch for their quantity… a lot of neurons!) stretching and welcoming the new activity pumped into their schedule; yet they still have the dual sensation of wanting to be back in my couch reading… so I have to concentrate to keep them at bay.
Lots of coffee is being propelled into my body, and the new tasks presented before them keeps them motivated and in movement. Naughty little creatures those damned neurons!
Well, who can blame them if the challenges of being a housewife for 1 year aren’t difficult enough to keep them awake?
In the meantime, my caffeine levels are on the roof, my liver is definitely suffering damaged with all the sugar I’m ingesting to wake up my nerve cells from hibernation, all the weight that I lost with my “Gall bladder diet” is being gained back up again (I can feel it in my butt) and the only thing that’s improving is my reading hours with all the train travelling that allows me to keep up with my books.
My advice is that you don’t ever should accept an offer from a job so far away… over 10 miles from home it’s too much of a pain.
However, if you do decide to accept it, make it worth your while… good compensation, big company, lots of new challenged and a bright future ahead of you… like me.
Don’t be jealous, I wasn’t when you were working and I was home cleaning.
Regards from your currently employed housewife.
I feel a pool of little creatures inside my head (because even thou they’re kind of lazy, I can vouch for their quantity… a lot of neurons!) stretching and welcoming the new activity pumped into their schedule; yet they still have the dual sensation of wanting to be back in my couch reading… so I have to concentrate to keep them at bay.
Lots of coffee is being propelled into my body, and the new tasks presented before them keeps them motivated and in movement. Naughty little creatures those damned neurons!
Well, who can blame them if the challenges of being a housewife for 1 year aren’t difficult enough to keep them awake?
In the meantime, my caffeine levels are on the roof, my liver is definitely suffering damaged with all the sugar I’m ingesting to wake up my nerve cells from hibernation, all the weight that I lost with my “Gall bladder diet” is being gained back up again (I can feel it in my butt) and the only thing that’s improving is my reading hours with all the train travelling that allows me to keep up with my books.
My advice is that you don’t ever should accept an offer from a job so far away… over 10 miles from home it’s too much of a pain.
However, if you do decide to accept it, make it worth your while… good compensation, big company, lots of new challenged and a bright future ahead of you… like me.
Don’t be jealous, I wasn’t when you were working and I was home cleaning.
Regards from your currently employed housewife.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Long Island gives a new significance to the word: LONG
Dear readers, do you remember the big fiasco from my past “job experience”?
I’m happy to inform you that I’m employed once again, this time for an American Corporation who was looking for a Sales Manager for the Latin American markets… I know, I know; I told you guys that I preferred a Marketing position rather than a Sales one, but in this particular case, the offer comes with such a big challenge, and such a big incentive, that it would be a crime not to say Yes (which I did).
Wait for it, here it comes… you know me too mucho to be expecting it: The down size.
I can resume it in one word: distance.
I managed (once again) to get a job 35 miles (60 km) away from this big island.
And even more down sizing, is the fact that it doesn’t matter that I live four blocks from the biggest trains station in NY (Grand Central); the train that I have to catch to go to work is in Penn Station, 13 loooong blocks from my home and two connecting subways away.
Well, no biggie, I’ll have to put up with that fact and focus my energy on more uplifting matters, as it’s the fact that I’m being paid for doing what I love.
I’m starting next week, so I still have some more days of free time… adding every one of those together, I think 730 vacation days was enough to regain my energy and get my act together (finally).
I told myself that I was going to get a job before my birthday, and I pulled it off!!
Many people tried to hook me up with important executives in big corporation; nonetheless, I got this baby all on my own.
Luck… I don’t need; so don’t waste your time wishing it to me…but let’s just hope that I can probe myself up to their expectations; because I’ll hate to be unemployed once again.
Regards from a Long Island executive, living in Manhattan, being from Argentina, with a husband from the Dominican Republic, dying to step onto the world!!
(Well, not over the world… ON TOP OF THE WORLD!)
I’m happy to inform you that I’m employed once again, this time for an American Corporation who was looking for a Sales Manager for the Latin American markets… I know, I know; I told you guys that I preferred a Marketing position rather than a Sales one, but in this particular case, the offer comes with such a big challenge, and such a big incentive, that it would be a crime not to say Yes (which I did).
Wait for it, here it comes… you know me too mucho to be expecting it: The down size.
I can resume it in one word: distance.
I managed (once again) to get a job 35 miles (60 km) away from this big island.
And even more down sizing, is the fact that it doesn’t matter that I live four blocks from the biggest trains station in NY (Grand Central); the train that I have to catch to go to work is in Penn Station, 13 loooong blocks from my home and two connecting subways away.
Well, no biggie, I’ll have to put up with that fact and focus my energy on more uplifting matters, as it’s the fact that I’m being paid for doing what I love.
I’m starting next week, so I still have some more days of free time… adding every one of those together, I think 730 vacation days was enough to regain my energy and get my act together (finally).
I told myself that I was going to get a job before my birthday, and I pulled it off!!
Many people tried to hook me up with important executives in big corporation; nonetheless, I got this baby all on my own.
Luck… I don’t need; so don’t waste your time wishing it to me…but let’s just hope that I can probe myself up to their expectations; because I’ll hate to be unemployed once again.
Regards from a Long Island executive, living in Manhattan, being from Argentina, with a husband from the Dominican Republic, dying to step onto the world!!
(Well, not over the world… ON TOP OF THE WORLD!)
Monday, April 5, 2010
Queens… not the crowns and scepters type
Buying Argentinean food in the Big Apple is not a difficult task, you can find it in every restaurant owned by an Argentinean guy, you can even find some in the Supermarket around the corner; however… buying cheap Argentinean food is a whole new matter (cheap being the key word in this sentence).
Me and my girlfriends have a routine, where every two or three months we go to a small Argentinean Restaurant in Queens and find all our delicatessens, made by Argentinean hands and most important: at a moderate price.
Since the winter came, with all its might and glory, we haven’t been able to visit Queens, nevertheless, this past weekend, my husband and I where too bored for words, so we decided to give it a try, sunny day and all.
It was my husband’s first time to accompany me to Queens, so he looked at me kind of weird when I hauled my empty luggage from our storage room and headed out the door… poor guy, he didn’t even know what was coming to him.
We took the subway, my husband, me and my pink empty suitcase, and started walking from the Junction Avenue Station towards the restaurant.
Needless to say that once you’ve entered Queens, you forget about where you are (New York where?), what is the main language (English who?) and most importantly, the prices!
After seeing so much “Manhattan prices”, being outside of the bubble gives you a whole new perspective regarding expenses.
El Gauchito is a nice little place just ten blocks from the station, it’s a cute spot to have some lunch, enjoy a nice dessert with lots of caramel spread and buy some international produce.
The guy at the counter already knows me, so I gave him my list of groceries, handed him my empty suitcase and seated with my husband in a small table by the window.
Let me tell you something about my husband that you probably already know: he is a gentleman.
Remember this, because I sure as hell didn’t forgot this fact when I headed out the door from my house, with my pink “empty” suitcase; and only one though in my head: I’m not going to be the one that brings it back.
After lunch we went to the counter, I paid our groceries and I simply stood there, while my dear husband (being a gentleman and all) hauled the suitcase back to the floor, pulled up the handle and headed to the door, followed by a pink suitcase, in a Latino neighborhood, soon to be hooping on the subway… with a bunch of tough, scary guys… with a suitcase (PINK) and me.
Needless to say that this was the first and only time for my husband to come to Queens with me, from now on it would be a girlfriend’s only activity.
El Gauchito:
http://maps.google.com/maps/place?rls=com.microsoft:en-us&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=el+gauchito+queens&fb=1&gl=us&hq=el+gauchito&hnear=queens&cid=5825267050853122312
Me and my girlfriends have a routine, where every two or three months we go to a small Argentinean Restaurant in Queens and find all our delicatessens, made by Argentinean hands and most important: at a moderate price.
Since the winter came, with all its might and glory, we haven’t been able to visit Queens, nevertheless, this past weekend, my husband and I where too bored for words, so we decided to give it a try, sunny day and all.
It was my husband’s first time to accompany me to Queens, so he looked at me kind of weird when I hauled my empty luggage from our storage room and headed out the door… poor guy, he didn’t even know what was coming to him.
We took the subway, my husband, me and my pink empty suitcase, and started walking from the Junction Avenue Station towards the restaurant.
Needless to say that once you’ve entered Queens, you forget about where you are (New York where?), what is the main language (English who?) and most importantly, the prices!
After seeing so much “Manhattan prices”, being outside of the bubble gives you a whole new perspective regarding expenses.
El Gauchito is a nice little place just ten blocks from the station, it’s a cute spot to have some lunch, enjoy a nice dessert with lots of caramel spread and buy some international produce.
The guy at the counter already knows me, so I gave him my list of groceries, handed him my empty suitcase and seated with my husband in a small table by the window.
Let me tell you something about my husband that you probably already know: he is a gentleman.
Remember this, because I sure as hell didn’t forgot this fact when I headed out the door from my house, with my pink “empty” suitcase; and only one though in my head: I’m not going to be the one that brings it back.
After lunch we went to the counter, I paid our groceries and I simply stood there, while my dear husband (being a gentleman and all) hauled the suitcase back to the floor, pulled up the handle and headed to the door, followed by a pink suitcase, in a Latino neighborhood, soon to be hooping on the subway… with a bunch of tough, scary guys… with a suitcase (PINK) and me.
Needless to say that this was the first and only time for my husband to come to Queens with me, from now on it would be a girlfriend’s only activity.
El Gauchito:
http://maps.google.com/maps/place?rls=com.microsoft:en-us&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=el+gauchito+queens&fb=1&gl=us&hq=el+gauchito&hnear=queens&cid=5825267050853122312
Thursday, April 1, 2010
If I could ask for anything, the WILL to exercise would be it!
Supposedly, spring started like ten days ago, but with all the rain and the temperature drop, you would definitely think that we’re still in winter.
The last couple of days we had a huge storm looming above the east coast, so you can imagine how many times do I dared to get out of my house… NONE is the answer.
Today, the sky is clearing bit by bit, it’s not raining anymore, and more importantly, the temperature started to pick up, so it’s a bit nice outside.
However, I have a friend that even thou she weights as much as a feather and we all remind her of that fact every time we see each other, she’s convinced that dieting is the answer to all her prayers, as well as exercising… so she wasn’t satisfied with her state of mind of loosing weight, she most definitely needed someone to be in that state of mind with her.
What a better choice than me? (she though that the “Gall bladder diet” wasn’t enough).
So she decided to turn my life a living hell by inviting me to walk around the Central Park at 10 am in the morning, in a more or less nice day (she couldn’t wait for the spring to finally arrive… a grey day was enough for her) and I would even need to get a bus to go to the meet up place.
For me, exercise is like this boring word that involves doing something even more boring.
I would be completely up for a vaccine to be a sports person; I would even sign up for the testing processes.
But no intelligent scientist has managed to come up with THAT idea; they’re stuck with other more trivial matters while we, the unsporty people are stuck with lies and excuses to evade the outdoors activities that include running, jogging, walking, exercising… and all the others “ing”.
Just so you know, if she would have said: “let’s go to the Central Park and talk while we walk”, it would have been a different situation…
For starters, I would’ve said YES!
But as soon as she included the E word in the sentence, all was doomed for me… everything was black… pitch black!
Blame my father and his convincement that he had three little boys, no matter that every person told him that the long hair, the earrings and the girlie clothes most definitely meant that we were girls!
Well, no biggie… I’ll just have to come up with an excuse in, let’s say, 10 minutes…
Any ideas??
The last couple of days we had a huge storm looming above the east coast, so you can imagine how many times do I dared to get out of my house… NONE is the answer.
Today, the sky is clearing bit by bit, it’s not raining anymore, and more importantly, the temperature started to pick up, so it’s a bit nice outside.
However, I have a friend that even thou she weights as much as a feather and we all remind her of that fact every time we see each other, she’s convinced that dieting is the answer to all her prayers, as well as exercising… so she wasn’t satisfied with her state of mind of loosing weight, she most definitely needed someone to be in that state of mind with her.
What a better choice than me? (she though that the “Gall bladder diet” wasn’t enough).
So she decided to turn my life a living hell by inviting me to walk around the Central Park at 10 am in the morning, in a more or less nice day (she couldn’t wait for the spring to finally arrive… a grey day was enough for her) and I would even need to get a bus to go to the meet up place.
For me, exercise is like this boring word that involves doing something even more boring.
I would be completely up for a vaccine to be a sports person; I would even sign up for the testing processes.
But no intelligent scientist has managed to come up with THAT idea; they’re stuck with other more trivial matters while we, the unsporty people are stuck with lies and excuses to evade the outdoors activities that include running, jogging, walking, exercising… and all the others “ing”.
Just so you know, if she would have said: “let’s go to the Central Park and talk while we walk”, it would have been a different situation…
For starters, I would’ve said YES!
But as soon as she included the E word in the sentence, all was doomed for me… everything was black… pitch black!
Blame my father and his convincement that he had three little boys, no matter that every person told him that the long hair, the earrings and the girlie clothes most definitely meant that we were girls!
Well, no biggie… I’ll just have to come up with an excuse in, let’s say, 10 minutes…
Any ideas??
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Feeling the need to clear some things up!
Dear blog followers:
I’ve received a huge amount of comments regarding my job situation (better yet, my jobless actual situation).
The reason why I decided to present my resignation to my former employer was because they offered a Marketing Position when I entered, a position that would be available for me after six months of working in their sales department; which I was willing to endure… although Sales are not my preferred area of expertise or practice.
My lack of patience and lack of stimulation in the job ambience are the main reasons why I’ve never pursued a career in that area.
nevertheless, I took the job and committed to a long distance commute to have that Marketing position at the end… however, I learned later, that this positions was going to be opened in Miami… as in the State of Florida… as in hundred miles away from my home and my husband… as in: NO WAY I’M MOVING THERE!!
So, needless to say, that’s the reason I’m currently back to my initial situation of being unemployed and looking for a job… yet again.
But my energies are up, my mood has improved over the last few days with my visit to Argentina and I’m ready to whup some Manhattan butt!!
I’m going to embrace my awesomeness and get back in the searching business with new knowledge about myself: I’m never going to accept a selling position ever again… and commute time must be less than an hour… I mean, P-L-E-A-S-E, is this so much to ask?
I’ve received a huge amount of comments regarding my job situation (better yet, my jobless actual situation).
The reason why I decided to present my resignation to my former employer was because they offered a Marketing Position when I entered, a position that would be available for me after six months of working in their sales department; which I was willing to endure… although Sales are not my preferred area of expertise or practice.
My lack of patience and lack of stimulation in the job ambience are the main reasons why I’ve never pursued a career in that area.
nevertheless, I took the job and committed to a long distance commute to have that Marketing position at the end… however, I learned later, that this positions was going to be opened in Miami… as in the State of Florida… as in hundred miles away from my home and my husband… as in: NO WAY I’M MOVING THERE!!
So, needless to say, that’s the reason I’m currently back to my initial situation of being unemployed and looking for a job… yet again.
But my energies are up, my mood has improved over the last few days with my visit to Argentina and I’m ready to whup some Manhattan butt!!
I’m going to embrace my awesomeness and get back in the searching business with new knowledge about myself: I’m never going to accept a selling position ever again… and commute time must be less than an hour… I mean, P-L-E-A-S-E, is this so much to ask?
Monday, March 22, 2010
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?
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?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Married, currently employed (FINALLY)… who would have though that abiding by a schedule again was going to be so difficult
Avid readers of my blog… well, not so “avid” because my writing has been slow, I know; but there’s a specific reason for that.
Since last Tuesday I’ve started working, due to privacy issues I’m not able to specify my duties or my work place, you would have to just be happy for my achievement and allow me my secrecy… or you can just assume that I’m a big time player in a major company, fine by me!
Well, it’s not a HUGE achievement, only a small one, but let us hope for the future.
My schedule is suddenly full, I have to even organize my time to wash my hair, or go to the drycleaners, because… you see, never mind that I live in one of the posh islands of the US, or that in this particular island, every major company has offices here, with a bunch of people working in them.
I've managed to get a job, one hour and thirty minutes commute time from our home.
Isn’t that wonderful? (There’s sarcasm here, trust me!)
So I’ve to get out of my house, fifteen minutes before the train is suppose to depart, have a 40 minutes ride, then take a twenty minute bus ride and finally, arrive to my work place.
You don’t see it from where you’re standing, but today, New York City has awaken with torrential rains and strong winds… and I have awoken with a gloomy temper and cero strength to get my butt out there, to the soaked streets, the soaked air, the humidity, the cold (yes, we’re still managing the low temperatures, even thou spring it’s suppose to be around the corner) and, most importantly, the one hour and thirty minutes ride to work.
Please send me strength from wherever you are!
Note: don’t get me wrong, I’m psyched to earn a salary and have something to do… just not in this particular day.
Note 2: No, I’m not going to change the blog’s name… I kind of like it! Don’t you?
Since last Tuesday I’ve started working, due to privacy issues I’m not able to specify my duties or my work place, you would have to just be happy for my achievement and allow me my secrecy… or you can just assume that I’m a big time player in a major company, fine by me!
Well, it’s not a HUGE achievement, only a small one, but let us hope for the future.
My schedule is suddenly full, I have to even organize my time to wash my hair, or go to the drycleaners, because… you see, never mind that I live in one of the posh islands of the US, or that in this particular island, every major company has offices here, with a bunch of people working in them.
I've managed to get a job, one hour and thirty minutes commute time from our home.
Isn’t that wonderful? (There’s sarcasm here, trust me!)
So I’ve to get out of my house, fifteen minutes before the train is suppose to depart, have a 40 minutes ride, then take a twenty minute bus ride and finally, arrive to my work place.
You don’t see it from where you’re standing, but today, New York City has awaken with torrential rains and strong winds… and I have awoken with a gloomy temper and cero strength to get my butt out there, to the soaked streets, the soaked air, the humidity, the cold (yes, we’re still managing the low temperatures, even thou spring it’s suppose to be around the corner) and, most importantly, the one hour and thirty minutes ride to work.
Please send me strength from wherever you are!
Note: don’t get me wrong, I’m psyched to earn a salary and have something to do… just not in this particular day.
Note 2: No, I’m not going to change the blog’s name… I kind of like it! Don’t you?
Monday, March 1, 2010
How to master the finest art of concentration, no matter the circumstances
Last week I had the amazing opportunity to visit one of the MoMA’s temporary exhibitions.
I’m not a museum fan; after a while I get kind of bored and just pass the art like parked cars on the street… indifferent and fast.
But this particular exhibition was of Tim Burton. For you who know who he is, you can imagine the exhilarating experience that was to stand face to face with a human size statue of Edward Scissorhands; or to actually see his sketches for every character that he had created; or get totally in love with his style and colorful imagination.
That, for me, is interesting art… the worth seeing kind of art.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate art history, Monet, Picasso, Goya… but modern art is more in line whit what I like when I visit a Museum or Gallery.
Now, the downsides:
You, frequent readers of my blog, know me well enough to expect a criticism in this experience… and you’re not mistaken!
PEOPLE.
That’s my main inconvenience when I go to a museum, or gallery, or the subway, or pretty much every public place in this over populated island…
They’re “public” places, but I preferred them deserted.
And if I’m always to endure overpopulated places, I preferred them to be quiet and tranquil; is this too much to ask to the never ending tourist masses and Manhattan residents that share with me the common areas of this city?
I’m now becoming an expert in “Public Places Concentration Process” (as I refer to), where I shush every sound around me, forget about the mingling people and focus only in the task at hand… in this case, to enjoy a fantabulous exposition without the annoying interruptions of my fellow museum visitors.
Luckily, after the “MoMA + Concentration – People – Sound = Tim Burton Rocks!” experience, I got together with my friends and grabbed a bite in a small Mediterranean restaurant near the museum.
During “Restaurant Week” we had enjoyed (me and my girlfriends) almost every type of food, in excellent restaurants for the cheapest prices.
I love NYC!
http://www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2009/timburton/
http://www.figandolive.com/
http://gonyc.about.com/cs/restaurants/a/restaurantweek.htm
I’m not a museum fan; after a while I get kind of bored and just pass the art like parked cars on the street… indifferent and fast.
But this particular exhibition was of Tim Burton. For you who know who he is, you can imagine the exhilarating experience that was to stand face to face with a human size statue of Edward Scissorhands; or to actually see his sketches for every character that he had created; or get totally in love with his style and colorful imagination.
That, for me, is interesting art… the worth seeing kind of art.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate art history, Monet, Picasso, Goya… but modern art is more in line whit what I like when I visit a Museum or Gallery.
Now, the downsides:
You, frequent readers of my blog, know me well enough to expect a criticism in this experience… and you’re not mistaken!
PEOPLE.
That’s my main inconvenience when I go to a museum, or gallery, or the subway, or pretty much every public place in this over populated island…
They’re “public” places, but I preferred them deserted.
And if I’m always to endure overpopulated places, I preferred them to be quiet and tranquil; is this too much to ask to the never ending tourist masses and Manhattan residents that share with me the common areas of this city?
I’m now becoming an expert in “Public Places Concentration Process” (as I refer to), where I shush every sound around me, forget about the mingling people and focus only in the task at hand… in this case, to enjoy a fantabulous exposition without the annoying interruptions of my fellow museum visitors.
Luckily, after the “MoMA + Concentration – People – Sound = Tim Burton Rocks!” experience, I got together with my friends and grabbed a bite in a small Mediterranean restaurant near the museum.
During “Restaurant Week” we had enjoyed (me and my girlfriends) almost every type of food, in excellent restaurants for the cheapest prices.
I love NYC!
http://www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2009/timburton/
http://www.figandolive.com/
http://gonyc.about.com/cs/restaurants/a/restaurantweek.htm
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
You can sell everything on Ebay… maybe not your unbearable relatives, but the rest, I’m sure it’s manageable!
Since I moved to the US, I’ve become an expert in selling stuff online…
You name it: books, luggage, lamps, used shoes (can you believe that there’s people that buy them? YUCK!)… Everything can be sold in the magnificent online market that’s Ebay.
As you gain good reviews, your score goes higher and you get to sell cheaper, longer and securely… I have a 100% feedback (the best there is); this gives me the advantage to be perceived as trustworthy from my buyers.
My most bizarre experience was when I sold a pair of Tod’s yellow shoes, too small for my husband, which had been used at least two times.
I still can’t picture the guy who received the item using them; I mean, does he wears them with two pairs of socks? Disinfectant?
It’s not that my husband has smelly feet, I can vouch for that… but the buyer didn’t know my husband, or his hygiene freakiness, or my cleaning compulsions… so, we could have been the most disgusting people in the planet selling used shoes, and he still would’ve bought them.
Not cheap either… I think he paid more than $150 for the pair; he won the bidding with eleven other buyers… eleven other people that were ready to wear my husband’s used Tod’s yellow shoes; not a soft, light yellow either… a vivid yellow, so strong that you could become blind just by staring at them.
I really mean it when I say EVERYTHING!.
Last week a sold my Aunt M.’s used luggage. It was in really good condition and we received $215 for the transaction, only 30% cheaper than the new item in the stores.
I think we ripped the guy off.
Are you convinced now?
Ebay is the best market there is for selling all your junk, there are people buying a bunch of weird stuff, old, new, used, damaged, second hand, incomplete sets… it’s been documented the sale of a small town in the United States also; the guy was stupid enough to believe that he could buy a whole town, with the people living in it, and their houses, on Ebay, without propriety documents.
Me in particular, I don’t plan to buy nothing used in the near future… I’m just planning to sell…
I love this country!!.
www.ebay.com
You name it: books, luggage, lamps, used shoes (can you believe that there’s people that buy them? YUCK!)… Everything can be sold in the magnificent online market that’s Ebay.
As you gain good reviews, your score goes higher and you get to sell cheaper, longer and securely… I have a 100% feedback (the best there is); this gives me the advantage to be perceived as trustworthy from my buyers.
My most bizarre experience was when I sold a pair of Tod’s yellow shoes, too small for my husband, which had been used at least two times.
I still can’t picture the guy who received the item using them; I mean, does he wears them with two pairs of socks? Disinfectant?
It’s not that my husband has smelly feet, I can vouch for that… but the buyer didn’t know my husband, or his hygiene freakiness, or my cleaning compulsions… so, we could have been the most disgusting people in the planet selling used shoes, and he still would’ve bought them.
Not cheap either… I think he paid more than $150 for the pair; he won the bidding with eleven other buyers… eleven other people that were ready to wear my husband’s used Tod’s yellow shoes; not a soft, light yellow either… a vivid yellow, so strong that you could become blind just by staring at them.
I really mean it when I say EVERYTHING!.
Last week a sold my Aunt M.’s used luggage. It was in really good condition and we received $215 for the transaction, only 30% cheaper than the new item in the stores.
I think we ripped the guy off.
Are you convinced now?
Ebay is the best market there is for selling all your junk, there are people buying a bunch of weird stuff, old, new, used, damaged, second hand, incomplete sets… it’s been documented the sale of a small town in the United States also; the guy was stupid enough to believe that he could buy a whole town, with the people living in it, and their houses, on Ebay, without propriety documents.
Me in particular, I don’t plan to buy nothing used in the near future… I’m just planning to sell…
I love this country!!.
www.ebay.com
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Home alone… well, not entirely alone, considering our neighbor (aunt M.) and Buono (my dog)
Last week, my husband had to travel to the Dominican Republic for a family matter. It was a last minute decision, so I stayed home while he went there to accompany his relatives.
The best thing to have the house all by yourself is that you don’t have to lower the toilet seat every time you go to the bathroom, you have the TV remote all to yourself (so long to fighting games, winter Olympics, the news, action movies), cooking is out of the question and best of all, you get to sleep late because you don’t have to wake up at 7 am when your husband goes to work everyday (this is only for unemployed wives, as me).
I was looking forward to five days of tranquility and relaxed time… reading is my hobby (or obsession, my friends would say) and I had some pretty interesting subjects to start with.
Buono is a fine companion for these situations, he doesn’t bark (strange quality in a dog), he only eats, drinks his water and visits the balcony twice a day…
Aunt M. is the only member of our families that lives in NYC and we share this routine of getting together over coffee every afternoon.
So my to-do-list wasn’t bursting with events… five days weren’t that bad… were they?
My only problem was that hours on end I spent it home alone, reading or job hunting (searching is too-soft a word for my aggressive application process) or cooking… so I started to really miss my husband’s company.
Well, not all the time… having the TV remote at my command was a good thing… and sleeping late wasn’t that bad… but, by day two I was fed up with being by myself.
After some crouching and whining I decided that comfort food was all I needed; but then I remember this stupid gall-bladder diet!!
So I headed for the supermarket, scouted the Ice Creams section and had to settle for a Fat Free Sorbet... fruity flavor, of course… it’s too much to ask for the Ice Cream makers to develop a Chocolate sorbet??? Where is the "cream" in Sorbet??.. There were supposed to be called: "Ice Fruity flavors, nothing like Ice Cream"
P.L.E.A.S.E! I’m being punished for something… I know it!
Luckily, I got the opportunity to get together with my friends and go to NJ where we had lunch, talked endless hours about us, our husbands, their problems (we are too perfect to be criticized), Yoga lessons (no matter how my girlfriends sold this one to me, I’m not buying it that it’s even an exercise) and of course, recipes.
My husband came home, tired out of his wits and missing me like crazy… it’s nice to know that he was suffering as much as I do while we were apart; even thou he was in a tropical weather, and I was freezing my butt off in a glacial climate.
The best thing to have the house all by yourself is that you don’t have to lower the toilet seat every time you go to the bathroom, you have the TV remote all to yourself (so long to fighting games, winter Olympics, the news, action movies), cooking is out of the question and best of all, you get to sleep late because you don’t have to wake up at 7 am when your husband goes to work everyday (this is only for unemployed wives, as me).
I was looking forward to five days of tranquility and relaxed time… reading is my hobby (or obsession, my friends would say) and I had some pretty interesting subjects to start with.
Buono is a fine companion for these situations, he doesn’t bark (strange quality in a dog), he only eats, drinks his water and visits the balcony twice a day…
Aunt M. is the only member of our families that lives in NYC and we share this routine of getting together over coffee every afternoon.
So my to-do-list wasn’t bursting with events… five days weren’t that bad… were they?
My only problem was that hours on end I spent it home alone, reading or job hunting (searching is too-soft a word for my aggressive application process) or cooking… so I started to really miss my husband’s company.
Well, not all the time… having the TV remote at my command was a good thing… and sleeping late wasn’t that bad… but, by day two I was fed up with being by myself.
After some crouching and whining I decided that comfort food was all I needed; but then I remember this stupid gall-bladder diet!!
So I headed for the supermarket, scouted the Ice Creams section and had to settle for a Fat Free Sorbet... fruity flavor, of course… it’s too much to ask for the Ice Cream makers to develop a Chocolate sorbet??? Where is the "cream" in Sorbet??.. There were supposed to be called: "Ice Fruity flavors, nothing like Ice Cream"
P.L.E.A.S.E! I’m being punished for something… I know it!
Luckily, I got the opportunity to get together with my friends and go to NJ where we had lunch, talked endless hours about us, our husbands, their problems (we are too perfect to be criticized), Yoga lessons (no matter how my girlfriends sold this one to me, I’m not buying it that it’s even an exercise) and of course, recipes.
My husband came home, tired out of his wits and missing me like crazy… it’s nice to know that he was suffering as much as I do while we were apart; even thou he was in a tropical weather, and I was freezing my butt off in a glacial climate.
Monday, February 15, 2010
After Saint Valentine’s Day: all romanticism goes down the sink and you’re back to your regular routine.
As Saturday came to an end, midnight arrived with the starting of a new Valentine’s Day, accompanied by adorable remarks and warm embraces (at least for me, who lives with my better, or other half)… and most of all, the promise of a day filled with mushy love!
My husband and I decided not to give presents to each other… we didn’t talked about it, but as we had made numerous additions to our home’s décor, it was a mutual arrangement to let this one pass and just enjoy the actual meaning of the day: to be together.
As a personal resolution, he decided to accompany me to the cinema and watch the “Valentine’s Day” movie, which was an over the top chick-flick being launched that weekend (so you can imagine how packed the cinema was), but he managed to swallowed all his manhood (as other eighty guys in the theater) and sit by my side in complete and utter silence while I ohhh… and ahhhh… during the two hours film.
He even bought me my favorite frozen yogurt (a praiseworthy chore, considering the freezing temperature outside) and abstained to do any wicked remarks of the movie’s plot or girlie dialogues after it ended.
All in all, it was a regular day for us… minus the chick-flick, and the valentine thing, and the frozen yogurt, and the softie remarks… because, you see, after midnight that Sunday, Cinderella’s carriage was back to being a pumpkin and all the soft feelings that men tend to show during those special occasions, were hidden back again under layers, and layers, and layers of manhood and testosterone (Men.Are.Such.Putz!)
Quite, peaceful Valentine’s days are overrated… I prefer to unleash my exhilarating and joyous self (at least, once in a while) to do crazy stuffs… Prepare for 2011 my dear hubby!!
PS: when my husband starts to read this blog, I can picture his face, completely unimpressed by my wisdom… men!
http://www.valentinesdaymovie.com/#/home
My husband and I decided not to give presents to each other… we didn’t talked about it, but as we had made numerous additions to our home’s décor, it was a mutual arrangement to let this one pass and just enjoy the actual meaning of the day: to be together.
As a personal resolution, he decided to accompany me to the cinema and watch the “Valentine’s Day” movie, which was an over the top chick-flick being launched that weekend (so you can imagine how packed the cinema was), but he managed to swallowed all his manhood (as other eighty guys in the theater) and sit by my side in complete and utter silence while I ohhh… and ahhhh… during the two hours film.
He even bought me my favorite frozen yogurt (a praiseworthy chore, considering the freezing temperature outside) and abstained to do any wicked remarks of the movie’s plot or girlie dialogues after it ended.
All in all, it was a regular day for us… minus the chick-flick, and the valentine thing, and the frozen yogurt, and the softie remarks… because, you see, after midnight that Sunday, Cinderella’s carriage was back to being a pumpkin and all the soft feelings that men tend to show during those special occasions, were hidden back again under layers, and layers, and layers of manhood and testosterone (Men.Are.Such.Putz!)
Quite, peaceful Valentine’s days are overrated… I prefer to unleash my exhilarating and joyous self (at least, once in a while) to do crazy stuffs… Prepare for 2011 my dear hubby!!
PS: when my husband starts to read this blog, I can picture his face, completely unimpressed by my wisdom… men!
http://www.valentinesdaymovie.com/#/home
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Snow, blizzard, white rain, whiteout, flurry… different ways to describe the scenery
Tuesday arrived with a blizzard warning that closed the schools, cleaned the streets from people and crammed the supermarkets with crazy shoppers, supplying their refrigerators for any unexpected event.
By 5 pm, snow had slowed the line of cars to a crawl and our lovely grayed colored city, became a wedding cake in a matter of hours.
As a Latino woman, you can imagine that the thought of going out to the street didn’t even cross my mind; warmer climates are much more appealing.
I stood in front of our balcony window and watched in amazement the incredible process of the city being veiled by a white coat.
After four hours, my amazement became a tedious wait for the white thing to stop pouring from the sky; I mean how much water the clouds can hold!! Stop it already!!
Buono, my dog, was really excited to be let outside and walk the balcony from side to side, stepping every inch of the snowed floor. I don’t know what is with dogs and the white thing, they love it!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful sight to have the opportunity to witness Manhattan covered in snow; but you’re not expecting to be all day inside doors, dying of boredom, waiting for a clear sky to finally be able to go outside and enjoy the scenery.
It’s the Murphy’s Law; when the sky is blue and the sun is out; if you stay at home is by your own choosing, but as soon as it’s prohibited or impossible to go out, then you’re dying to be there, in the middle of the street, suffering a brain freezing cold and covered with all the coats, gloves and scarfs you could get your hands on.
As I didn’t attain to go outside, and I don’t watch the news to be prepared with a full refrigerator, when the night arrived and my husband came back from work, the usual “cereals and milk” dish was offered and served.
Some of us get a cranky husband, and other, like me, get a really smooth one…and I don’t mean his skin… His character!!
By 5 pm, snow had slowed the line of cars to a crawl and our lovely grayed colored city, became a wedding cake in a matter of hours.
As a Latino woman, you can imagine that the thought of going out to the street didn’t even cross my mind; warmer climates are much more appealing.
I stood in front of our balcony window and watched in amazement the incredible process of the city being veiled by a white coat.
After four hours, my amazement became a tedious wait for the white thing to stop pouring from the sky; I mean how much water the clouds can hold!! Stop it already!!
Buono, my dog, was really excited to be let outside and walk the balcony from side to side, stepping every inch of the snowed floor. I don’t know what is with dogs and the white thing, they love it!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful sight to have the opportunity to witness Manhattan covered in snow; but you’re not expecting to be all day inside doors, dying of boredom, waiting for a clear sky to finally be able to go outside and enjoy the scenery.
It’s the Murphy’s Law; when the sky is blue and the sun is out; if you stay at home is by your own choosing, but as soon as it’s prohibited or impossible to go out, then you’re dying to be there, in the middle of the street, suffering a brain freezing cold and covered with all the coats, gloves and scarfs you could get your hands on.
As I didn’t attain to go outside, and I don’t watch the news to be prepared with a full refrigerator, when the night arrived and my husband came back from work, the usual “cereals and milk” dish was offered and served.
Some of us get a cranky husband, and other, like me, get a really smooth one…and I don’t mean his skin… His character!!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Airport, Limousine, Central Park, Smoking and Pictures: how can all come together?
My family arrived for a first-time- three-days-vacation, after almost two years since I got married and moved to New York. Who can blame them for not wanting to accept that their little girl is now a grown-up housewife (soon to be employed, fingers crossed please) in an estranged city… Ok, I’ll give it to you that housewife doesn’t suit me, but you should try my cooking before judging.
So, to make their first Big Apple experience very plump and tasty, we hired a limousine and picked them up at the airport.
We were eight passengers doing sightseeing from the inside of a very luxurious car and making random stops in peculiar places, one of them being the Great Lake in Central Park.
It’s a usual spot for tourist during summer, but with a temperature rounding the -8º C (18º F) and winds running faster than a bullet train, it’s most deserted during winter.
The troop made a bee-line for the Great Lake as soon as the limousine parked along the sidewalk and in a rush of movements, we started taking pictures and shouting order to get everyone on “portrait” mode.
Let me tell you how difficult it is to smile when you get brain freeze by opening your lips, or by lowering the hood from your coat… you get our dilemma to get everyone “picture perfect”.
My father was seizing the moment and lightning a cigarette, enjoying his first smoke after a four hour flight…when suddenly, a multitude of runners appear out of nowhere and threaten our frozenness in front of the camera.
They stopped two meters behind us, trying to squeeze by and continue their exercise.
The leader, a seventy year old guy with tights and a sports hat, came forward, directly to my father and with a non-smiling face asked, very adamant, for the cigarette to be put away.
We looked at each other, glanced at the open sky, the blowing wind, the tall trees, and the enormous park and stared at him in awe disbelief for his strange request.
Who heard such ridicule petition?
We understand that you can’t smoke in closed spaces, but out in the open?
I’m not going to transcribe what my father answered, just let me tell you that if words wouldn’t exist, the guy would most definitely be running the other way without even a glimpse back.
What can I say?
We Argentineans are not comfortable with rules, but we try to play by them in other countries to make a good impression… however, in this particular case, I think that revelry was permitted.
Greetings from a superstar diva riding the city in a lavish drive.
So, to make their first Big Apple experience very plump and tasty, we hired a limousine and picked them up at the airport.
We were eight passengers doing sightseeing from the inside of a very luxurious car and making random stops in peculiar places, one of them being the Great Lake in Central Park.
It’s a usual spot for tourist during summer, but with a temperature rounding the -8º C (18º F) and winds running faster than a bullet train, it’s most deserted during winter.
The troop made a bee-line for the Great Lake as soon as the limousine parked along the sidewalk and in a rush of movements, we started taking pictures and shouting order to get everyone on “portrait” mode.
Let me tell you how difficult it is to smile when you get brain freeze by opening your lips, or by lowering the hood from your coat… you get our dilemma to get everyone “picture perfect”.
My father was seizing the moment and lightning a cigarette, enjoying his first smoke after a four hour flight…when suddenly, a multitude of runners appear out of nowhere and threaten our frozenness in front of the camera.
They stopped two meters behind us, trying to squeeze by and continue their exercise.
The leader, a seventy year old guy with tights and a sports hat, came forward, directly to my father and with a non-smiling face asked, very adamant, for the cigarette to be put away.
We looked at each other, glanced at the open sky, the blowing wind, the tall trees, and the enormous park and stared at him in awe disbelief for his strange request.
Who heard such ridicule petition?
We understand that you can’t smoke in closed spaces, but out in the open?
I’m not going to transcribe what my father answered, just let me tell you that if words wouldn’t exist, the guy would most definitely be running the other way without even a glimpse back.
What can I say?
We Argentineans are not comfortable with rules, but we try to play by them in other countries to make a good impression… however, in this particular case, I think that revelry was permitted.
Greetings from a superstar diva riding the city in a lavish drive.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Lunch with the girls… catching up after winter (or summer, for the other part of the world) vacations
If all your friends are from another country, as they are in my case, when December comes, we all make travel arrangements to go to our home country (or not) and enjoy a nice vacation (or not) with the family (or not)…
As predicted, each one of us comes with a different experience all together, so a meet-up to catch-up it’s a must.
We agreed to visit one of my friend’s house in the upper west side of the city, and in a cold winter day, with a temperature below freezing, we arrived to the convened place to have lunch there.
You always start with the awkward greetings after the Holidays… “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” even though it’s been over a month since that happened… and you try to cheat reality by accounting your vacation events as “the perfect getaway ever!”; your family finally learned how to behave in public, you didn’t have a fist fight with your sister and you and your husband were like love-birds over a tree the entire time that you were away…
Pinocchio must definitely be reincarnated as a girl, because you just did a really nice job auditioning for the part!!
But after a couple of hours (and drinks), the story starts to crumble into pieces and you don’t sound that convincing anymore; like the time you are telling them what a wonderful “going away party” your family did for you, when in fact it was a “go away party”… and in the middle of the sentence you just realized that you blew-it big time!!
So long happy story, hello reality!
Your friends are staring at you, and you don’t know if they are horrified for your lie, grateful to you because they finally can share their true recollections too, or because they’re appalled by the craziness of your family and the fact that you definitely need therapy!
At the end, you learn that everyone has the family that best suits them…
I love my messy relatives, they’re noisy as hell, madness is a given and “composure” it’s an unknown term in they day-to-day lives.
I mean, who can blame them? We most surely need a dose of idiotic behavior once in a while…
Gratefully, I live eight thousand miles away… mess; I can cope with only once a year.
As predicted, each one of us comes with a different experience all together, so a meet-up to catch-up it’s a must.
We agreed to visit one of my friend’s house in the upper west side of the city, and in a cold winter day, with a temperature below freezing, we arrived to the convened place to have lunch there.
You always start with the awkward greetings after the Holidays… “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” even though it’s been over a month since that happened… and you try to cheat reality by accounting your vacation events as “the perfect getaway ever!”; your family finally learned how to behave in public, you didn’t have a fist fight with your sister and you and your husband were like love-birds over a tree the entire time that you were away…
Pinocchio must definitely be reincarnated as a girl, because you just did a really nice job auditioning for the part!!
But after a couple of hours (and drinks), the story starts to crumble into pieces and you don’t sound that convincing anymore; like the time you are telling them what a wonderful “going away party” your family did for you, when in fact it was a “go away party”… and in the middle of the sentence you just realized that you blew-it big time!!
So long happy story, hello reality!
Your friends are staring at you, and you don’t know if they are horrified for your lie, grateful to you because they finally can share their true recollections too, or because they’re appalled by the craziness of your family and the fact that you definitely need therapy!
At the end, you learn that everyone has the family that best suits them…
I love my messy relatives, they’re noisy as hell, madness is a given and “composure” it’s an unknown term in they day-to-day lives.
I mean, who can blame them? We most surely need a dose of idiotic behavior once in a while…
Gratefully, I live eight thousand miles away… mess; I can cope with only once a year.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Movies at the cinema, "always" a “democratic” event
As living residents in one of the continent’s most politically driven countries, my husband and I rely on democratic policies to choose almost anything worth debating for.
The cinema is one controversial matter that always pops-up when we’re deciding which movie to see.
“Chick flicks” are a constant choice in us (women). Always looking for the fairy tale that has the potential to become real and be our saving grace from cinema productions.
Who can stand to see those bullet shooting-police pursuits-action scenes types of movies? It seems that men can, because those are the films that my husband always wants to go see.
So picture this: if in a household you have two members, one being a man (my hubby) and the other one being a gorgeous, funny, loving woman (me)… where’s the democracy in this situation?
A tie-game… and a non-existing democracy… unless (that’s what I love about a democratic system, there’s always a “but”) you’re intelligent enough to withdraw at the right moment and save your energy for a worthy premiere.
In this particular week, we had a girlfriend of mine staying with us and on a rainy day the cinema it’s always a unanimous decision for entertainment.
So I searched the web for movie times (this country can be run with a computer directly from the comfort of your home) and choose the “chickest most flickest” movie ever in the history of “chick flicks” and we headed for the cinema.
I enjoyed the high dosage of love, kisses, pick-up lines and fairy tale… my friend too!
However, you should’ve seen my husband, slumped in his chair, hands in his face, doing disgusted-expressions during the hour and forty minutes that the movie lasted.
Where is the feminine side of men? If it were for my husband’s reaction, I should assume that they definitively don’t have one; or it’s hidden pretty well under all that dark-strong exterior, and on the inside they’re as slushy and comfy as a pillow.
Better not o find out, for slushy and comfy we have women… men need to be macho and stuff.
You’re still wondering: what’s the movie we choose?...
Here’s a hint: There’s always a time and year in life when you can take a leap to achieve something different.
Kisses from a clam, happy as a crustaceous…
Vengeance is a B@#$%, so prepare for the heaviest action movie ever!
www.fandango.com
The cinema is one controversial matter that always pops-up when we’re deciding which movie to see.
“Chick flicks” are a constant choice in us (women). Always looking for the fairy tale that has the potential to become real and be our saving grace from cinema productions.
Who can stand to see those bullet shooting-police pursuits-action scenes types of movies? It seems that men can, because those are the films that my husband always wants to go see.
So picture this: if in a household you have two members, one being a man (my hubby) and the other one being a gorgeous, funny, loving woman (me)… where’s the democracy in this situation?
A tie-game… and a non-existing democracy… unless (that’s what I love about a democratic system, there’s always a “but”) you’re intelligent enough to withdraw at the right moment and save your energy for a worthy premiere.
In this particular week, we had a girlfriend of mine staying with us and on a rainy day the cinema it’s always a unanimous decision for entertainment.
So I searched the web for movie times (this country can be run with a computer directly from the comfort of your home) and choose the “chickest most flickest” movie ever in the history of “chick flicks” and we headed for the cinema.
I enjoyed the high dosage of love, kisses, pick-up lines and fairy tale… my friend too!
However, you should’ve seen my husband, slumped in his chair, hands in his face, doing disgusted-expressions during the hour and forty minutes that the movie lasted.
Where is the feminine side of men? If it were for my husband’s reaction, I should assume that they definitively don’t have one; or it’s hidden pretty well under all that dark-strong exterior, and on the inside they’re as slushy and comfy as a pillow.
Better not o find out, for slushy and comfy we have women… men need to be macho and stuff.
You’re still wondering: what’s the movie we choose?...
Here’s a hint: There’s always a time and year in life when you can take a leap to achieve something different.
Kisses from a clam, happy as a crustaceous…
Vengeance is a B@#$%, so prepare for the heaviest action movie ever!
www.fandango.com
Friday, January 22, 2010
Eighteen days of dieting and my metabolism doesn’t take the hint
It’s been more than two weeks since I was forbidden to eat anything with fat or cream or butter or sugar… the list goes on and on.
However, as usual, I haven’t lost more than three pounds; which it’s nothing considering the obligatory effort I’m doing, because my lazy metabolism it’s in the wrong page of the book… lost as always.
Realistically, if heaven would be the good naughty things that we have in life and give us pleasure and joy… and hell would be the flat-out boring things (like low-cholesterol, fat free, no-sugar… puaj!); I’m definitely a “heaven girl”; probably that’s where I’m going in the after life, I say probably because my gall-bladder removal crushed all my chances to being an angel in the white paradise, because with this diet I’m definitely destined to be at the bottom of the flame-burning hell.
My current alimentary chart is missing a lot of levels; the size of my stomach is more or less, the size of a pea, my clothes are non-loose fitting (no-change there) and I still can’t sleep in a comfortable position because my inner-things push at my internal scars when I try to get at ease while I rest.
And you imagine what I have to endure when is dinner time and I have a non-dieting husband to feed?
He: Honey, its dinner ready?
Me: Ohh… yeah!, come sit at the table.
He: what’s this? salad? (he’s thinking: grass?)
Me: sweet bunny, do you remember our wedding vows? … for better and for worse… ring a bell? (I’m thinking: if I have to eat cardboard, so do you)
Needless to say that cereals and milk are a constant menu for my husband’s dinner now… twelve days more to go until I can start adding items to my diet… come to mama dear heaven!
However, as usual, I haven’t lost more than three pounds; which it’s nothing considering the obligatory effort I’m doing, because my lazy metabolism it’s in the wrong page of the book… lost as always.
Realistically, if heaven would be the good naughty things that we have in life and give us pleasure and joy… and hell would be the flat-out boring things (like low-cholesterol, fat free, no-sugar… puaj!); I’m definitely a “heaven girl”; probably that’s where I’m going in the after life, I say probably because my gall-bladder removal crushed all my chances to being an angel in the white paradise, because with this diet I’m definitely destined to be at the bottom of the flame-burning hell.
My current alimentary chart is missing a lot of levels; the size of my stomach is more or less, the size of a pea, my clothes are non-loose fitting (no-change there) and I still can’t sleep in a comfortable position because my inner-things push at my internal scars when I try to get at ease while I rest.
And you imagine what I have to endure when is dinner time and I have a non-dieting husband to feed?
He: Honey, its dinner ready?
Me: Ohh… yeah!, come sit at the table.
He: what’s this? salad? (he’s thinking: grass?)
Me: sweet bunny, do you remember our wedding vows? … for better and for worse… ring a bell? (I’m thinking: if I have to eat cardboard, so do you)
Needless to say that cereals and milk are a constant menu for my husband’s dinner now… twelve days more to go until I can start adding items to my diet… come to mama dear heaven!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Prepping for a job interview… more difficult than the interview itself
I don’t have an established routine to drive me through the day… this is a permanent fact for us, unemployed people, so I try to cope with “unscheduled” on a daily basis.
Most of the time I don’t even know what day is or if it’s already lunch-hour or time to prepare for dinner or if my husband is almost arriving or not even close to.
So in the particular day when you have an appointment for a job interview, I start to prepare two days prior to the big event.
First I cleared my agenda (housekeeping and “housewifeing” are tasks for another day) and made arrangements to do my nails.
As I arrived to my usual salon, I couldn’t decide in what color to wear.
Is it light-pink too plain? As a marketing professional, do I need to stand out with a red color… a burgundy? Tough decision when you’ve to decide on a nail polish, it’s a choice that will live with you for the remaining seven-days of the week and it has to combine with your clothes during that period.
I opted for the red one, because I’m blond, and because we can… blonds I mean…red is our most engaging color (excuse the immodesty… someone has to brag for me)
After the salon, I came home and moved my whole closet to the bed… not that I have a lot of “working professional clothes”, but when you don’t use them that often, you kind of forget them and don’t remember what you have… so, to enlighten my head I tried a handful of combinations, choose the most promising ones, and then I exhausted four hours putting everything back in place.
When my husband came home, he found me doing a modeling show in front our tiny bathroom mirror (we’re definitely investing on a head-to-toe mirror soon) and trying different make-ups and styles.
He helped me in the final stages of the decision-making-process (talking sophisticated helps with my interviews) and I went to sleep with a knot in my stomach and a small prayer tucked under my pillow.
Safe to know that everything went splendid! Hope this is the one!
I will not change the name of the blog, but I’m really hoping that this would be my year!!
Married and soon to be employed greets you from NYC!
Most of the time I don’t even know what day is or if it’s already lunch-hour or time to prepare for dinner or if my husband is almost arriving or not even close to.
So in the particular day when you have an appointment for a job interview, I start to prepare two days prior to the big event.
First I cleared my agenda (housekeeping and “housewifeing” are tasks for another day) and made arrangements to do my nails.
As I arrived to my usual salon, I couldn’t decide in what color to wear.
Is it light-pink too plain? As a marketing professional, do I need to stand out with a red color… a burgundy? Tough decision when you’ve to decide on a nail polish, it’s a choice that will live with you for the remaining seven-days of the week and it has to combine with your clothes during that period.
I opted for the red one, because I’m blond, and because we can… blonds I mean…red is our most engaging color (excuse the immodesty… someone has to brag for me)
After the salon, I came home and moved my whole closet to the bed… not that I have a lot of “working professional clothes”, but when you don’t use them that often, you kind of forget them and don’t remember what you have… so, to enlighten my head I tried a handful of combinations, choose the most promising ones, and then I exhausted four hours putting everything back in place.
When my husband came home, he found me doing a modeling show in front our tiny bathroom mirror (we’re definitely investing on a head-to-toe mirror soon) and trying different make-ups and styles.
He helped me in the final stages of the decision-making-process (talking sophisticated helps with my interviews) and I went to sleep with a knot in my stomach and a small prayer tucked under my pillow.
Safe to know that everything went splendid! Hope this is the one!
I will not change the name of the blog, but I’m really hoping that this would be my year!!
Married and soon to be employed greets you from NYC!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Back to my routine… well, more or less
My first days at home have been pretty slow, and I’m not referring to the fact that we’re back to our habitual non-vacational schedule but to the fact that I move like a turtle… in slow motion… so you can imagine the little things I’ve accomplished regarding the unpacking, arranging Christmas gifts… even laundry takes me a ton of time!
I’m unable to floss my teeth without wincing as I put my arms up to my face, or bending to pick up something without looking incapacitated.
Even my dog has realized that I’m not my usual self because he’s not expecting me to feed him every morning, nor change his water… he just waits as the hours of the morning pass and I’ve only consummated menial tasks and not yet arrived to the kitchen.
I’ve a constant rumbling in my stomach (can’t say that I blame the poor guy because he hasn’t received anything worth digesting in the past few days) and I cheat hunger with a huge cup of tea and some toasts, pouring cereal or lifting the milk jug it’s too difficult to manage so I cry defeat without even trying… so much for my Italian heritage and super woman Latino force.
My husband has been helping all he can while I’m recovering…
I receive him seated on the couch, waiting for the door to burst open at six pm and with a to-do-list in my hands. He runs around our home and tries to comply with my petitions… I say “tries” because, let’s face it, it’s not an easy task to satisfy your grumpy bossy wife yapping away while she’s laying on the sofa and you’re doing all the hard work and she’s still using the “sick” card to evade housewife duties.
I've already read two books, saw all my TV series, applied to a hundred jobs, wrote like four more postings in this blog, uploaded new pics from our trip in Facebook, emailed, skyped, chatted, bossed around and I’m still bored out of my mind!!
I can’t wait to be back in full-mode-me… I think my husband is hoping for it to be soon, because if not, I’ll be a homeless, dogless, husbandless post-op recovering patient, with a authority complex and a cranky mood.
Friday, January 15, 2010
I'm coming home baby
Well, me, the stitches in my belly, two pillows for my pain, four overweight bags, my purse, the laptop case, and of course, my dear, loving, best-in-the-world, strong as a horse, husband.
Because, you know that when you’re in a post-op (with twelve stitches I might add) is humanly impossible to carry anything other than yourself and the clothes you’re wearing, because God forbid that I end up with a rupture in my wound and a huge scar in my stomach… okay, maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion considering the finger-tips sizes of my cuts, but nonetheless, like I always say: Safety first!... well, not always but in this occasion, I’m sure it was worth it.
So there I was, standing all by myself in a huge line in the airport, holding my belly to make it look completely real, and there he was (my husband, I mean), surrounded by bags, cases… you name it!
I was feeling for him… not that much, but enough to want to help him, so in my solidary soul, I search all my inner strength and I grabbed… my purse.
What were you expecting?! I’m a post-op patient; there should be rules against doing any effort at all!!… I’ll check into that for next time, not that I want a next time… just saying.
The positive news is that I never was a Tote-bag kind of girl, I always preferred the clutches, small purses… so if for a minute there you were getting worried for my health, a two pound bag wasn’t all that bad, I think with all the dieting I did after the operation, those two pounds were only a reminder of my weight four days before… so, no biggie!!
Thus, with my small purse and my husband’s goodwill to move our entire luggage during our waiting time in line, we finally arrived to the check-in point at the Airport.
I’m not a big actress, but I definitely learned how to lie in my adolescent years, so I put my best victim-in-pain face and I positioned myself in front of the airline’s employee.
The New York – Buenos Aires – New York route is really busy on this time of the year, so it’s a long shot to receive anything more that what you paid for.
Remembering Jerry Maguire’s movie, I said to her: What can YOU do for ME? (I think it was the other way around in the movie, but… who cares) and as a hocus-pocus spell, we were moved to the first row of the plane, with enough room to stretch our legs and near the aisle for my always demanding bladder.
Twenty hours and a connection flight later we got home with the need to be in a horizontal position, on my comfy bed.
So long throbbing pains, take these pills!!
Because, you know that when you’re in a post-op (with twelve stitches I might add) is humanly impossible to carry anything other than yourself and the clothes you’re wearing, because God forbid that I end up with a rupture in my wound and a huge scar in my stomach… okay, maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion considering the finger-tips sizes of my cuts, but nonetheless, like I always say: Safety first!... well, not always but in this occasion, I’m sure it was worth it.
So there I was, standing all by myself in a huge line in the airport, holding my belly to make it look completely real, and there he was (my husband, I mean), surrounded by bags, cases… you name it!
I was feeling for him… not that much, but enough to want to help him, so in my solidary soul, I search all my inner strength and I grabbed… my purse.
What were you expecting?! I’m a post-op patient; there should be rules against doing any effort at all!!… I’ll check into that for next time, not that I want a next time… just saying.
The positive news is that I never was a Tote-bag kind of girl, I always preferred the clutches, small purses… so if for a minute there you were getting worried for my health, a two pound bag wasn’t all that bad, I think with all the dieting I did after the operation, those two pounds were only a reminder of my weight four days before… so, no biggie!!
Thus, with my small purse and my husband’s goodwill to move our entire luggage during our waiting time in line, we finally arrived to the check-in point at the Airport.
I’m not a big actress, but I definitely learned how to lie in my adolescent years, so I put my best victim-in-pain face and I positioned myself in front of the airline’s employee.
The New York – Buenos Aires – New York route is really busy on this time of the year, so it’s a long shot to receive anything more that what you paid for.
Remembering Jerry Maguire’s movie, I said to her: What can YOU do for ME? (I think it was the other way around in the movie, but… who cares) and as a hocus-pocus spell, we were moved to the first row of the plane, with enough room to stretch our legs and near the aisle for my always demanding bladder.
Twenty hours and a connection flight later we got home with the need to be in a horizontal position, on my comfy bed.
So long throbbing pains, take these pills!!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Damaged goods and no Post-OP recovery
Twelve hours after my operation I was back at home with a three-page list of things I couldn’t eat, indications NOT to be laying down and many, many walks to help my stomach move…function… you know what I mean: pelvic movements.
What a crappy recovery is this?
I wasn’t even being pampered.
Other than not being allowed to carry anything, I was just like my old self… except without an organ… and four holes in my stomach… and a pillow stick to my behind for occasional ache… and pain-killers (which luckly, improved my mood… I’m talking really strong ones).
My doctor really went out of his way to make this recovery as mild and unnecessary as possible, I was hoping for a: laying-on-my-back-food-to-my-room-TV-all-you-want type of recovery, instead I got the: walk-all-you-can-move-your-valves-release-the-gases-eat-healthy type.
And I was even allowed to travel!
I mean… what was this doctor thinking to allow me to get on a plane for a twenty-hour flight? Doesn’t he have one iota of compassion?
In Buenos Aires we were suffering the highest temperatures ever and I couldn’t even go into the pool, but a plane was okay… I tell you, medicine is going down the toilet (regards to my twin sister, the doctor-to-be in the family).
And the worst part was the annoying family follow-up phone calls… people always manages to ask the same thing when you’re sick:
How did this happen? (abrupt pain… really unexpected… no, I didn’t feel anything before this episode) Did it hurt? (I was medicated as a horse) Does it hurt now? (still medicated as a horse).
Don’t people know that if you had a stomach operation, when you talk you build up the gases in your belly? I had to reduce my answers to one to two syllables at the end:
sudden... no…hmpt!
They called the least talkative soon-to-be-recovered patient in the history of the gallbladder-removal-operation.
So now, I have to find joy in eating a lousy apple (not even the serpent wanted this boring fruit)… I fell like an eighty-year-old who’s not allowed to eat anything for fear of her to die… I'm completely attuned with my grandfather’s complaints now, I’m a twenty-five year old housewife, looking for a job in a new city, with a freezing cold weather and I can’t even have a warming heavy meal for the next decade or so…
My sweet-tooth is retiring early; so long dear friend… you’ll be missed.
What a crappy recovery is this?
I wasn’t even being pampered.
Other than not being allowed to carry anything, I was just like my old self… except without an organ… and four holes in my stomach… and a pillow stick to my behind for occasional ache… and pain-killers (which luckly, improved my mood… I’m talking really strong ones).
My doctor really went out of his way to make this recovery as mild and unnecessary as possible, I was hoping for a: laying-on-my-back-food-to-my-room-TV-all-you-want type of recovery, instead I got the: walk-all-you-can-move-your-valves-release-the-gases-eat-healthy type.
And I was even allowed to travel!
I mean… what was this doctor thinking to allow me to get on a plane for a twenty-hour flight? Doesn’t he have one iota of compassion?
In Buenos Aires we were suffering the highest temperatures ever and I couldn’t even go into the pool, but a plane was okay… I tell you, medicine is going down the toilet (regards to my twin sister, the doctor-to-be in the family).
And the worst part was the annoying family follow-up phone calls… people always manages to ask the same thing when you’re sick:
How did this happen? (abrupt pain… really unexpected… no, I didn’t feel anything before this episode) Did it hurt? (I was medicated as a horse) Does it hurt now? (still medicated as a horse).
Don’t people know that if you had a stomach operation, when you talk you build up the gases in your belly? I had to reduce my answers to one to two syllables at the end:
sudden... no…hmpt!
They called the least talkative soon-to-be-recovered patient in the history of the gallbladder-removal-operation.
So now, I have to find joy in eating a lousy apple (not even the serpent wanted this boring fruit)… I fell like an eighty-year-old who’s not allowed to eat anything for fear of her to die… I'm completely attuned with my grandfather’s complaints now, I’m a twenty-five year old housewife, looking for a job in a new city, with a freezing cold weather and I can’t even have a warming heavy meal for the next decade or so…
My sweet-tooth is retiring early; so long dear friend… you’ll be missed.
Monday, January 11, 2010
A stop in the E.R.: four holes, ten stitches and an organ removal later…
With my body aching all over, seating in a ninety-degree position and a huge pillow holding my butt, we started our four-hour trip back to Buenos Aires.
My father can’t deal with traffic, so we did most of our travelling by night, arriving tired and hungry at four am the next day.
At six am I woke up with a pressing pain in my esophagus, and being a member of a pharmaceutical industry connoisseurs’ family, I decided that it was a heartburn and I popped two Omeprazole… after 45 minutes of being seated in the couch (laying wasn’t an option, even if my coccyx was killing me), taking water, a glass of milk and even a spoonful of salt and warm water (for nausea), I arrived to my father’s bedroom and pleaded for something stronger because this heartburn was eating my esophagus and my stomach was next.
He took one look at me, pondered wether it was worth it to wake up after only three hours sleep, and decided against his judgment to keep resting when he realized I was with bloodshot eyes and twisting in pain.
So the Grand Connoisseur declared (yet again) a heartburn, gave me two Ranitidine and went back to sleep. An hour later, seeing that the pain wasn’t receding, I decided to call my stepmom who very patiently gave me yet another medicine for heartburn; so after five hours, I was still grabbing my stomach, folded in half, trying not to throw-up and with fever/cold switching episodes.
One’s body can take so much, so I grabbed the phone and without the ability to even speak coherently I tried to explain to some operator that I wanted a doctor to be sent and explained that: NO, IT ISN’T HEARTBURN… HOW DO I KNOW?! BECAUSE I ALREADY TOOK EVERY POSSIBLE MEDICATION FOR THAT CONDITION AND IT HASN’T GET BETTER… He was impressed with my pharmaceutical experience and thirty minutes later, a doctor was examining me at home.
The physician declared it to be a “really strong gastritis” and without further ado prescribed me with two different drugs and left.
Needless to say that after six hours, five drugs and a doctor visit later, my stepmom realized that it wasn’t heartburn, or gastritis, or stomach-ache, or indigestion and we headed straight for the E.R.
With one look at my face, the attending doctor called the condition by its correct name: gallbladder stones; and with one echography, a blood test, and two very-strong analgesics diluted in an I.V. saline solution (complete bliss) I was assigned an O.R. and operated.
The next day I arrived at home seating in a ninety-degree position, the same pillow on my butt, four holes in my stomach with a total of ten stitches, minus an organ, a thirty-day diet and a learned lesson not to medicate myself, even if it means that I’m almost sure what I have (the key word-to-be: COMPLETLY)
Regards from a convalescent patient, drugged as a horse and 10 pounds lighter-to-be... so long pastries and cakes
My father can’t deal with traffic, so we did most of our travelling by night, arriving tired and hungry at four am the next day.
At six am I woke up with a pressing pain in my esophagus, and being a member of a pharmaceutical industry connoisseurs’ family, I decided that it was a heartburn and I popped two Omeprazole… after 45 minutes of being seated in the couch (laying wasn’t an option, even if my coccyx was killing me), taking water, a glass of milk and even a spoonful of salt and warm water (for nausea), I arrived to my father’s bedroom and pleaded for something stronger because this heartburn was eating my esophagus and my stomach was next.
He took one look at me, pondered wether it was worth it to wake up after only three hours sleep, and decided against his judgment to keep resting when he realized I was with bloodshot eyes and twisting in pain.
So the Grand Connoisseur declared (yet again) a heartburn, gave me two Ranitidine and went back to sleep. An hour later, seeing that the pain wasn’t receding, I decided to call my stepmom who very patiently gave me yet another medicine for heartburn; so after five hours, I was still grabbing my stomach, folded in half, trying not to throw-up and with fever/cold switching episodes.
One’s body can take so much, so I grabbed the phone and without the ability to even speak coherently I tried to explain to some operator that I wanted a doctor to be sent and explained that: NO, IT ISN’T HEARTBURN… HOW DO I KNOW?! BECAUSE I ALREADY TOOK EVERY POSSIBLE MEDICATION FOR THAT CONDITION AND IT HASN’T GET BETTER… He was impressed with my pharmaceutical experience and thirty minutes later, a doctor was examining me at home.
The physician declared it to be a “really strong gastritis” and without further ado prescribed me with two different drugs and left.
Needless to say that after six hours, five drugs and a doctor visit later, my stepmom realized that it wasn’t heartburn, or gastritis, or stomach-ache, or indigestion and we headed straight for the E.R.
With one look at my face, the attending doctor called the condition by its correct name: gallbladder stones; and with one echography, a blood test, and two very-strong analgesics diluted in an I.V. saline solution (complete bliss) I was assigned an O.R. and operated.
The next day I arrived at home seating in a ninety-degree position, the same pillow on my butt, four holes in my stomach with a total of ten stitches, minus an organ, a thirty-day diet and a learned lesson not to medicate myself, even if it means that I’m almost sure what I have (the key word-to-be: COMPLETLY)
Regards from a convalescent patient, drugged as a horse and 10 pounds lighter-to-be... so long pastries and cakes
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Drive calves to a fattening-farm and don't die trying!
After a hell of a plunge and two days of mild rest to recover from my coccyx’s injury I decided to joined the horseback riders’ party to drive four hundred and sixty calves, thirteen kilometers to another field where they gain weight and then, bye bye little “calvies”… if you know what I mean.
However, who could manage to stay seated with this pain?! So I hop on a four-wheel and became the water-carrier for the occasion.
On that particular day, the sun shined on all his glory, and the coward little clouds were nowhere to be seen. The temperature was in its high 35º C (95º F) and the steam that the heart gave off was like riding inside a huge sauna.
My father was giving orders (as his usual self) and with a colossal task at hands, we started our way.
The calves are inexperience “little” creatures (whoever named them as baby cattle, didn’t know S… about sizes) who have never been herd to another place before, so no matter the road ahead, the rider showing them the way or us in the back pushing forward for them to move… they figured that running right and left was the correct approach.
As the injured one, I could've stay seated in the shadow of a tree and waited for the commotion to pass… but this damn temper of mine couldn’t stand inefficiency (the calves’… obviously!) so I grabbed my… bottle of water (ugh!) and headed for the thickest, most impenetrable underbrush to drive the calves back on the road.
One thing you learn while herding cattle, it’s if you get one, only one, to move in the right direction, the rest will follow…
So, there I was, swinging my bottle of water at them, screaming all this strange noises (a practical joke from our forearm who told us that they get scare by them), hunched like an old lady, with a hand in my lower back and trying with all my might to move thirty-five standing bodies from a big-ass bush, full of thorns and bugs… when the only thing that really did the trick was my little brother’s imaginative self, who turn-on the four-wheel and accelerated the engine, to make it sound like a motor-saw, and just like that, all thirty-five calves run towards the nearest exit… the road ahead.
So, the next time that you’re in a country house, doing farm labor, with precarious utensils and traditional methods… bring your top-of-the-line, high tech four-wheel.
Greetings from an injured/temperamental laborer
However, who could manage to stay seated with this pain?! So I hop on a four-wheel and became the water-carrier for the occasion.
On that particular day, the sun shined on all his glory, and the coward little clouds were nowhere to be seen. The temperature was in its high 35º C (95º F) and the steam that the heart gave off was like riding inside a huge sauna.
My father was giving orders (as his usual self) and with a colossal task at hands, we started our way.
The calves are inexperience “little” creatures (whoever named them as baby cattle, didn’t know S… about sizes) who have never been herd to another place before, so no matter the road ahead, the rider showing them the way or us in the back pushing forward for them to move… they figured that running right and left was the correct approach.
As the injured one, I could've stay seated in the shadow of a tree and waited for the commotion to pass… but this damn temper of mine couldn’t stand inefficiency (the calves’… obviously!) so I grabbed my… bottle of water (ugh!) and headed for the thickest, most impenetrable underbrush to drive the calves back on the road.
One thing you learn while herding cattle, it’s if you get one, only one, to move in the right direction, the rest will follow…
So, there I was, swinging my bottle of water at them, screaming all this strange noises (a practical joke from our forearm who told us that they get scare by them), hunched like an old lady, with a hand in my lower back and trying with all my might to move thirty-five standing bodies from a big-ass bush, full of thorns and bugs… when the only thing that really did the trick was my little brother’s imaginative self, who turn-on the four-wheel and accelerated the engine, to make it sound like a motor-saw, and just like that, all thirty-five calves run towards the nearest exit… the road ahead.
So, the next time that you’re in a country house, doing farm labor, with precarious utensils and traditional methods… bring your top-of-the-line, high tech four-wheel.
Greetings from an injured/temperamental laborer
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Polo injuries: an elite game for a lousy player
After a peaceful and relaxed time alone with my hubby, we headed back to my father’s country house to spend New Year’s Eve with the family.
The assortments of activities that you have to endure, while being my father’s daughter, are numerous and risky… "NO" it’s not an option, because for him, his first three daughters are in fact, his high-endurance, super-power, always willing three first children. It doesn’t matter the long hair, manicured nails, waxed legs and feminine manners; no sire! (Sagittarius guys are a pain in the butt, no offense to my future brother-in-law).
So in the particular day of the end of the year and the starting of a new decade, at 8 pm, with a temperature of 32º C (90º F), which felt like a furnace, and a humidity of 99.9% (my recent sleeky hair was a mess, a smoothing product can take so much… do you hear the irony?) I was up in a horse, with a taco (or polo mallet) and a helmet running around chasing a small white ball in the field playing Polo (or attempting to play).
We looked like stupid (definitely unintelligent) people being led by completely clever, bright beasts… they wanted to run to the fence and get out of there! (Why didn’t I listen?)
So after exactly four minutes and five seconds, in a slow-motion play, where I was almost hitting the ball in the right place for a change (almost being the key word in this sentence), the smart horse grasped his chance to escape and while I was aiming my body in the direction of the ball, he was aiming his body for the door… needless to say that I ended butt-first in the lawn (in a frozen portrait you could see my “F…” face, the potent angry one) with a hoof tattooed on my back and a acute pain in my coccyx.
The last day of the year, I spend it laying in a mattress on the floor, with twenty-three pillows, two blankets, drugged with analgesics and the awful realization that:
I HAVE TO LEARN TO SAY NO!!
Damn this italian heritage of wanting to be an almighty woman, when in fact I'm an adult latino female with a superiority complex and a damaged butt... So long comfy seats.
The assortments of activities that you have to endure, while being my father’s daughter, are numerous and risky… "NO" it’s not an option, because for him, his first three daughters are in fact, his high-endurance, super-power, always willing three first children. It doesn’t matter the long hair, manicured nails, waxed legs and feminine manners; no sire! (Sagittarius guys are a pain in the butt, no offense to my future brother-in-law).
So in the particular day of the end of the year and the starting of a new decade, at 8 pm, with a temperature of 32º C (90º F), which felt like a furnace, and a humidity of 99.9% (my recent sleeky hair was a mess, a smoothing product can take so much… do you hear the irony?) I was up in a horse, with a taco (or polo mallet) and a helmet running around chasing a small white ball in the field playing Polo (or attempting to play).
We looked like stupid (definitely unintelligent) people being led by completely clever, bright beasts… they wanted to run to the fence and get out of there! (Why didn’t I listen?)
So after exactly four minutes and five seconds, in a slow-motion play, where I was almost hitting the ball in the right place for a change (almost being the key word in this sentence), the smart horse grasped his chance to escape and while I was aiming my body in the direction of the ball, he was aiming his body for the door… needless to say that I ended butt-first in the lawn (in a frozen portrait you could see my “F…” face, the potent angry one) with a hoof tattooed on my back and a acute pain in my coccyx.
The last day of the year, I spend it laying in a mattress on the floor, with twenty-three pillows, two blankets, drugged with analgesics and the awful realization that:
I HAVE TO LEARN TO SAY NO!!
Damn this italian heritage of wanting to be an almighty woman, when in fact I'm an adult latino female with a superiority complex and a damaged butt... So long comfy seats.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Getting together once a year while organizing a family picture: a titan´s task!!
This entry is dedicated to my BFF who reminded me of the nice occasion (NOT), where we took our yearly family picture…
While I was voiceless (greetings to my patience who´s back in my body, as well as my voice… nice timing you too!!) in my grandparents’ house, we organized a big lunch with my six uncles, their wives and husbands, and of course, us… their sons.
We make a total of forty-six people, without including my husband, and my sister´s husband to-be (still without “legal” rights to appear in the family picture), with three pairs of twins; thirteen blonds, two old people (my grandparents of course!), six dyed blond, twenty brown hair (it´s a wonder that we don´t have a redhead), thirty-four cousins being younger than twenty-six, the age of my big sister, and of course: all forty-six dreading the family portrait.
After ingesting a huge amount of food and desserts (the table looked like a buffett from a hotel before the ravenous attack) we were called like a herd, the key words for a no-show being: “Picture time!”, and after forty-five minutes of dragging kids from every hole in the house, we finally succeeded in getting everyone together in the same spot (and you wonder why I lost my voice – and patience).
Luckily, we have a big lawn where we all fit (almost). We were arranged by age, my big sister in the top, and then, all thirty-four cousins behind her. I attached the picture for the skeptical readers who need proof… You see what I mean when I´m apprehensive for a family vacation??
While I was voiceless (greetings to my patience who´s back in my body, as well as my voice… nice timing you too!!) in my grandparents’ house, we organized a big lunch with my six uncles, their wives and husbands, and of course, us… their sons.
We make a total of forty-six people, without including my husband, and my sister´s husband to-be (still without “legal” rights to appear in the family picture), with three pairs of twins; thirteen blonds, two old people (my grandparents of course!), six dyed blond, twenty brown hair (it´s a wonder that we don´t have a redhead), thirty-four cousins being younger than twenty-six, the age of my big sister, and of course: all forty-six dreading the family portrait.
After ingesting a huge amount of food and desserts (the table looked like a buffett from a hotel before the ravenous attack) we were called like a herd, the key words for a no-show being: “Picture time!”, and after forty-five minutes of dragging kids from every hole in the house, we finally succeeded in getting everyone together in the same spot (and you wonder why I lost my voice – and patience).
Luckily, we have a big lawn where we all fit (almost). We were arranged by age, my big sister in the top, and then, all thirty-four cousins behind her. I attached the picture for the skeptical readers who need proof… You see what I mean when I´m apprehensive for a family vacation??
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Back online after days without internet connection or cellular service
After Christmas, my husband and I decided to spend time by ourselves (a rare commodity when you´re visiting the family) and travel to Cordoba, an Argentinean province with beautiful sightseeing surrounded by mountains.
We decided to part on the 26th of December, with my husband driving and I, as the copilot… the one that reads the map, hands the snacks and beverages, screams when the car almost hits a pedestrian… typical stuff.
A non-stopping rain accompanied us from the beginning. After two hours on the road, we were deviated to another route because the path was water-flooded… with my map in hand and the sky pouring we chose another course, losing almost one hour in the process until we arrived to a major highway where the traffic was faster and safer.
However, as in most third world countries, only major cities are connected with well-tended roads. So, with another divert we ended up in a 20 km dirt road in a 500 kilos heavy car with no use of the four wheel drive (occupational hazards of an armored car).
It was truly a crisis, so when the (out of the blue) heavy rain caught us in the middle of the road, and the mud started to build up, we started grabbing the map, my husband swatting at the wheel and shouting like a mad man... I felt for him, I´m totally incompetent at understanding and being down to heart when I´m being shout at, but in that moment, I simply watched ahead and gave instructions: TURN THE HELL BACK!! (In a softly, low manner… of course)
Needless to say that we arrived with a knot in the stomach, the car covered in mud, a non-existent patience and all the need to be back at home, being looked after and pampered by our family… but it was only a tiny, minuscule moment…luckily we kept our wishes to stay with our mini-vacations in an inhospitable place, with no cellular signal, no Wi-Fi, no electricity, no pavement and, especially, no neighbors…
Entertainment wasn´t a problem though...
Beep beep beep… OUT OF COVERAGE AREA
We decided to part on the 26th of December, with my husband driving and I, as the copilot… the one that reads the map, hands the snacks and beverages, screams when the car almost hits a pedestrian… typical stuff.
A non-stopping rain accompanied us from the beginning. After two hours on the road, we were deviated to another route because the path was water-flooded… with my map in hand and the sky pouring we chose another course, losing almost one hour in the process until we arrived to a major highway where the traffic was faster and safer.
However, as in most third world countries, only major cities are connected with well-tended roads. So, with another divert we ended up in a 20 km dirt road in a 500 kilos heavy car with no use of the four wheel drive (occupational hazards of an armored car).
It was truly a crisis, so when the (out of the blue) heavy rain caught us in the middle of the road, and the mud started to build up, we started grabbing the map, my husband swatting at the wheel and shouting like a mad man... I felt for him, I´m totally incompetent at understanding and being down to heart when I´m being shout at, but in that moment, I simply watched ahead and gave instructions: TURN THE HELL BACK!! (In a softly, low manner… of course)
Needless to say that we arrived with a knot in the stomach, the car covered in mud, a non-existent patience and all the need to be back at home, being looked after and pampered by our family… but it was only a tiny, minuscule moment…luckily we kept our wishes to stay with our mini-vacations in an inhospitable place, with no cellular signal, no Wi-Fi, no electricity, no pavement and, especially, no neighbors…
Entertainment wasn´t a problem though...
Beep beep beep… OUT OF COVERAGE AREA
Monday, December 21, 2009
Beta carotene, suntan, carrots and sunglasses... 4 different words, and "me" as their converging point
After an awful rain on Saturday (I can´t cope with humidity… neither does my hair), we decided to go for a ride in the Delta river with my family and some friends that were visiting as well.
It was a gorgeous day, the sun was up and I was looking forward to lie down quietly and soak in the heat and the wind… and then reality hit and I took in the situation: confined in a 40 feet long boat with 13 people and be able to relax, I mean, am I crazy?
We always have the different music tastes that collide together and leads to a fight for iPod control… reggeaton it´s the preferred choice but who can stand it more than a couple of hours? (No disrespect to Wisin & Yandel, whom I really like!) and then, my father with his 12 years of Caribbean living wants Merengue and Salsa (not the food!), as well as my husband… and I wanted complete silence (why haven´t someone invented a song of “nothing”? It would be a huge success with me as the number one fan!).
13 hungry people and being late to set sail is not a good combination; so besides having to manage the music I had to deal with eating the same thing as the day before; don´t get me wrong, I love Argentinean food, but is variety too much to ask?
With these two mood downers; having a tan with the shape of your sunglasses stuck to your face and the line of the sun block all over your arms was a walk in the park (or hell)… I got home with a raging need to take a cold shower, being red as a shrimp as I was, and not even a cream embalming could calm it…
Why is it that I have to inherit the worst family treats? Why can´t I have a perfect suntan in a smooth brown tone instead of this over-exposed-to-sun white skin (now pink/red)?
I´ll have to wait for it to tone down soaked in a bathtub full of ice… Not even carrots can save me from this!
http://www.allaboutar.com/st_tigre.htm
It was a gorgeous day, the sun was up and I was looking forward to lie down quietly and soak in the heat and the wind… and then reality hit and I took in the situation: confined in a 40 feet long boat with 13 people and be able to relax, I mean, am I crazy?
We always have the different music tastes that collide together and leads to a fight for iPod control… reggeaton it´s the preferred choice but who can stand it more than a couple of hours? (No disrespect to Wisin & Yandel, whom I really like!) and then, my father with his 12 years of Caribbean living wants Merengue and Salsa (not the food!), as well as my husband… and I wanted complete silence (why haven´t someone invented a song of “nothing”? It would be a huge success with me as the number one fan!).
13 hungry people and being late to set sail is not a good combination; so besides having to manage the music I had to deal with eating the same thing as the day before; don´t get me wrong, I love Argentinean food, but is variety too much to ask?
With these two mood downers; having a tan with the shape of your sunglasses stuck to your face and the line of the sun block all over your arms was a walk in the park (or hell)… I got home with a raging need to take a cold shower, being red as a shrimp as I was, and not even a cream embalming could calm it…
Why is it that I have to inherit the worst family treats? Why can´t I have a perfect suntan in a smooth brown tone instead of this over-exposed-to-sun white skin (now pink/red)?
I´ll have to wait for it to tone down soaked in a bathtub full of ice… Not even carrots can save me from this!
http://www.allaboutar.com/st_tigre.htm
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Family reunions and their awkward moments... nothing can save me from this one!
Yesterday we celebrated my father´s birthday… differently to a family reunion in other countries, every time we get together we have a huge barbecue (asado is the word we use) and lots of wine. We also have music (the really loud type) but you don´t get a police visit sent by a grumpy neighbor no matter the volume level and no matter the time… at least, not if it´s a weekend.
As a visitor in your home country, you get asked the same questions over and over again: “how´s your life in NY going?”, “did you get a job yet?”, “is it cold there?” “What do you do every day? (AKA: do you have a job?)”, “have you visited other cities?”, “how´s the economic situation there? Still slow? (AKA: how´s the job hunting?)”… Do you get my picture? It´s an impossible task to be unemployed while living in the USA; everybody is expecting for you to have this perfect life or at least, to be succeeding in the professional and employment department... I feel like Legally Blonde but instead of Harvard as my play field, USA is the conquering country and not even a tough back bone (the one that survived the 15 hours flight) can help me!
But my family is very supportive, and even thou they´re like 52 people bugging me about everything, I know they mean well… sometimes, you have to conceal (i.e. lie like your life depends on it!!) not to be pushed in a specific matter; and news travel really fast with them, so my acrylic nails, my blog, the book I´m reading, my dog´s temporary home, my Bach flowers and my new life coach are knowingly matters… hence, frequently questioned about.
Today´s a different day with different visitors, however, we´re still eating asado, as tomorrow, and the day after… and the day after… and so on.
Goodbye healthy, balanced, life… Hello uric acid!!
As a visitor in your home country, you get asked the same questions over and over again: “how´s your life in NY going?”, “did you get a job yet?”, “is it cold there?” “What do you do every day? (AKA: do you have a job?)”, “have you visited other cities?”, “how´s the economic situation there? Still slow? (AKA: how´s the job hunting?)”… Do you get my picture? It´s an impossible task to be unemployed while living in the USA; everybody is expecting for you to have this perfect life or at least, to be succeeding in the professional and employment department... I feel like Legally Blonde but instead of Harvard as my play field, USA is the conquering country and not even a tough back bone (the one that survived the 15 hours flight) can help me!
But my family is very supportive, and even thou they´re like 52 people bugging me about everything, I know they mean well… sometimes, you have to conceal (i.e. lie like your life depends on it!!) not to be pushed in a specific matter; and news travel really fast with them, so my acrylic nails, my blog, the book I´m reading, my dog´s temporary home, my Bach flowers and my new life coach are knowingly matters… hence, frequently questioned about.
Today´s a different day with different visitors, however, we´re still eating asado, as tomorrow, and the day after… and the day after… and so on.
Goodbye healthy, balanced, life… Hello uric acid!!
Friday, December 18, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, December 17, 2009
The most awaited day is here… Don’t let them get meeeeee!!
Today we're traveling to Argentina and as expected, I'm still receiving last minute requests for "tiny" things to take there.
However, I'm not letting anything ruin my mood because I'm saving patience for the lovely and always so helpful guys of immigrations and customs in the JFK airport... you know, the only ones that are permitted to watch you undress in public without giving you a ticket for inappropriate behavior or disturbance.
They're so cute, whit their long faces and demands... and watch out if you are a Latino; because they're even worse.
My advice when you’re treated as an ignorant and humiliated by their remarks, is to imagine them really tiny in your head… like this tiny man, with his tiny pants and a tiny little voice… that way, I don’t let them get to me; because in my head, I’m the master and commander of him (or not… but I feel much better afterwards).
I’ve decided to travel without a belt (even thou it’s really uncomfortable when your pants start to fall down and you’re, very discreetly, pulling from both sides to get them up again) and with loafers. Ever since I got stuck in line trying to unbuckle while untying my shoes at the same time that I was putting my bag, laptop and cell phone in a bin... while checking for liquids and my nail clipper (which I lost in a bucket full of them)… don't get me wrong, I'm a multi-tasker: while writing this post, I’m travelling in a bus, singing at the pace of my mp3 player (the guy next to me has bad breath and awful music; by his face, I can tell that he hates my voice…louder now… eat that!) and checking the bus stops so I don't miss it.... but the immigration people, just push it to the limit.
I can’t complain thou, because now I can check-in in the first class line (I’m an unemployed frequent flyer… the best kind!) and I don’t have to go throw those small capsules with the pst pst pst pst things of air (my husband loves when I use onomatopoeias) that pull up your hair and your blouse; and I don’t have to open my bag to be scrutinized by them.
So yeah! They’re tiny little people!
And I’m the leader of this pack (of one, big person: myself!).
So if it’s your time to travel also, no belt, no tying shoes, no watch, no creams, no metal accessories, no water, no nail clipper, no tweezers (NO of anything that it isn’t clothes)… and most important: your imagination and the tiny little people in it!!
Next post’s writing destination: Buenos Aires, Argentina
However, I'm not letting anything ruin my mood because I'm saving patience for the lovely and always so helpful guys of immigrations and customs in the JFK airport... you know, the only ones that are permitted to watch you undress in public without giving you a ticket for inappropriate behavior or disturbance.
They're so cute, whit their long faces and demands... and watch out if you are a Latino; because they're even worse.
My advice when you’re treated as an ignorant and humiliated by their remarks, is to imagine them really tiny in your head… like this tiny man, with his tiny pants and a tiny little voice… that way, I don’t let them get to me; because in my head, I’m the master and commander of him (or not… but I feel much better afterwards).
I’ve decided to travel without a belt (even thou it’s really uncomfortable when your pants start to fall down and you’re, very discreetly, pulling from both sides to get them up again) and with loafers. Ever since I got stuck in line trying to unbuckle while untying my shoes at the same time that I was putting my bag, laptop and cell phone in a bin... while checking for liquids and my nail clipper (which I lost in a bucket full of them)… don't get me wrong, I'm a multi-tasker: while writing this post, I’m travelling in a bus, singing at the pace of my mp3 player (the guy next to me has bad breath and awful music; by his face, I can tell that he hates my voice…louder now… eat that!) and checking the bus stops so I don't miss it.... but the immigration people, just push it to the limit.
I can’t complain thou, because now I can check-in in the first class line (I’m an unemployed frequent flyer… the best kind!) and I don’t have to go throw those small capsules with the pst pst pst pst things of air (my husband loves when I use onomatopoeias) that pull up your hair and your blouse; and I don’t have to open my bag to be scrutinized by them.
So yeah! They’re tiny little people!
And I’m the leader of this pack (of one, big person: myself!).
So if it’s your time to travel also, no belt, no tying shoes, no watch, no creams, no metal accessories, no water, no nail clipper, no tweezers (NO of anything that it isn’t clothes)… and most important: your imagination and the tiny little people in it!!
Next post’s writing destination: Buenos Aires, Argentina
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Home sweet home… for me, my husband, our dog… and everybody else!
Visitors are really common if you live in a city like New York.
You can try to move to...let’s say, a remote island located in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean; where nobody is going to want to get a hold on you, and your family and friends will be a distant memory of people that you don’t see very often (maybe two times a year... or one, who knows?)
However, as you’re living in the Big Apple, I'm pretty sure you'll have to make a schedule, pinpoint the visits of the year in a calendar and plan for them not to overlap… it’s almost like a strategic chess game where you move your pieces to avoid total disaster!
Can you imagine what would happen if you mother came at the same time that your mother in law? (my mother in law came from a fairy tale, but she’s a rare case… or at least, that’s what I’m told… thank god for small favors).
Anyways, at this time, we have a foreign visitor staying at home…and sightseeing is another thing that you have to consider when you receive a guest; because I can assure you that no matter how many times you’ve been to the Rockefeller Center, or up the Empire State, or hop on the Ferry to the Statue of Liberty, or walked the 5th avenue and visit Central Park or go inside Saint Patrick to light a candle and ask for forgiveness and a job (I hold the record for candles offered in that department)… I’m a hundred percent sure that you’ll do it over and over again for your remaining time as a New York resident.
As you’ve confirmed in other posts, my lack of patience (or the nonexistence of it) is a key element in my day to day basis as a host… I’ve been put to the test in this one, and I keep failing no matter my persistence. I get anxious when I have to wait in line to pay for something and there’s always this guy in front of me that can’t grab the 25 ¢ coin that’s stuck in the bottom corner of his wallet, and you just want to snatch the thing from his hands and throw the coin at him (I have a really vivid imagination)... didn't this guy hear about Debit Card? or for example, when you have to go shopping to Macy’s, because everybody has to go there, and your advises are: “perfect, if I were you, I’ll take it!” … but at the same time, my insides are turning and I just want them to make a swift decision and get the hell out from there! (If you give me online shopping, I’m happy as a clam).
So yesterday, for the hundredth time I took my picture in the Rockefeller Plaza, with a smile sticked to my face and an invisible tag in my forehead that said: PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!!
...and click... nice pic!
http://www.rockefellercenter.com
http://www.macys.com
http://www.centralparknyc.org
http://www.saintpatrickscathedral.org
You can try to move to...let’s say, a remote island located in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean; where nobody is going to want to get a hold on you, and your family and friends will be a distant memory of people that you don’t see very often (maybe two times a year... or one, who knows?)
However, as you’re living in the Big Apple, I'm pretty sure you'll have to make a schedule, pinpoint the visits of the year in a calendar and plan for them not to overlap… it’s almost like a strategic chess game where you move your pieces to avoid total disaster!
Can you imagine what would happen if you mother came at the same time that your mother in law? (my mother in law came from a fairy tale, but she’s a rare case… or at least, that’s what I’m told… thank god for small favors).
Anyways, at this time, we have a foreign visitor staying at home…and sightseeing is another thing that you have to consider when you receive a guest; because I can assure you that no matter how many times you’ve been to the Rockefeller Center, or up the Empire State, or hop on the Ferry to the Statue of Liberty, or walked the 5th avenue and visit Central Park or go inside Saint Patrick to light a candle and ask for forgiveness and a job (I hold the record for candles offered in that department)… I’m a hundred percent sure that you’ll do it over and over again for your remaining time as a New York resident.
As you’ve confirmed in other posts, my lack of patience (or the nonexistence of it) is a key element in my day to day basis as a host… I’ve been put to the test in this one, and I keep failing no matter my persistence. I get anxious when I have to wait in line to pay for something and there’s always this guy in front of me that can’t grab the 25 ¢ coin that’s stuck in the bottom corner of his wallet, and you just want to snatch the thing from his hands and throw the coin at him (I have a really vivid imagination)... didn't this guy hear about Debit Card? or for example, when you have to go shopping to Macy’s, because everybody has to go there, and your advises are: “perfect, if I were you, I’ll take it!” … but at the same time, my insides are turning and I just want them to make a swift decision and get the hell out from there! (If you give me online shopping, I’m happy as a clam).
So yesterday, for the hundredth time I took my picture in the Rockefeller Plaza, with a smile sticked to my face and an invisible tag in my forehead that said: PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!!
...and click... nice pic!
http://www.rockefellercenter.com
http://www.macys.com
http://www.centralparknyc.org
http://www.saintpatrickscathedral.org
Monday, December 14, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saying goodbye to your dearest, dearest... pet
Today was a tough day for me.
As we're going away for the holidays, we decided to leave our dog in a friend's house...
Buono is like an only child; everyone think he's spoiled... why wouldn't they?
If he drinks water, there's someone drying his whiskers with a paper towel; if he goes to the balcony... you know, to do his business, there is someone cleaning his paws; he even knocks the door to be let outside and knocks to be let back in again, he has his teeth cleaned every day, I cut his hair every week, he gets a bath as well and we use oatmeal shampoo for his skin... do you get the picture?
So you can imagine that when the time arrived to drive him to New Jersey, I started packing all his belongings (every dog has "belongings" of course!!); toys, brushes, shampoo, towels, food, platter, leash, tooth brush... should I go on?
If I say that we looked like gypsies, was to put it mildly.
The problem was that our best (and only) option to get to New Jersey was by train.
From our home to Penn Station is like 10 minutes taxi ride, but you can’t get in the taxi with a dog; so we opted for the subway.
My husband was holding a 20 pound bag of dog food and all of Buono’s knick knacks. I was carrying his cage and my purse.
We walked 3 blocks to Grand Central Terminal and arrived covered in sweat in the middle of the winter with a low temperature of 40 F (6 C). We got stuck in the door; it was closed… you know when you’re with someone for a really long time and you get to “learn” his or her signs? So there we were, standing in front of the door, rolling our eyes to each other to get the other person to open the door while neither of us was loosing the packages. (it looked like a staring contest! Where have all gentlemen gone?)
Then, we got to the turnstiles to enter the subway system. You have to swipe your card to get in, but I couldn’t even get to my pocket… and I wasn’t going to ask some stranger (that’ll be weird) to do it; so my husband left his bag in the floor and put his hand in my pocket (have you had that experience yet?) and I start: “not that one, the other side. Yeah! That one… to the left, no… down a bit, you missed, to the right… there!” While doing this I was moving my hips at the rhythm of his hands to help him find the card (really… truly) although I think we invented a new spastic move for foreplay.
At last he found it and we went through… we and all our packages.
Next move: get to the train and find a seat; my arms were killing me!!!
It was Sunday, raining, the subway was replete with people, we were gypsies in a circus and my patience was non-existent.
Buono, in the other hand, was comfortable enough in his cage, pretty exited to be outside, watching everything around him… lucky bastard!
Saying goodbye to him was horrible… nearing traumatic… he, on the other hand, stayed completely happy with his two new dog friends, a big house, lots of room to play and his food.
Can I blame him? He will have 3 weeks vacation from his owner, the one with the bach flowers drops, the life coach and the beauty crisis… enjoy while it last!!
As we're going away for the holidays, we decided to leave our dog in a friend's house...
Buono is like an only child; everyone think he's spoiled... why wouldn't they?
If he drinks water, there's someone drying his whiskers with a paper towel; if he goes to the balcony... you know, to do his business, there is someone cleaning his paws; he even knocks the door to be let outside and knocks to be let back in again, he has his teeth cleaned every day, I cut his hair every week, he gets a bath as well and we use oatmeal shampoo for his skin... do you get the picture?
So you can imagine that when the time arrived to drive him to New Jersey, I started packing all his belongings (every dog has "belongings" of course!!); toys, brushes, shampoo, towels, food, platter, leash, tooth brush... should I go on?
If I say that we looked like gypsies, was to put it mildly.
The problem was that our best (and only) option to get to New Jersey was by train.
From our home to Penn Station is like 10 minutes taxi ride, but you can’t get in the taxi with a dog; so we opted for the subway.
My husband was holding a 20 pound bag of dog food and all of Buono’s knick knacks. I was carrying his cage and my purse.
We walked 3 blocks to Grand Central Terminal and arrived covered in sweat in the middle of the winter with a low temperature of 40 F (6 C). We got stuck in the door; it was closed… you know when you’re with someone for a really long time and you get to “learn” his or her signs? So there we were, standing in front of the door, rolling our eyes to each other to get the other person to open the door while neither of us was loosing the packages. (it looked like a staring contest! Where have all gentlemen gone?)
Then, we got to the turnstiles to enter the subway system. You have to swipe your card to get in, but I couldn’t even get to my pocket… and I wasn’t going to ask some stranger (that’ll be weird) to do it; so my husband left his bag in the floor and put his hand in my pocket (have you had that experience yet?) and I start: “not that one, the other side. Yeah! That one… to the left, no… down a bit, you missed, to the right… there!” While doing this I was moving my hips at the rhythm of his hands to help him find the card (really… truly) although I think we invented a new spastic move for foreplay.
At last he found it and we went through… we and all our packages.
Next move: get to the train and find a seat; my arms were killing me!!!
It was Sunday, raining, the subway was replete with people, we were gypsies in a circus and my patience was non-existent.
Buono, in the other hand, was comfortable enough in his cage, pretty exited to be outside, watching everything around him… lucky bastard!
Saying goodbye to him was horrible… nearing traumatic… he, on the other hand, stayed completely happy with his two new dog friends, a big house, lots of room to play and his food.
Can I blame him? He will have 3 weeks vacation from his owner, the one with the bach flowers drops, the life coach and the beauty crisis… enjoy while it last!!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Brittle nails got me here... beauty parlors in NYC
I have this "new" (nasty) habit, of biting the sides of my fingers... I don't know when it started but it was sometime between my moving to NYC and my wedding; so roughly, a year and a half.
Adding to this, is the fact that I haven't been to a salon for a Mani/Pedi (that's what they call it here) for a long time and I tend to change my nail polish really often, so the over use of polish remover it's also an important reason that my nails started to came apart.
My husband started, really gently, to caught my hand every time it was near my mouth, in an unnoticeable way, but at the end I was reprimanded as a little kid... humiliating!
At first I had one nail (out of 20) cut in a weird shape or really short in comparison with the others... and then, one by one they cracked and now I've the hands of a 8 year old with a serious case of stage fright, giggles and nervousness; all together.
The cherry that topped the ice cream was a comment made by my husband: "I see women in the subway who have their hands nicely done all the time"
(do they cook for you? Clean? Do laundry?... have you used detergent once? do you even know what bleach is?)
I tell you, in my mind, he suffered...for a minute (or two); but then I realized that I needed to put my act together and spend some beauty money... not a difficult task, if you ever want to try it... and less difficult considering that it's your husband's salary (you know, he who made the "nail" comment in the same sentence with the word "women" in it?...the bastard...)
Where was I?
Oh, yes! money spending... So I did some research and the best way to recover my nails was getting new ones, at least that fastest way... and who knew that there were so many different techniques, you practically need to be a nail technician to get to a decision; but I'm not a quitter, so after much googling I chose to try the Acrylic ones.
When you first think of nails, you imagine a Korean place, or a Chinese one... even a Japanese, they have all the credit in the nail department; but my research drove me to an European salon; Fifi's International Salon... and a woman with French accent and heavy make-up was the one that build up my nails from scratch. As well, while at it, I did my pedicure and some eyebrow waxing... (too much information)
So when my husband got home that day, he asked: "where's my wife?"
"out to dinner" (I told him) "and she is going to be late".
and cut!!
Curtain closing, end of act 1, scene 10.
Next scene, rated: R.
Serenity Nail & Spa II Inc
717 2 Avenue, New York, NY
(212) 297-1757
Adding to this, is the fact that I haven't been to a salon for a Mani/Pedi (that's what they call it here) for a long time and I tend to change my nail polish really often, so the over use of polish remover it's also an important reason that my nails started to came apart.
My husband started, really gently, to caught my hand every time it was near my mouth, in an unnoticeable way, but at the end I was reprimanded as a little kid... humiliating!
At first I had one nail (out of 20) cut in a weird shape or really short in comparison with the others... and then, one by one they cracked and now I've the hands of a 8 year old with a serious case of stage fright, giggles and nervousness; all together.
The cherry that topped the ice cream was a comment made by my husband: "I see women in the subway who have their hands nicely done all the time"
(do they cook for you? Clean? Do laundry?... have you used detergent once? do you even know what bleach is?)
I tell you, in my mind, he suffered...for a minute (or two); but then I realized that I needed to put my act together and spend some beauty money... not a difficult task, if you ever want to try it... and less difficult considering that it's your husband's salary (you know, he who made the "nail" comment in the same sentence with the word "women" in it?...the bastard...)
Where was I?
Oh, yes! money spending... So I did some research and the best way to recover my nails was getting new ones, at least that fastest way... and who knew that there were so many different techniques, you practically need to be a nail technician to get to a decision; but I'm not a quitter, so after much googling I chose to try the Acrylic ones.
When you first think of nails, you imagine a Korean place, or a Chinese one... even a Japanese, they have all the credit in the nail department; but my research drove me to an European salon; Fifi's International Salon... and a woman with French accent and heavy make-up was the one that build up my nails from scratch. As well, while at it, I did my pedicure and some eyebrow waxing... (too much information)
So when my husband got home that day, he asked: "where's my wife?"
"out to dinner" (I told him) "and she is going to be late".
and cut!!
Curtain closing, end of act 1, scene 10.
Next scene, rated: R.
Serenity Nail & Spa II Inc
717 2 Avenue, New York, NY
(212) 297-1757
Friday, December 11, 2009
Tea time @ Serendipity with my girlfriends
Serendipity it's a Cafe/Restaurant/Tea House/Desserts Paradise where everybody must go at least one time if you're visiting the Big Apple.
Recession and this place don't get along so well; so no matter the economic condition of the country (or the world) you can always count to find Serendipity brimming with people.
It's one of those rare places that don't take reservations, so to go there we had to organize and make a plan. Have you noticed how difficult is to agree to something the easy way if you're meeting with your girlfriends? (men tend to go with the flow; but women go against it without even asking; just to rebel... I think it has to do something with our history).
First of all, we all talk at the same time so it's pretty impossible to understand what the others are saying; second, we change the subject every 2 minutes so we're completely incoherent; third we gesticulate a lot so you get dizzy; then everybody else does too; fourth; between the talking, changing the subject and gesticulating; it's pretty impossible to get anywhere... I'm impressed we even manage to arrange for a get together!
On that particular day, New York was soaking wet and my shoes were dripping, even my socks! My hair was a frizzy mess; the subway was crowded (more than usual) and like every rainy day, people get disoriented so everything runs slowly; the walking mass don't advance at the usual pace, your only option is to elbow your way head-on into the sea of people to get in time to your destination; and Serendipity doesn't wait... so there I was, clutching my bag under my arm, tightly grabbing my umbrella, arranging my scarf and elbowing... and I mean a lot!
There's something you don't know about me and it's that I'm not a patient person... I don't like to repeat myself, I can't cope with hysteria and I don't like to deal with a crowd of people in the street.
Tough for me living in this small island with so many people (1,634,000 people to be exact); one of the most densely populated areas in the world (can you imagine what this information did to my nerves??)
Tough luck!!
If you've been to Serendipity you obviously want to come back, I was like the donkey and Serendipity was the carrot, and it was a really palatable carrot!!
So after 34 SMS from the girls (we really CAN'T agree that easy, sorry humanity), 13 thousands elbowing, 55 percent drench-er, 20 percent humidity free hair (the rest 80 percent not so lucky) and 2 reschedules later; I arrived at the place 30 minutes before the arranged time to put our names on the list and have a table ready by 4 pm.
The good news is that after you're seated and enjoying yourself, the place is great, the food is incredible and the sweets are fantastic!
It's definitely worth your while!!
My only advice: don't go on a rainy day, always get 30 min before, the waiting area is non-existent so you most definitely will wait outside the door... ohhh! and no strollers. Sorry mamas!!
http://www.serendipity3.com/
Recession and this place don't get along so well; so no matter the economic condition of the country (or the world) you can always count to find Serendipity brimming with people.
It's one of those rare places that don't take reservations, so to go there we had to organize and make a plan. Have you noticed how difficult is to agree to something the easy way if you're meeting with your girlfriends? (men tend to go with the flow; but women go against it without even asking; just to rebel... I think it has to do something with our history).
First of all, we all talk at the same time so it's pretty impossible to understand what the others are saying; second, we change the subject every 2 minutes so we're completely incoherent; third we gesticulate a lot so you get dizzy; then everybody else does too; fourth; between the talking, changing the subject and gesticulating; it's pretty impossible to get anywhere... I'm impressed we even manage to arrange for a get together!
On that particular day, New York was soaking wet and my shoes were dripping, even my socks! My hair was a frizzy mess; the subway was crowded (more than usual) and like every rainy day, people get disoriented so everything runs slowly; the walking mass don't advance at the usual pace, your only option is to elbow your way head-on into the sea of people to get in time to your destination; and Serendipity doesn't wait... so there I was, clutching my bag under my arm, tightly grabbing my umbrella, arranging my scarf and elbowing... and I mean a lot!
There's something you don't know about me and it's that I'm not a patient person... I don't like to repeat myself, I can't cope with hysteria and I don't like to deal with a crowd of people in the street.
Tough for me living in this small island with so many people (1,634,000 people to be exact); one of the most densely populated areas in the world (can you imagine what this information did to my nerves??)
Tough luck!!
If you've been to Serendipity you obviously want to come back, I was like the donkey and Serendipity was the carrot, and it was a really palatable carrot!!
So after 34 SMS from the girls (we really CAN'T agree that easy, sorry humanity), 13 thousands elbowing, 55 percent drench-er, 20 percent humidity free hair (the rest 80 percent not so lucky) and 2 reschedules later; I arrived at the place 30 minutes before the arranged time to put our names on the list and have a table ready by 4 pm.
The good news is that after you're seated and enjoying yourself, the place is great, the food is incredible and the sweets are fantastic!
It's definitely worth your while!!
My only advice: don't go on a rainy day, always get 30 min before, the waiting area is non-existent so you most definitely will wait outside the door... ohhh! and no strollers. Sorry mamas!!
http://www.serendipity3.com/
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Naughty or Nice neighbor? (check the list twice!!)
The apartment we live in is a Cooperative (Co-op as the new yorkers refer as); this means that every resident in over 600 apartments that the building has, is entitled to a voice and vote in every matter... and I mean: EVERY single matter.
Yesterday we had the "pleasure" to share the common area in our building with over 375 people complaining about their neighbor, or the smoking of their neighbor, or the fact that they don't want flowers in the aisles, or the smoking of their neighbor, or to change the energy supply method, or the smoking of their neighbor, or the dog/cat/bird/stuffed animal of their neighbor; and of course: The smoking of their neighbor (How could we forget!!)
You are in your own home, it's 40 F outside (like -2 C), it's snowing, you have your windows open wide, your head stuck outside with a high risk of brain freeze or permanent damage to it... and you are smoking a cigarette, peacefully after work, enjoying the quiet time of your home... when suddenly your doorbell sounds and you hurry to put the cigarette down, start swatting at the air around you for the smoke to disperse, close the window hurriedly and run to the door; and when you open, is your 70 year old neighbor that lives down the hall (like 4 doors down) in the top floor (not even in yours!) and asks you very politely to: "please put the f... cigarette down" (he's a mean 70 year old guy; not like those sweet loving ancient people) and while you're at it: "please stop hearing the music so loud at this time of the night (it's 7 pm), don't you have any respect?" and "your dog was barking all day while you were out" (you don't have a pet), and: "you shower at such an early time that he hears it like it was just next to him" (you shower every day at 7:20 am), and: "please stop cooking meat all the time, I can't stand that awful smell" (meat? you're a vegetarian).
So here's how it works if you live in a building like ours: You bought a place, it is completely yours, your own piece of the world, just for you... the only place called home, where you can be yourself, do what you please... well, as long as it's legal, or the building approves it, and it doesn't bother you neighbor...whichever neighbor that lives within 1,000 feet from your home: top floor, down floor or your floor (roughly 100 people), you can't have a pet that barks, so no dogs, if they sing neither, so no birds... cats you don't like. You can't hear the music you like when you like it; your neighbors might not like the same style (try opera, jazz or classical music). When you do laundry in the common area, forget about using bleach, it's not good for your neighbor in 14C because she has allergies (how did she managed to know every time?!) If you get a girlfriend/boyfriend; forget spontaneity!! you are not going to get any outside of a schedule... and the only open time (for you and your neighbors) it's friday 1:23 pm (so, you either produce money or have a nice relationship, you can't have both!!)
So people, my advice: move to New Jersey!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Sales and Credit Cards... one cannot go without the other
It's almost the end of the year and Christmas is around the corner; so you must go shopping (pity!) to find the best deals in every store.
You start with a list, the one that you wrote twelve times already, trying to reduce its beneficiaries: "this aunt never gives me a present" (scratch), "it's that important to give a present to your godson?... christmas is not about gifts" (scratch), "my sister's always good to me, but her present are so lame, I'll give her a christmas card" (scratch)... you even managed to remove you husband's name from the list: "a glass set it's not a present for me, it's for the house!" (scratch).
So there's only your name on the list... and your best friend's... You-are-good!!
So you have a budget for thirty presents but only two people in the list; so you grab your bag, go to the biggest, fullest, best department store in the city (Bloomingdale's my fav!) and start eyeing for coupons, sales, discounts.
First you've got to go to the Customer Service department to get the discount pass for the day, then you realize they have a discount in the Shoes department but you need a card that are only giving away in the 7th floor... so off you go. There's a Redeeming Desk in the 5th floor for order above 200 dollars, so you go there, because you have a whole budget just for you and your BFF; which is way above 200 dollars; and don't forget the Beauty department with their gift bags and 10 dollar coupons; so it's been two hours and you only shopped for coupons and discounts and gift bags.
But, nothing can get in your mood that day (shopping is unstressful for women, go figure!) and you have only two beneficiaries in your list and lost of ideas! (and budget).
After endless scouting, choosing, picking, trying, discarting and finally satisfied, here you are, in front of the cashier, with you pile of things; and she start scanning the items... but wait! your coupons and discount cards are in your purse.
You drop everything on the counter and search for them.
Total amount: $863 (12 items)... not bad!!
- 10% discount + 25 dollars discount for every 150 dollars you spend + 15% discount if you apply for the member's credit card + a 20% discount only on the winter boots
Final amount: $598 (12 items)... loo and behold: you're still in budget!
Credit Card #1: $183
Credit Card #2: $348.90
Debit Card: $66.10
So, you get home, and your husband only sees the joint account expenses so he's thrilled because you bought all those things for $66.10!!
Ignorance is bliss...
At the end of the month, when the statements arrives, I suggest a bucket and some matches.
Minimum payment is glory!
You start with a list, the one that you wrote twelve times already, trying to reduce its beneficiaries: "this aunt never gives me a present" (scratch), "it's that important to give a present to your godson?... christmas is not about gifts" (scratch), "my sister's always good to me, but her present are so lame, I'll give her a christmas card" (scratch)... you even managed to remove you husband's name from the list: "a glass set it's not a present for me, it's for the house!" (scratch).
So there's only your name on the list... and your best friend's... You-are-good!!
So you have a budget for thirty presents but only two people in the list; so you grab your bag, go to the biggest, fullest, best department store in the city (Bloomingdale's my fav!) and start eyeing for coupons, sales, discounts.
First you've got to go to the Customer Service department to get the discount pass for the day, then you realize they have a discount in the Shoes department but you need a card that are only giving away in the 7th floor... so off you go. There's a Redeeming Desk in the 5th floor for order above 200 dollars, so you go there, because you have a whole budget just for you and your BFF; which is way above 200 dollars; and don't forget the Beauty department with their gift bags and 10 dollar coupons; so it's been two hours and you only shopped for coupons and discounts and gift bags.
But, nothing can get in your mood that day (shopping is unstressful for women, go figure!) and you have only two beneficiaries in your list and lost of ideas! (and budget).
After endless scouting, choosing, picking, trying, discarting and finally satisfied, here you are, in front of the cashier, with you pile of things; and she start scanning the items... but wait! your coupons and discount cards are in your purse.
You drop everything on the counter and search for them.
Total amount: $863 (12 items)... not bad!!
- 10% discount + 25 dollars discount for every 150 dollars you spend + 15% discount if you apply for the member's credit card + a 20% discount only on the winter boots
Final amount: $598 (12 items)... loo and behold: you're still in budget!
Credit Card #1: $183
Credit Card #2: $348.90
Debit Card: $66.10
So, you get home, and your husband only sees the joint account expenses so he's thrilled because you bought all those things for $66.10!!
Ignorance is bliss...
At the end of the month, when the statements arrives, I suggest a bucket and some matches.
Minimum payment is glory!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Chinatown in New York Town
The other day I went shopping for bags with some friends in the only place where you can get them disposable and cheap, but if you're lucky enough, a nice replica (that can pass - without much scrutinizing - for an original) can be found for less thant $40 dollar. Yes ladies! Chinatown.
But don't think it's an easy task to walk those messy streets while scooping for a bag; and trying (but no succeeding) to understand the inhabitants of the area: "lolex, lolex"; "zunglasses"; "vaggs, Couch, Gucci, Lui Vuitton, Diol"... and then everything togheter: "lolex,zunglasses,vaggs, Couch,Gucci,Lui Vuitton,Diol".
Not an easy task, but if you go with your mind set to get out with your catch, then it doesn't matter the obstacles, you have your eyes on the price!
Not everybody knows this, but the best bags aren't the ones for display in the stores; the best ones are hiding in a basement, or behind a closed door that looks like a wall, or in a drawer that it isn't there at first.
You have to be like a gazelle, while walking down Chinatown streets, you have to hear the people that offers you the hidden products, the good stuff!!, you have to respond with a nod or a quick answer, and start following this person, until you're led to the dough!
Don't be affraid to enter these inconspicuous places, be brave!...if not, you'll leave the premises with a bad replica for a ridiculous high price.
No pain, no gain!
http://www.nyctourist.com/chinatown1.htm
But don't think it's an easy task to walk those messy streets while scooping for a bag; and trying (but no succeeding) to understand the inhabitants of the area: "lolex, lolex"; "zunglasses"; "vaggs, Couch, Gucci, Lui Vuitton, Diol"... and then everything togheter: "lolex,zunglasses,vaggs, Couch,Gucci,Lui Vuitton,Diol".
Not an easy task, but if you go with your mind set to get out with your catch, then it doesn't matter the obstacles, you have your eyes on the price!
Not everybody knows this, but the best bags aren't the ones for display in the stores; the best ones are hiding in a basement, or behind a closed door that looks like a wall, or in a drawer that it isn't there at first.
You have to be like a gazelle, while walking down Chinatown streets, you have to hear the people that offers you the hidden products, the good stuff!!, you have to respond with a nod or a quick answer, and start following this person, until you're led to the dough!
Don't be affraid to enter these inconspicuous places, be brave!...if not, you'll leave the premises with a bad replica for a ridiculous high price.
No pain, no gain!
http://www.nyctourist.com/chinatown1.htm
Saturday, December 5, 2009
... and the cold is already here... bummer
If you have lived most of your life in a warm country as I was until last year, when the first snow of the season arrives, it's kind of a "stay in you PJ's and indoors" day.
Don't get me wrong, a few cold days it's good for your skin and for a change of scenery, but please! 6 months!! That's really pushing it mother nature!!
Is in days like today that I snuggle close to my husband, cover myself in one of those fluffy blankets (he gets static electricity from it so he hates it) that I love so much, and day dream about the Caribbean.
I used to live there, but as everything in life, you don't appreciate everything that you have until you loose it, so now I have to comfort myself with the heating system in our apartment to compensate for the lack of heat in this country...pity!
However, my dog loves snow! Can you believe that Buono waits close to the window, with his nose sticked to the glass until the snow ceases, and then he goes outside to the balcony and walks in circles as a crazy man.
I wish I was more like him, waiting... hoping for a cold day; but I'm not that lucky, so today is the first day for the most difficult five months in my life.
They say all you need is love... I need heat!!
Bring in the summer... wishful thinking for now.
Don't get me wrong, a few cold days it's good for your skin and for a change of scenery, but please! 6 months!! That's really pushing it mother nature!!
Is in days like today that I snuggle close to my husband, cover myself in one of those fluffy blankets (he gets static electricity from it so he hates it) that I love so much, and day dream about the Caribbean.
I used to live there, but as everything in life, you don't appreciate everything that you have until you loose it, so now I have to comfort myself with the heating system in our apartment to compensate for the lack of heat in this country...pity!
However, my dog loves snow! Can you believe that Buono waits close to the window, with his nose sticked to the glass until the snow ceases, and then he goes outside to the balcony and walks in circles as a crazy man.
I wish I was more like him, waiting... hoping for a cold day; but I'm not that lucky, so today is the first day for the most difficult five months in my life.
They say all you need is love... I need heat!!
Bring in the summer... wishful thinking for now.
Friday, December 4, 2009
South Pacific in the Northern Atlantic... and a moody citizen
Living in New York City, gives you the oportunity to always do something different and the theater is a preferred entertainment in the big apple; so yesterday, I got up in my high heels (I hate pointy high shoes), produced myself to look like a "respectable occupied" citizen (when I'm really a "time free" housewife) and went with my husband to the beautifully upgraded Lincoln Center Theater to enjoy the play "South Pacific".
Don't you love New York in autumn? The weather is magnificent and you can walk, and walk... without even getting tired!
The only problem (at least for me) is bumping into so many people on the street that you spend all the time apologizing: excuse me, sorry, opps... sorry, coming through, etc.
Here is me everytime I leave my home: a smile in my face, happy with everybody, holiday cheers bursting out of me...
But then, you start with the apologies, and the bumping, stomping, moving, pushing, sliding, plunging... and the arghhhhh!!!!
So, my face when I return home isn't as nice as it was before... you can use your imagination.
My husband always teases me about my patience (or lack of), if it was for me, I'd teleport to every destination, isn't that easier than this walking thing?
But, either way, I love this city... with its people and everything.
http://www.lct.org/showMain.htm?id=174
Don't you love New York in autumn? The weather is magnificent and you can walk, and walk... without even getting tired!
The only problem (at least for me) is bumping into so many people on the street that you spend all the time apologizing: excuse me, sorry, opps... sorry, coming through, etc.
Here is me everytime I leave my home: a smile in my face, happy with everybody, holiday cheers bursting out of me...
But then, you start with the apologies, and the bumping, stomping, moving, pushing, sliding, plunging... and the arghhhhh!!!!
So, my face when I return home isn't as nice as it was before... you can use your imagination.
My husband always teases me about my patience (or lack of), if it was for me, I'd teleport to every destination, isn't that easier than this walking thing?
But, either way, I love this city... with its people and everything.
http://www.lct.org/showMain.htm?id=174
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Rockefeller Center and the Lighting of the Tree Ceremony
If you have been living in New York long enough, you know that a must on your list is the assistance to the ceremony of the lighting of the tree in the Rockefeller Center. I can't remember how many people told me: YOU HAVE TO GO!!
So I went...
First of all, let me tell you what a huge effort required on my part, being an awful rainy day, and the prospect of standing for 4 hours wasn't that appealing either; but I was looking forward to meet the presenting artists and performers, so I manned up, and stayed...
Now, I ask myself, for what?
I think that only 400 people that assisted the event, really saw anything... the other 98,000 (according with the news) didn't. Between me and the stage was a sea of umbrellas, a whole police department, a bunch of people clusttered together and the rain drops; besides the awful location of the stage, that it couldn't be seen from every angle.
So, next year, if you are wondering if it is worth it, if you're not going to have VIP passes, then stay at home, turn on your TV and invite some friends... it's going to be much better!!
At least, me and my friends, can say that we, at least, did it one time!!
Now I have the starting of a cold and no one to blame but me...
Come Bach Flowers and comfy little blanket, make me feel better!!
http://www.nyc.com/arts__attractions/rockefeller_center_christmas_tree.1375/editorial_review.aspx
So I went...
First of all, let me tell you what a huge effort required on my part, being an awful rainy day, and the prospect of standing for 4 hours wasn't that appealing either; but I was looking forward to meet the presenting artists and performers, so I manned up, and stayed...
Now, I ask myself, for what?
I think that only 400 people that assisted the event, really saw anything... the other 98,000 (according with the news) didn't. Between me and the stage was a sea of umbrellas, a whole police department, a bunch of people clusttered together and the rain drops; besides the awful location of the stage, that it couldn't be seen from every angle.
So, next year, if you are wondering if it is worth it, if you're not going to have VIP passes, then stay at home, turn on your TV and invite some friends... it's going to be much better!!
At least, me and my friends, can say that we, at least, did it one time!!
Now I have the starting of a cold and no one to blame but me...
Come Bach Flowers and comfy little blanket, make me feel better!!
http://www.nyc.com/arts__attractions/rockefeller_center_christmas_tree.1375/editorial_review.aspx
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Bach flowers and a Life Coach
When you spend your days thinking about: dinner, groceries, cleanning and more groceries, and more cleanning... life gets kinda boring and when we women are bored, we tend to philosophize; and that leads to finding problems where there aren't any...so at the end of the day, you are walking in the walls of your home, your husband doesn't know which is better, to stay and be supportive (supportive for what?, there wasn't a problem in the first place) or run through the door (I say: through because in the hurry, he is not going to open it, he's going right for the other side!!)
So, this is one of the "after" days, where I get to over analize what happened?
It's nearly 1 pm, and I already made a Bach Flowers purchase to get my moods up, and found a Life Coach to start visiting... because, you see, these days are sustainable only once a month... every week, it's not possible!!
So ladies, please, use your motherhood to take care of yourselves; it's not possible to make anybody happy if we're not happy with ourselves, even if this means we have to LOVEEEE grocery shopping, laundry making, cooking and cleanning.
:S
PS: I even bought Bach flowers to my dog (who knew that it existed?) because the poor thing is the only one stuck 24/7 with this "crazy person" :D
Links: http://www.feelbach.com/ and http://www.jungiantherapy.com/
So, this is one of the "after" days, where I get to over analize what happened?
It's nearly 1 pm, and I already made a Bach Flowers purchase to get my moods up, and found a Life Coach to start visiting... because, you see, these days are sustainable only once a month... every week, it's not possible!!
So ladies, please, use your motherhood to take care of yourselves; it's not possible to make anybody happy if we're not happy with ourselves, even if this means we have to LOVEEEE grocery shopping, laundry making, cooking and cleanning.
:S
PS: I even bought Bach flowers to my dog (who knew that it existed?) because the poor thing is the only one stuck 24/7 with this "crazy person" :D
Links: http://www.feelbach.com/ and http://www.jungiantherapy.com/
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