"You wanna a sandwich?" asks my father.
Sandwiches are my father's "go to" fix anytime he is hungry.
The fact is, my father is content eating whatever is served in front of him. My father is simple. Most men are simple. My father is perfectly happy to snack on a sandwich whenever he feels like eating. The more simple, the better it is for him. My father grew up poor in Ecuador. My grandmother would scrape together what she could to feed her three hungry boys. So, if my father is not eating a sandwich, he either eats pasta or rice with tuna, green beans, peas and Italian dressing, or another favorite, Campbell's soup. His favorite is Campbell's Tomato Soup.
When I was in Kindergarten, I remember when he would pick me up from school early. We'd go home and he would fix me either a bowl of cereal or grind open a can of tomato soup..or Cream of Mushroom soup, or my personal favorite, Chicken Noodle. I shudder thinking of how clammy Cream of Mushroom soup would be. Barf.
I can eat cream of mushroom soup NOW as a grown up, but I think I despised it as a child because I couldn't stand the flavorless taste of the soup. As a child though, what kid wants to eat that? Certainly not me. I once feigned an "allergy" to soup in the E.R., but that will be another story.
Another time, I went home to visit with my older boy. GC was four or five at the time. We went home for Christmas. GC was a very picky little boy though now he is willing to eat whatever kind of food.
"Giancarlo, you wanna sandwich? You want soup? Campbell's Tomato Soup?" my father would shout-ask.
"No thank you, Abuelo" and GC would go on his merry way. I would try to make some elaborate dinner in the over or on the stove, but my father's complaint was "You're making the house too hot!". But anytime I'd make that elaborate dinner, he'd eat half of it anyways... Mmmm, hmmm...
Anytime we would travel to visit obscure relatives in far away states, Mom would pack a cooler and Papi would have his lunch meat which mainly consisted of Bologna, Cotto Salami, Mayo and nasty American cheese slices. At rest areas, we'd stop to pee and then after using the bathroom, we'd eat our snacks.
"Oh, dis is SOOO good!" my father would exclaim in delight. He would then proceed to inhale the entire sandwich and anything else that he found in the cooler. Which meant if I was saving something special, it was consumed with glee.
Back in September 2002, my father ended up going on a road trip alone with my Tio (Uncle) to Florida, where my great aunt lived. She unfortunately had passed away the day before my cousin's wedding. The wedding went on as planned, but the funeral was held a few days later.
My uncle and dad drove all the way from Kansas City to Orlando for the funeral. To get to Orlando from the northwest, you'd normally take the Florida Turnpike. The beginning of the turnpike starts near Ocala off of I-75, or the "Wildwood" exit.
My father and uncle stop there to gas up and use the restroom, get snacks, etc. One such snack my father finds at this "obscure" gas station are some sandwiches. He goes to the counter and orders one, piled high with meats and all sorts of extra stuff that my father normally would never buy at the store because it would take too long for him to chop, slice or just too expensive for him to buy for his sandwiches. Both he and my uncle share this sandwich and continue on their way to Orlando. On their return trip, my father yet again stops at the sandwich shop, gets SEVERAL sandwiches for him and my uncle to snack on while in the car and they continue on their somewhat merry way back to Kansas.
Upon their return to the Sunflower State, Papi proceeded to tell my mom about this "nice place een Ocala!"
"Dey have de BEST SANDWICHES! You can get whatever you want on them!" my father exclaimed. "The next time we go to Orlando, we go dere. Okay?"
My mom's eyes got real big as my father described these delectable meats, types of bread and condiments you could get on this sandwich. They would even TOAST it for you!
My dad's mouth watered as he described these sandwiches. If there's anything my mom considers herself another expert on, it's how to eat a good sandwich. "I, " she says with a stately pause, "am a gourmand!"
(Yeah. We'll see about that. That's another story.)
Apparently, this place was the bomb diggity, according to my dad!
For Spring Break 2003, my parents decided we would do a family trip to Orlando to visit our extended relatives and meet up with my other sisters while there.
The entire way from Kansas City to Ocala, all my father did except talk about these awesome sandwiches.
"All the meat you want, mamita!" my father exclaimed excitedly.
"Oh, how nice! I can't wait!" my mom would exclaim in delight.
At one point on the drive down, my mom was listening to my dad repeat himself for the 327th time about these sandwiches, when she interrupted him.
"This isn't Subway, is it?" Mom asked.
My father with his hands on the wheels, turned in my mom's direction with a quizzical look.
"Subway? Wha's dat place?" Papi asked.
"It's a place where you get sandwiches, Papi." I told him. "Remember, we went to Sandy's once and got sandwiches there?"
Oh, yeah, yeah! Uh huh, uh huh. I remember. No, that's not this place.
We continued driving south on I-75 and finally cross into Florida. The map indicated that we were still quite a ways from the exit we needed, about two more hours to go. We continued driving until we get to the Wildwood area and discover there is construction EVERYWHERE. So much so that my father missed the exit.
The next exit was 7 miles down the road.
"I can't believe it!" my mom stated, with her fists clenched. "You missed the exit, Mario! I want that sandwich!"
It really was an easy mistake. Anybody not familiar with the area would have done the same. After backtracking 14 miles, we finally got to the exit. Papi said it was near a gas station, which meant we would fill up our tank and then go into the restaurant to eat.
Making a right turn into the Sunoco gas station, we pull into a parking space and wouldn't you know what sign greeted us?
SUBWAY.
I, of course, thought it was funny and couldn't help but laugh in the back seat until I cried. My mother's reaction though was priceless.
Turning shades of red and sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, I could tell my mom was about to explode.
"Are you FUCKING SHITTING ME, MARIO?!!!!!" my mom shouted. "We drove ALL THIS FUCKING WAY FOR FUCKING SUBWAY?!!!!!"
Totally bewildered, my father looked at my mother.
"I deedn't know!" he said. "It was a sandwich place. I like sandwiches!"
With that, my mom looked at both of us, my father with his puppy dog look and at me totally laughing my head off in the back seat, opened the door to the car. She got out and slammed the door.
She stamped her foot and shook her fists in rage.
"I'm HUNGRY, DAMMIT! and I don't want FUCKING SUBWAY! I can't believe it! I can't believe," Mom muttered to herself, "we drive all this way for FUCKING SUBWAY! I'm not eating Subway, Renny. I'm going to eat at this other place. Come with me!"
This other place, I can't even remember the name of it, but for name's sake, I'll just call it the "Country Kitchen" which essentially had any kind of soul food home cooking you want from the South.
I looked at my dad, who felt terrible for not having noticed, but then he shrugged his shoulders. I was kind of torn. I really didn't want to eat country home cooking, but I didn't want my dad to feel alone. "I'm going with Papi".
"Well, ees okay. I hongry..." and with that, we walked inside.
Papi and I go to the counter and my dad points to the ingredients to the lady behind the counter, "I want dis! and dis and dis".
Mom, on the other hand, was sitting by herself in a booth eating meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. The look she gave my father was one of Death. She totally ignored him and when her waitress came by, my mom proceeded to complain about how her meatloaf was cold, how it sucked and how she was totally deceived by my dad into thinking there was a really awesome Mom and Pop sandwich place at this exit.
The waitress just stood there with her coffee and didn't know what to say, except, "Let me warm that food back up for you."
"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know!" mom said. With that, the waitress filled up my mom's coffee and left.
Papi and I sat across from Mom at the booth as she glowered at my dad. Totally unperturbed by my mom's anger, he just sat there and happily ate his sandwich.
"Why you so angry, Mamita?" asked my dad, in between bites, with his mouth full.
My mom, with tight lips, and a wild look, sputtered, "Mario! I can't believe...we drove ALL. THIS.WAY for FUCKING SUBWAY. We have one in Mission!"
I couldn't help but continue to laugh at this whole debacle.
"Shut up, you!" Mom said to me, with her face still red. She shook her fist at me.
I stopped giggling at my mom. "Is it really a big deal that it's Subway, Mom?" I asked. "It's food."
"Yeah! It's just a sandwich!" my dad said.
"You two are terrible. I can't believe this. I'm not talking to you guys anymore," my mom said.
With that, she left the remnants of cold meatloaf and mashed potatoes. "The potatoes weren't even that good. I bet it was that powder crap they use for "mashed potatoes!"
Mom went off to the bathroom. Papi and I sat there eating our sandwiches.
"I still don't know why she so angry. It's just a sandwich," said Papi confusedly.
"She'll get over it, Papi. Don't worry. Just eat your sandwich" I said, laying my head on his shoulder.
With that, my father finished his meal and we all continued on our Not-So-Merry way to Orlando. But before we left the Subway, my dad ended up getting two more sandwiches to go.
What can I say, my father is Sir Sandwich.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Walking through the "Gates"
My title today has nothing to do with Heaven.
Unless, that is, you enjoy eating BBQ and you've found your perfect American BBQ joint and can consider calling it Heaven.
This adage is true for me each time I go home and visit my parents in Kansas City. I believe that Kansas City is one of the best places in the U.S. to get BBQ. I say this unabashedly. I really have enjoyed the BBQ I have gotten from holes in the wall in Kansas City more than most places I have been to or lived in. I've had BBQ all over the South, mostly in Florida and in Georgia. Once in Memphis and another time in Maryland.
There is a fight amongst large cities in the United States over which has the best barbecue. Of course, most Kansas Citians Carnivores, both native and expat, will tell you that Kansas City has the best BBQ in the United States. Other cities, such as Memphis, New Orleans, Atlanta, etc. will also say THEY have the best BBQ in the world. While their styles of barbecue may be delicious, as well as their sauces, I've been to so many different places in the world that serve BBQ and the only other place that I've been to that can top KC meats is any place in Argentina.
I will tell why I think Kansas City Style BBQ is better than any you've had elsewhere. In fact, I can tell you several reasons why along with a little history.
1) History
Once upon a time, more specifically, the Time of the Wild Wild West, in the Land of the Midwest, there was a dot upon the plains called the "City of Kansas". First, it was actually a town, but then it grew into a cute little city. This city was situated at the confluence of the Kansas and Missouri Rivers.
Most "fast" transport before the invention of the railroads was done by wagon teams or by river steamboats. Kansas City was quite important because of the two main rivers that flowed through. The Kansas River was important because it would branch out from the western parts of the state of Kansas into the Missouri River. The Missouri River was also very important because it started in the Rockies and meandered it's way southeast through the Midwest all the way to Saint Louis, the "Gateway to the West", and into the Mighty Mississippi.
Let's go a little backwards here.
You ride your raft or barge with your livestock - chickens, horses, pigs, sheep, cows, etc. up the Mississippi from New Orleans, let's say. You hit Saint Louis. You want to go out west to Kansas City. You make a left turn from the Mississippi into the Missouri River, against all currents. After a few days or weeks, you've finally arrived in Kansas City, Missouri.
What's funny is that Kansas City originated in Missouri, but it's named after the Kansas River in Kansas. There is also a Kansas City, Kansas. For those not familiar with the area, they think it's all different. For municipal purposes, it is. But in reality, it's all one big city, just in different states. All with the same name.
Ok, back to the Rivers...
Kansas City is important to American History because it was the final stopping point for all trails and roads and some rivers before heading West. With the Oregon, Santa Fe and California Trails setting out from Kansas City, there was a need to transport livestock out West. Also, with the westward expansion of the railroad, Kansas City was the also one of the final stopping grounds before getting to Santa Fe or Denver, etc.
2) Selection of Meats
Here enters The Kansas City Stockyards and Live Stock Exchange, right off of the railroad, in the West Bottoms. The West Bottoms is an area of Kansas City located right along the state line and also right off of the confluence of both the Kansas and Missouri Rivers. It is a low-lying area prone to floods when the rivers overflow.
This was a place where livestock owners and buyers could haggle with each other for a good deal on livestock. Before hand, farmers who needed livestock or who wanted to sell live stock would have needed to stop the actual train or wait until the next tiny stop to see who would be interested in purchasing their livestock or otherwise buying said livestock for their own farms.
The result before the Stockyards came into existence was pretty crappy. Farmers that were expecting big bucks for that prize hog they spent years fattening up could have gotten them a paltry sum. The KC Live Stock Exchange prevented farmers from getting gypped. The Stock Exchange also enabled others to see what kinds of livestock was available to them for better prices for their farms.
The end result was fantastic - farmers were happy and could take their mules, horses and oxen home or otherwise fill their pockets with some nice, loose change.
Other's were able to fill their bellies...
Many restaurants in the area began to experiment with the consumption of the different types of livestock. There was turkey. There was chicken. There was beef. There was pork. There was lamb. I am pretty sure there was waterfowl, too.
Anything with four legs or wings or fins that walked and swam the earth has made it to the barbecue pits of Kansas City.
3) Sauce
Kansas City Style BBQ has a distinct flavor of sauce. It is mostly a molasses-based sauce, but it also takes on the flavor of the meats.
Every single BBQ place I have been to in Kansas City uses wood to smoke their meats. The end result is something delectable...yum...
Hickory is best.
(Sigh)
My Favorite Restaurant
The last few times I've gone home to Kansas City, I never leave home without stopping at Gates BBQ.
I usually go with my uncle and my dad, but this last time I went home, I didn't go with my uncle as I was going home to say my fond farewell of the celebration of his life.
The day after the funeral, we went with my four Vallazza sisters, Ana Maria, Lourdes, Rossana and my parents and my son and nephew to Gates.
Gates is a Kansas City staple. In its glory days, it had way more locations, but I guess not everyone likes Gates. Other popular Kansas City BBQ places are Fiorella Jack Stack and hands down, Arthur Bryant's, but my favorite place is Gates.
Jake, being a Michigander who had never been inside Kansas City limits, described his first moments walking Through the Gates...
"All senses are enticed in their own way. The sweet smoky smell of the air greets your olfactory senses. The sight of happy faces busily working behind the counter as they bombard your ears with interrogative declarations of "you want beef on bun?!""
Screaming is more like it.
I guess I never noticed because I'm a Kansas City native. I walk in to familiar faces, scents and tastes.
They literally scream at you as you walk into the door, "HI!!!! KIN I H'EP YEW?!!!" If you're not quick to order, they ask, or scream, at you, "YEW WAN BEEF ON BUN? PO'K ON BUN?! CHIKIN ON BUN?! WHATCHU WANT, HONEY?!!!!"
As you order, you pick up a tray, and go down the line as if you were in a cafeteria. Once you get your food, you then go and find a seat.
Once you sit down, your mouth is seriously watering from all the goodness on your plate. I normally order either beef or pork on bun. It's smoked meat of your kind, with the sauce of your choice and piled high with pickles and the biggest fries of your life. Jake described the fries as 2x4's. For the record, they're just ordinary thick cut steak fries.
Jake described his experience thus,
"After you get your food and you sit down, your olfactory senses are intensified by the plate of food you carry to your table. In his case, he had a beef on bun. Hickory smoked brisket, with Gates Spicy BBQ sauce, pickles, and the thickest steak fries of your life.
After you eat your meal, you need a dolly to get you out of there. You literally fall into a food coma just from all the meat and carbs that you've just consumed.
Thank the Lord my dad was driving. Otherwise I would have fallen asleep at the wheel.
I can't wait to go back home to walk through the Gates.
Unless, that is, you enjoy eating BBQ and you've found your perfect American BBQ joint and can consider calling it Heaven.
This adage is true for me each time I go home and visit my parents in Kansas City. I believe that Kansas City is one of the best places in the U.S. to get BBQ. I say this unabashedly. I really have enjoyed the BBQ I have gotten from holes in the wall in Kansas City more than most places I have been to or lived in. I've had BBQ all over the South, mostly in Florida and in Georgia. Once in Memphis and another time in Maryland.
There is a fight amongst large cities in the United States over which has the best barbecue. Of course, most Kansas Citians Carnivores, both native and expat, will tell you that Kansas City has the best BBQ in the United States. Other cities, such as Memphis, New Orleans, Atlanta, etc. will also say THEY have the best BBQ in the world. While their styles of barbecue may be delicious, as well as their sauces, I've been to so many different places in the world that serve BBQ and the only other place that I've been to that can top KC meats is any place in Argentina.
I will tell why I think Kansas City Style BBQ is better than any you've had elsewhere. In fact, I can tell you several reasons why along with a little history.
1) History
Once upon a time, more specifically, the Time of the Wild Wild West, in the Land of the Midwest, there was a dot upon the plains called the "City of Kansas". First, it was actually a town, but then it grew into a cute little city. This city was situated at the confluence of the Kansas and Missouri Rivers.
Most "fast" transport before the invention of the railroads was done by wagon teams or by river steamboats. Kansas City was quite important because of the two main rivers that flowed through. The Kansas River was important because it would branch out from the western parts of the state of Kansas into the Missouri River. The Missouri River was also very important because it started in the Rockies and meandered it's way southeast through the Midwest all the way to Saint Louis, the "Gateway to the West", and into the Mighty Mississippi.
Let's go a little backwards here.
You ride your raft or barge with your livestock - chickens, horses, pigs, sheep, cows, etc. up the Mississippi from New Orleans, let's say. You hit Saint Louis. You want to go out west to Kansas City. You make a left turn from the Mississippi into the Missouri River, against all currents. After a few days or weeks, you've finally arrived in Kansas City, Missouri.
What's funny is that Kansas City originated in Missouri, but it's named after the Kansas River in Kansas. There is also a Kansas City, Kansas. For those not familiar with the area, they think it's all different. For municipal purposes, it is. But in reality, it's all one big city, just in different states. All with the same name.
Ok, back to the Rivers...
Kansas City is important to American History because it was the final stopping point for all trails and roads and some rivers before heading West. With the Oregon, Santa Fe and California Trails setting out from Kansas City, there was a need to transport livestock out West. Also, with the westward expansion of the railroad, Kansas City was the also one of the final stopping grounds before getting to Santa Fe or Denver, etc.
2) Selection of Meats
Here enters The Kansas City Stockyards and Live Stock Exchange, right off of the railroad, in the West Bottoms. The West Bottoms is an area of Kansas City located right along the state line and also right off of the confluence of both the Kansas and Missouri Rivers. It is a low-lying area prone to floods when the rivers overflow.
This was a place where livestock owners and buyers could haggle with each other for a good deal on livestock. Before hand, farmers who needed livestock or who wanted to sell live stock would have needed to stop the actual train or wait until the next tiny stop to see who would be interested in purchasing their livestock or otherwise buying said livestock for their own farms.
The result before the Stockyards came into existence was pretty crappy. Farmers that were expecting big bucks for that prize hog they spent years fattening up could have gotten them a paltry sum. The KC Live Stock Exchange prevented farmers from getting gypped. The Stock Exchange also enabled others to see what kinds of livestock was available to them for better prices for their farms.
The end result was fantastic - farmers were happy and could take their mules, horses and oxen home or otherwise fill their pockets with some nice, loose change.
Other's were able to fill their bellies...
Many restaurants in the area began to experiment with the consumption of the different types of livestock. There was turkey. There was chicken. There was beef. There was pork. There was lamb. I am pretty sure there was waterfowl, too.
Anything with four legs or wings or fins that walked and swam the earth has made it to the barbecue pits of Kansas City.
3) Sauce
Kansas City Style BBQ has a distinct flavor of sauce. It is mostly a molasses-based sauce, but it also takes on the flavor of the meats.
Every single BBQ place I have been to in Kansas City uses wood to smoke their meats. The end result is something delectable...yum...
Hickory is best.
(Sigh)
My Favorite Restaurant
The last few times I've gone home to Kansas City, I never leave home without stopping at Gates BBQ.
I usually go with my uncle and my dad, but this last time I went home, I didn't go with my uncle as I was going home to say my fond farewell of the celebration of his life.
The day after the funeral, we went with my four Vallazza sisters, Ana Maria, Lourdes, Rossana and my parents and my son and nephew to Gates.
Gates is a Kansas City staple. In its glory days, it had way more locations, but I guess not everyone likes Gates. Other popular Kansas City BBQ places are Fiorella Jack Stack and hands down, Arthur Bryant's, but my favorite place is Gates.
Jake, being a Michigander who had never been inside Kansas City limits, described his first moments walking Through the Gates...
"All senses are enticed in their own way. The sweet smoky smell of the air greets your olfactory senses. The sight of happy faces busily working behind the counter as they bombard your ears with interrogative declarations of "you want beef on bun?!""
Screaming is more like it.
I guess I never noticed because I'm a Kansas City native. I walk in to familiar faces, scents and tastes.
They literally scream at you as you walk into the door, "HI!!!! KIN I H'EP YEW?!!!" If you're not quick to order, they ask, or scream, at you, "YEW WAN BEEF ON BUN? PO'K ON BUN?! CHIKIN ON BUN?! WHATCHU WANT, HONEY?!!!!"
As you order, you pick up a tray, and go down the line as if you were in a cafeteria. Once you get your food, you then go and find a seat.
Once you sit down, your mouth is seriously watering from all the goodness on your plate. I normally order either beef or pork on bun. It's smoked meat of your kind, with the sauce of your choice and piled high with pickles and the biggest fries of your life. Jake described the fries as 2x4's. For the record, they're just ordinary thick cut steak fries.
Jake described his experience thus,
"After you get your food and you sit down, your olfactory senses are intensified by the plate of food you carry to your table. In his case, he had a beef on bun. Hickory smoked brisket, with Gates Spicy BBQ sauce, pickles, and the thickest steak fries of your life.
After you eat your meal, you need a dolly to get you out of there. You literally fall into a food coma just from all the meat and carbs that you've just consumed.
Thank the Lord my dad was driving. Otherwise I would have fallen asleep at the wheel.
I can't wait to go back home to walk through the Gates.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
The Argentine Adventures : June 2015
Do you ever wonder the "what if...?"
I sure do!
Towards the end of May this year (2015) , I kept thinking, "I really want to go to Argentina this year." I didn't have a chance to go last year as I was unemployed from teaching. Funny to think about it, but I'm unemployed YET AGAIN from teaching.
Anyways...I digress.
I wanted to go to Argentina this year. As you've read from my other posts, "I Heart Argentina". Yep. I sure do.
The problem with this year's trip wasn't the lack of time. I MAKE time for things I want to do. Nor was it really the lack of money. Since getting an elementary teaching job last year, I had managed to save some cash and pay off some bills, which was FANTASTIC! My problem was that since it was close to the end of the school year for me, and this school happens to run only on annual contracts, I didn't want to put a trip on my credit card without a way to pay it off JUST IN CASE I managed to NOT get a renewal on my contract.
I decided I was going to be financially savvy for once and wait.
HA!
Yeah. Right.
I looked at flights on Kayak and Skyscanner. There was one flight, round trip from Miami to Ezeiza International (Argentina's main international airport) for $590! I can't even fly home DOMESTICALLY to Kansas City for $590! I passed on that one because there was a lay over somewhere in Bolivia and I don't want to be by myself in Bolivia, especially when I don't really know the country.
I kept looking and looking. Several friends in Argentina kept asking, "When are you coming to visit?" I continued to tell them, "I need to wait until I get confirmation about my teaching contract for next year".
Well, the principal took her sweet time to inform me that I was not having my contract renewed. She told me during post-planning that it wasn't being renewed. I had to pack up my classroom and make 7 trips home and back to drop off my stuff. In fact, there were only two teachers whose contracts were not renewed, including my own. I find that a personal vendetta. I don't think the principal liked me. That's okay. She had this idea that the students would be fluent in Spanish by the end of the year.
Well...let me tell you...I've been teaching for 8 years. There is no way that over 500 students will be fluent in Spanish when they've only had 30 minutes of instruction a day (give or take about 10 minutes because they need time to settle down, or I need to travel to their classrooms since there's some ridiculous "law" that students from Kindergarten to 2nd grade are not allowed to climb the stairs in school). 30 minutes a day for one week. Some weeks were cut short due to testing or to holidays cutting into the week. Then, I wouldn't see them again for another 5 or 6 weeks, depending on the grade level. Some classes I only saw a total of 6 weeks out of the year.
I'm sorry, but I hate to break it to you - unless you are living in a foreign country where you are thrust into the environment or even if I were speaking only in Spanish the entire time in class, there is no way that someone is going to learn how to speak Spanish with such unrealistic time allowances and constraints. Bitch, please...Whatever...ONWARD to bigger and better things, baby!
So I bought my ticket anyways.
I'm headstrong and very impractical at times. Especially when it has to do with travel. If I have an opportunity to travel and I haven't met my credit limit, I buy myself a ticket!
I was set to travel June 14-June 29th.
After booking my airfare, which turned out to be $1054 US, including tax, I realized, I should have booked it a day later and returned a day later because it would be an actual pay day the 15th and the 30th. On top of that, I bought the ticket pretty much last minute because I was so antsy about going.
I asked my cousin if I could park my car at her apartment in Miami for two weeks and she said absolutely!
My trip turned out to be a very interesting mix of events, so to say.
I left Jacksonville for Miami on Friday afternoon. Ran a series of errands. Met with a few people. On the way there, I was so excited because I was going to listen to my music in my car. Stopped off at Starbucks. Ordered a Venti Soy Chai at 8:30 p.m. and drank the entire thing in less than an hour. Got to Miami later than I expected, at around 10 p.m..
My cars speakers sounded as if there were marbles rolling around in them. They also had that staticky quality about them. Not cool.
Ana told me, 'Park in the visitors spot when you get here". I arrived and there were none available. So I parked in the closest available spot. I even had a Resident Raccoon greet me upon my arrival! He was foraging for food in the dumpsters.
I told Ana what I had done and she said, "Well, I've never seen them tow anyone, but you should be fine."
We stayed up late, talked all night and went to sleep at around 2 a.m..
I slept for about an hour or two. I was paranoid that someone might see the suitcases hanging out in my back seat, break my windows and want to take them! I kept waking up, looking out the window. Nothing appeared amiss. I saw the Renmobile, just hanging out expectantly waiting for our next adventure. I went back to bed, stalked some people on Facebook. Tried to sleep. Kept tossing and turning. Couldn't sleep.
Finally, 7 a.m. rolls around. I decided that I needed to take a shower and get my travel clothes ready. I also saw a visitors spot open and decided I was going to park my car in that spot.
I grabbed my keys, went outside, down the apartment stairs, out to my car and lo and behold...this is what I was greeted with...
Seriously?! Are you seriously kidding me right now?
There was a tag on my window that said prompt removal of the boot would occur when I called and gave the company $89 either in cash or credit. Begrudgingly, I run back up to my cousin's apartment, grab my phone, go back outside,take a picture and call the number. I may have woke up the individual on the other side of the phone line.
"Hello?" That groggy voice that people make when they first arise from slumber.
"Yeah, hi. Good morning. I just came out to my car and I see this sticker on my window and a boot on my tire. I'm going out of the country today and I need to move my car. Can someone please help me remove this?" I asked.
"That will be $89 including tax," said the male voice on the other line. "I'll be there in 10 minutes."
"Is there any way we can reduce the price? I just lost my job this week and money is kind of tight," I asked. I mean, I also had dollars in cash that I needed to exchange on my way to Argentina so that I'd have some money to spend when I got there, like for food and stuff.
"Yeah..." said the man reluctantly. "I'll see what I can do. I might be able to drop it."
The man arrived within five minutes and took the boot off the car.
"That'll be $89."
Um...I was told that it could be less. I explained my sob story again to the dude. He was willing to drop it to $59. Thirty dollars isn't a bad discount. At least I got to save some money. I'm willing to admit the fact that I parked in a wrong spot. I'm okay with paying for my transgressions.
I told him that I had a credit card and he shook his head. "I forgot my credit card reader".
I rolled my eyes and said that I would have to go back and get the little cash I had left inside. I raced up the stairs again, opened the door, stomped around cursing my luck, found the cash and then raced outside again.
I handed the man sixty bucks and told him to keep the change. He went on his merry way and I quickly moved my car to a visitors spot before another boot was immediately slapped on my car.
All of this occurred before 7:30 in the morning. As you see above, I did put it on social media.
Hee hee.
By this time, with all the noise I was making cursing out loud and slamming doors, Ana was already awake.
"Renny...what happened?" She asked as she rubbed her eyes open.
I told her what had happened
"Ay Dios mio!" She exclaimed. I had no idea they would do that, she said.
Let's go ahead and get going to my job, she said.
We take showers, get dressed, and get going to her job, which is in downtown Miami, neak Brickell. On the way there, we stop off at this Cuban café of sorts, where they have pastelitos and cortaditos. For those of you who don't know, cortaditos are small little cups of Cuban coffee. They're more like espresso, but with NOS infused in them. You want energy? You drink a cortadito.
Most Cubans, about 98% of them, will drink cortaditos with milk and sugar. I love coffee and I especially love drinking "café con leche". However, in the last few years, I have developed a serious intestinal aversion to milk. I cannot consume milk, cream or ice cream without having major intestinal issues, a.k.a GAS. Though I can eat cheese without a problem, for some strange reason. Hmmm...I don't know. Weird
Ana and I each get a cortadito and I totally forgot to tell them to not put milk in it. I eat my pastelito and drink my NOS coffee and immediately, I feel like I am flying into outer space.
Actually, flying into outer space is a total lie, but I sure felt like it the way my pulse was raging.
...to be continued...see part two coming soon!
I sure do!
Towards the end of May this year (2015) , I kept thinking, "I really want to go to Argentina this year." I didn't have a chance to go last year as I was unemployed from teaching. Funny to think about it, but I'm unemployed YET AGAIN from teaching.
Anyways...I digress.
I wanted to go to Argentina this year. As you've read from my other posts, "I Heart Argentina". Yep. I sure do.
The problem with this year's trip wasn't the lack of time. I MAKE time for things I want to do. Nor was it really the lack of money. Since getting an elementary teaching job last year, I had managed to save some cash and pay off some bills, which was FANTASTIC! My problem was that since it was close to the end of the school year for me, and this school happens to run only on annual contracts, I didn't want to put a trip on my credit card without a way to pay it off JUST IN CASE I managed to NOT get a renewal on my contract.
I decided I was going to be financially savvy for once and wait.
HA!
Yeah. Right.
I looked at flights on Kayak and Skyscanner. There was one flight, round trip from Miami to Ezeiza International (Argentina's main international airport) for $590! I can't even fly home DOMESTICALLY to Kansas City for $590! I passed on that one because there was a lay over somewhere in Bolivia and I don't want to be by myself in Bolivia, especially when I don't really know the country.
I kept looking and looking. Several friends in Argentina kept asking, "When are you coming to visit?" I continued to tell them, "I need to wait until I get confirmation about my teaching contract for next year".
Well, the principal took her sweet time to inform me that I was not having my contract renewed. She told me during post-planning that it wasn't being renewed. I had to pack up my classroom and make 7 trips home and back to drop off my stuff. In fact, there were only two teachers whose contracts were not renewed, including my own. I find that a personal vendetta. I don't think the principal liked me. That's okay. She had this idea that the students would be fluent in Spanish by the end of the year.
Well...let me tell you...I've been teaching for 8 years. There is no way that over 500 students will be fluent in Spanish when they've only had 30 minutes of instruction a day (give or take about 10 minutes because they need time to settle down, or I need to travel to their classrooms since there's some ridiculous "law" that students from Kindergarten to 2nd grade are not allowed to climb the stairs in school). 30 minutes a day for one week. Some weeks were cut short due to testing or to holidays cutting into the week. Then, I wouldn't see them again for another 5 or 6 weeks, depending on the grade level. Some classes I only saw a total of 6 weeks out of the year.
I'm sorry, but I hate to break it to you - unless you are living in a foreign country where you are thrust into the environment or even if I were speaking only in Spanish the entire time in class, there is no way that someone is going to learn how to speak Spanish with such unrealistic time allowances and constraints. Bitch, please...Whatever...ONWARD to bigger and better things, baby!
So I bought my ticket anyways.
I'm headstrong and very impractical at times. Especially when it has to do with travel. If I have an opportunity to travel and I haven't met my credit limit, I buy myself a ticket!
I was set to travel June 14-June 29th.
After booking my airfare, which turned out to be $1054 US, including tax, I realized, I should have booked it a day later and returned a day later because it would be an actual pay day the 15th and the 30th. On top of that, I bought the ticket pretty much last minute because I was so antsy about going.
I asked my cousin if I could park my car at her apartment in Miami for two weeks and she said absolutely!
My trip turned out to be a very interesting mix of events, so to say.
I left Jacksonville for Miami on Friday afternoon. Ran a series of errands. Met with a few people. On the way there, I was so excited because I was going to listen to my music in my car. Stopped off at Starbucks. Ordered a Venti Soy Chai at 8:30 p.m. and drank the entire thing in less than an hour. Got to Miami later than I expected, at around 10 p.m..
My cars speakers sounded as if there were marbles rolling around in them. They also had that staticky quality about them. Not cool.
Ana told me, 'Park in the visitors spot when you get here". I arrived and there were none available. So I parked in the closest available spot. I even had a Resident Raccoon greet me upon my arrival! He was foraging for food in the dumpsters.
I told Ana what I had done and she said, "Well, I've never seen them tow anyone, but you should be fine."
We stayed up late, talked all night and went to sleep at around 2 a.m..
I slept for about an hour or two. I was paranoid that someone might see the suitcases hanging out in my back seat, break my windows and want to take them! I kept waking up, looking out the window. Nothing appeared amiss. I saw the Renmobile, just hanging out expectantly waiting for our next adventure. I went back to bed, stalked some people on Facebook. Tried to sleep. Kept tossing and turning. Couldn't sleep.
Finally, 7 a.m. rolls around. I decided that I needed to take a shower and get my travel clothes ready. I also saw a visitors spot open and decided I was going to park my car in that spot.
I grabbed my keys, went outside, down the apartment stairs, out to my car and lo and behold...this is what I was greeted with...
Seriously?! Are you seriously kidding me right now?
There was a tag on my window that said prompt removal of the boot would occur when I called and gave the company $89 either in cash or credit. Begrudgingly, I run back up to my cousin's apartment, grab my phone, go back outside,
"Hello?" That groggy voice that people make when they first arise from slumber.
"Yeah, hi. Good morning. I just came out to my car and I see this sticker on my window and a boot on my tire. I'm going out of the country today and I need to move my car. Can someone please help me remove this?" I asked.
"That will be $89 including tax," said the male voice on the other line. "I'll be there in 10 minutes."
"Is there any way we can reduce the price? I just lost my job this week and money is kind of tight," I asked. I mean, I also had dollars in cash that I needed to exchange on my way to Argentina so that I'd have some money to spend when I got there, like for food and stuff.
"Yeah..." said the man reluctantly. "I'll see what I can do. I might be able to drop it."
The man arrived within five minutes and took the boot off the car.
"That'll be $89."
Um...I was told that it could be less. I explained my sob story again to the dude. He was willing to drop it to $59. Thirty dollars isn't a bad discount. At least I got to save some money. I'm willing to admit the fact that I parked in a wrong spot. I'm okay with paying for my transgressions.
I told him that I had a credit card and he shook his head. "I forgot my credit card reader".
I rolled my eyes and said that I would have to go back and get the little cash I had left inside. I raced up the stairs again, opened the door, stomped around cursing my luck, found the cash and then raced outside again.
I handed the man sixty bucks and told him to keep the change. He went on his merry way and I quickly moved my car to a visitors spot before another boot was immediately slapped on my car.
All of this occurred before 7:30 in the morning. As you see above, I did put it on social media.
Hee hee.
By this time, with all the noise I was making cursing out loud and slamming doors, Ana was already awake.
"Renny...what happened?" She asked as she rubbed her eyes open.
I told her what had happened
"Ay Dios mio!" She exclaimed. I had no idea they would do that, she said.
Let's go ahead and get going to my job, she said.
We take showers, get dressed, and get going to her job, which is in downtown Miami, neak Brickell. On the way there, we stop off at this Cuban café of sorts, where they have pastelitos and cortaditos. For those of you who don't know, cortaditos are small little cups of Cuban coffee. They're more like espresso, but with NOS infused in them. You want energy? You drink a cortadito.
 |
| Just right for Barbie! |
Most Cubans, about 98% of them, will drink cortaditos with milk and sugar. I love coffee and I especially love drinking "café con leche". However, in the last few years, I have developed a serious intestinal aversion to milk. I cannot consume milk, cream or ice cream without having major intestinal issues, a.k.a GAS. Though I can eat cheese without a problem, for some strange reason. Hmmm...I don't know. Weird
Ana and I each get a cortadito and I totally forgot to tell them to not put milk in it. I eat my pastelito and drink my NOS coffee and immediately, I feel like I am flying into outer space.
Actually, flying into outer space is a total lie, but I sure felt like it the way my pulse was raging.
...to be continued...see part two coming soon!
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
I Heart Argentina....parte tres
I'm back for yet another installment of "I Heart Argentina....parte tres". I'm your host, Vallazza-Raptor.
Though it's been almost two years since I've been back to Argentina, I remember many of its attributes quite fondly. (sigh...)
I forgot what number I was on in my last installment, but for times sake, I'll just continue with the #7.
7) Los Boliches
Los Boliches are what Argentines call their night clubs. I've only been to a few, but that's all I need to know. They also call their clubs "el disco" but I prefer "Los Boliches". The night life in Argentina doesn't get started until 2 a.m. or after. It saddens me that the U.S. is missing out on this type of nightlife because last call is usually at 1:30 a.m. in a place like Jacksonville. It's no wonder that most other people think American's are boring...we don't get the party started. Latinos, however, could party all the way until the sunrise! I know this for a fact because I did it many times in Costa Rica and in Argentina, but I also had the dubious pleasure of accompanying someone until the wee morning hours of daylight in a small beach town in Argentina called "Monte Hermoso".
As I was saying, while the club doesn't open until 2 a.m., but the real fun doesn't start until 3 or 4 in the morning. That's when the club starts hopping. You're there, packed with numerous amounts of people, almost to the point of claustrophobia, dancing...sweating...getting into close quarters with people you didn't know existed until five seconds ago. It's marvelous, really.
I went to several places in Bahía Blanca, Argentina, as well as the surrounding cities in December 2012. My friends took me to Monte Hermoso, a nice little beach town that has the fame of being the only city in Argentina where the beach has both a sunrise and sunset on the water. It's really a beautiful little town. In any case, they took me to a place called "El Pelícano" (The Pelican) at 1 a.m. and my friend, her husband and I all danced with one another until the place closed. However, I did end the night dancing with a beautiful man who ended up whisking me away to another club down the street until the sun rose...it was a great night...or morning... I shall call him Señor J. We ended up dancing all night, through the morning until he dropped me off at my friends beach house at 9 a.m.. We made out passionately like teenagers...it was pretty nice. ;) Not sure I want a repeat with him, but like I've mentioned before, I don't allow just ANYONE to make it past first base with me unless there's potential.
In the boliches, you dance to whatever music is popular in Argentina, which is typically cumbia villera, or whatever Argentine rock band is popular. There are some even American Top 40 hits that they play on the airwaves in Argentina. I quite enjoy cumbia of any sort, but I think cumbia villera now has a soft spot in my heart as well. My dad hates it. He prefers cumbia colombiana. What can I say? I like accordeon/bandoneon music and I'm nerdy that way.
The last time I went to Argentina in July 2013, I went to a Cuban boliche. Though I'm not Cuban, I do and have associated more with Cubans than I have my own background. Perhaps it's because my sister has been married to a Cuban for the last 24 years or so. I like Cuban food and I like their style of dancing to salsa and merengue. In any case, I heard about my fellow compadres having a Cuban restaurant in Argentina and that they played salsa, so naturally I had to go sample the food and dance to the music.
I felt like a celebrity once I arrived!
I requested a few merengues from the DJ. The lady stared at me, and asked, "De dónde eres?" (Where are you from, using the "tú"form.) I smiled and said I was from Florida. She immediately announced to the guys behind the bar that I was from Miami and that I had come to dance for the night. I was instantly plied with free mojitos and all the merengue and salsa I wanted, because when "you're from 'Miami', you're instantly Cuban"...Although I'm not Cuban and I'm actually from or live in Jacksonville. I lacked no dance partners at all that night. It was nice because I could dance without having to worry about being pawed upon. I just went to dance, and dance I did! I closed the restaurant down there as well at 6 a.m.. Truly a wonderful experience.
This is not to say that I am a party animal either in the States. I just simply like to dance. I enjoy music. I enjoy meeting people. I don't like close quarters. I sometimes get social anxiety if I feel there's too many people someplace.
If you go to Argentina, I recommend going at least once to the disco/boliche. They can be pretty fun. Though take some TP. The toilet paper is thin or sometimes non-existent in the bathrooms at the boliches.
I went with my friend's brother and his friends once and since I was the "Yanqui" I was also instant celebrity and given free drinks. The bartender thought I was pretty, but I was not interested. But he still kept the drinks coming! We stayed out until 7 a.m. that night. :)
8) El acento.
Oh, my goodness...the first time I ever heard any Argentine speak was through the speakers in my dad's Oldsmobile station wagon. I was 4 and listening to my father's recordings of tango as we drove around Kansas City. I noticed they spoke Spanish differently than what I was used to hearing. I had actually heard tangos for years, but never really noticed their accent until then. I asked my dad, "Porque hablan diferente?" Why do they speak funny?
"Porque son argentinos," he replied.
At four years old, I had no idea what Argentines were, nor that there was a country named Argentina. All I knew was that I liked the way they sang and that their tango was sexy. Of course, I didn't know what "sexy" meant either, but now as an adult, I recognize that I was turned on by Argentines from a very early age.
Fast forward to my early college years, beginning in 2001.
I was beginning to have more of an interest in my Hispanic backgrounds. I was taking a class called "Introduction to Latin America" at Johnson County Community College. I remember there being this beautiful man in my class that I liked staring at. I would get embarrassed whenever he caught me staring at him. Whenever he opened his mouth, he spoke English with the most beautiful accent. I finally brought up the courage to ask him where he was from one day before class as we waited out in the hallway.
"I am from Argentina," he said, with his beautiful accent emerging from that beautiful mouth.
I got shivers down my spine...and into my core...goosebumps emerged.
True, in 1996, I had seen "Evita" in the theatre as Madonna sang and danced her way onto the streets of Buenos Aires. There had been a kerfuffle amongst Argentines against the idea that Madonna was going to be playing one of their more revered historical characters. Having Madonna portray Eva Perón was like saying that Steppenwolf would be playing Mariachi music at the presidential inauguration for Clinton. I even did a report on Evita in 10th grade where I got a 100%. Woot woot.
Anyways...I digress...Back to the hot Argentine in my class...
When he spoke Spanish in class, I about melted. I had never heard anyone use "Vos" for "you". I had only grown up with "tú" or "Usted". As well as, "sos" for "you are" instead of "eres". It was all so mysterious. It was then that I discovered that not all Spanish speakers speak the same Spanish. I knew there were slight differences because my mom speaks Mexican Spanish and my dad Ecuadorean, but I never thought about the even bigger differences between the continents or even regions within one's country. I was only 18, so I didn't know.
I hungered to find more of these people!
For the above mentioned class, I elected to do a report on the tango. Who knew better information about the tango than my dad?! My grandfather knew a lot as he had lived with uncles in Buenos Aires in the 1920s. But my grandfather had passed away in 1997, so I couldn't ask him.
Papi had all sorts of tango songs which I promptly downloaded. I had grown up listening to many of the old tangos that were played on the airwaves in Buenos Aires back in the 1930s. Singers such as Carlos Gardel, Julio Sosa, Argentino Ledesma, etc...I knew a lot of those songs. Their accents and the lyrics made me melt! There's even a movie that is one of my favorites called "Tango, no me dejes nunca". I have watched that movie so many times over and over again. I love the music, dancing and the script. Beautiful.
One time, I was out with The Girlies - Toaster Oven and Squeak Rodriguez, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a very handsome man. He asked me to dance. So we did and I discovered that he was from Argentina because he winked at me and said, "Qué hermosa sos!".
I about died...
"Stop it! My underwear is melting!" I exclaimed. I told him that I loved his accent. He continued to say that I was beautiful. Alas...I was in a relationship at that time, so I wouldn't have done anything further but dance with him, but his accent was divine and dreamy.
The same thing can be said when I actually go to Argentina. I actually enjoy sitting in the café listening to the people talk with one another. It's like "People Watching" but more of "Listening". I love doing it.
"Hola ché! Cómo andas?" they say with sing-song quality.
"Bien, mi amor. Cuándo venís a la Argentina?" (Fine, my love. When are you coming to Argentina?) they'll ask.
"Cuándo vos quieras" (Whenever you want)
I developed a mini crush on some of the men in Argentina when I go visit simply because of the way they speak. One male friend in particular knows this and will just speak to me while I develop goosebumps on arms. He is such a tease...jerk... lol.
I've always said that I may end up with an Argentine just because I love the way they speak. Who knows if that will still be true?
9) La Plata
The name "Argentina" is actually derived from the Latin word, argentum, meaning "Silver". On the periodic table of elements, it has a symbol of "Ag". Silver is one of the most important metals in the world. In any case, the country Argentina got its name because of the myth and subsequent discovery of the mountains being made of silver. In fact, the most important river in Argentine economy, "Rio de la Plata", was thus named because when Argentina was first discovered by European discoverers, it looked like a ribbon of silver running through the countryside. I personally dislike the English translation of the river, 'River Plate'. I think of actual fine-bone China plates, not "plate" as in "silver plate". I prefer "Silver River".
Whatever...
The point I'm trying to make without having to digress through numerous historical facts is that Argentina's silver trade is lovely.
The first time I went to Argentina, I purchased a pair of simple silver hoop earrings. Alas, I lost one in the back seat of a car only last fall. The owner of the car found the earring, but has declined to return it to me unless I go back out and date him again. To which I say, "poo", cause that jazz isn't happening ever again. He was so boring...I digress yet again.
The silver is so abundant in Argentina. The silver smiths have done some tremendous work on their jewelry. I love all the pieces that I've garnered from the jewelry shops there, though I still want my earring back...
GRRR....
I'll just have to travel to Argentina once more to get another pair. :)
Just think! My friends will have fun with that fact. I'll get to go back and visit my fellow Argentines again soon. :)
Though it's been almost two years since I've been back to Argentina, I remember many of its attributes quite fondly. (sigh...)
I forgot what number I was on in my last installment, but for times sake, I'll just continue with the #7.
7) Los Boliches
Los Boliches are what Argentines call their night clubs. I've only been to a few, but that's all I need to know. They also call their clubs "el disco" but I prefer "Los Boliches". The night life in Argentina doesn't get started until 2 a.m. or after. It saddens me that the U.S. is missing out on this type of nightlife because last call is usually at 1:30 a.m. in a place like Jacksonville. It's no wonder that most other people think American's are boring...we don't get the party started. Latinos, however, could party all the way until the sunrise! I know this for a fact because I did it many times in Costa Rica and in Argentina, but I also had the dubious pleasure of accompanying someone until the wee morning hours of daylight in a small beach town in Argentina called "Monte Hermoso".
As I was saying, while the club doesn't open until 2 a.m., but the real fun doesn't start until 3 or 4 in the morning. That's when the club starts hopping. You're there, packed with numerous amounts of people, almost to the point of claustrophobia, dancing...sweating...getting into close quarters with people you didn't know existed until five seconds ago. It's marvelous, really.
I went to several places in Bahía Blanca, Argentina, as well as the surrounding cities in December 2012. My friends took me to Monte Hermoso, a nice little beach town that has the fame of being the only city in Argentina where the beach has both a sunrise and sunset on the water. It's really a beautiful little town. In any case, they took me to a place called "El Pelícano" (The Pelican) at 1 a.m. and my friend, her husband and I all danced with one another until the place closed. However, I did end the night dancing with a beautiful man who ended up whisking me away to another club down the street until the sun rose...it was a great night...or morning... I shall call him Señor J. We ended up dancing all night, through the morning until he dropped me off at my friends beach house at 9 a.m.. We made out passionately like teenagers...it was pretty nice. ;) Not sure I want a repeat with him, but like I've mentioned before, I don't allow just ANYONE to make it past first base with me unless there's potential.
In the boliches, you dance to whatever music is popular in Argentina, which is typically cumbia villera, or whatever Argentine rock band is popular. There are some even American Top 40 hits that they play on the airwaves in Argentina. I quite enjoy cumbia of any sort, but I think cumbia villera now has a soft spot in my heart as well. My dad hates it. He prefers cumbia colombiana. What can I say? I like accordeon/bandoneon music and I'm nerdy that way.
The last time I went to Argentina in July 2013, I went to a Cuban boliche. Though I'm not Cuban, I do and have associated more with Cubans than I have my own background. Perhaps it's because my sister has been married to a Cuban for the last 24 years or so. I like Cuban food and I like their style of dancing to salsa and merengue. In any case, I heard about my fellow compadres having a Cuban restaurant in Argentina and that they played salsa, so naturally I had to go sample the food and dance to the music.
I felt like a celebrity once I arrived!
I requested a few merengues from the DJ. The lady stared at me, and asked, "De dónde eres?" (Where are you from, using the "tú"form.) I smiled and said I was from Florida. She immediately announced to the guys behind the bar that I was from Miami and that I had come to dance for the night. I was instantly plied with free mojitos and all the merengue and salsa I wanted, because when "you're from 'Miami', you're instantly Cuban"...Although I'm not Cuban and I'm actually from or live in Jacksonville. I lacked no dance partners at all that night. It was nice because I could dance without having to worry about being pawed upon. I just went to dance, and dance I did! I closed the restaurant down there as well at 6 a.m.. Truly a wonderful experience.
This is not to say that I am a party animal either in the States. I just simply like to dance. I enjoy music. I enjoy meeting people. I don't like close quarters. I sometimes get social anxiety if I feel there's too many people someplace.
If you go to Argentina, I recommend going at least once to the disco/boliche. They can be pretty fun. Though take some TP. The toilet paper is thin or sometimes non-existent in the bathrooms at the boliches.
I went with my friend's brother and his friends once and since I was the "Yanqui" I was also instant celebrity and given free drinks. The bartender thought I was pretty, but I was not interested. But he still kept the drinks coming! We stayed out until 7 a.m. that night. :)
8) El acento.
Oh, my goodness...the first time I ever heard any Argentine speak was through the speakers in my dad's Oldsmobile station wagon. I was 4 and listening to my father's recordings of tango as we drove around Kansas City. I noticed they spoke Spanish differently than what I was used to hearing. I had actually heard tangos for years, but never really noticed their accent until then. I asked my dad, "Porque hablan diferente?" Why do they speak funny?
"Porque son argentinos," he replied.
At four years old, I had no idea what Argentines were, nor that there was a country named Argentina. All I knew was that I liked the way they sang and that their tango was sexy. Of course, I didn't know what "sexy" meant either, but now as an adult, I recognize that I was turned on by Argentines from a very early age.
Fast forward to my early college years, beginning in 2001.
I was beginning to have more of an interest in my Hispanic backgrounds. I was taking a class called "Introduction to Latin America" at Johnson County Community College. I remember there being this beautiful man in my class that I liked staring at. I would get embarrassed whenever he caught me staring at him. Whenever he opened his mouth, he spoke English with the most beautiful accent. I finally brought up the courage to ask him where he was from one day before class as we waited out in the hallway.
"I am from Argentina," he said, with his beautiful accent emerging from that beautiful mouth.
I got shivers down my spine...and into my core...goosebumps emerged.
True, in 1996, I had seen "Evita" in the theatre as Madonna sang and danced her way onto the streets of Buenos Aires. There had been a kerfuffle amongst Argentines against the idea that Madonna was going to be playing one of their more revered historical characters. Having Madonna portray Eva Perón was like saying that Steppenwolf would be playing Mariachi music at the presidential inauguration for Clinton. I even did a report on Evita in 10th grade where I got a 100%. Woot woot.
Anyways...I digress...Back to the hot Argentine in my class...
When he spoke Spanish in class, I about melted. I had never heard anyone use "Vos" for "you". I had only grown up with "tú" or "Usted". As well as, "sos" for "you are" instead of "eres". It was all so mysterious. It was then that I discovered that not all Spanish speakers speak the same Spanish. I knew there were slight differences because my mom speaks Mexican Spanish and my dad Ecuadorean, but I never thought about the even bigger differences between the continents or even regions within one's country. I was only 18, so I didn't know.
I hungered to find more of these people!
For the above mentioned class, I elected to do a report on the tango. Who knew better information about the tango than my dad?! My grandfather knew a lot as he had lived with uncles in Buenos Aires in the 1920s. But my grandfather had passed away in 1997, so I couldn't ask him.
Papi had all sorts of tango songs which I promptly downloaded. I had grown up listening to many of the old tangos that were played on the airwaves in Buenos Aires back in the 1930s. Singers such as Carlos Gardel, Julio Sosa, Argentino Ledesma, etc...I knew a lot of those songs. Their accents and the lyrics made me melt! There's even a movie that is one of my favorites called "Tango, no me dejes nunca". I have watched that movie so many times over and over again. I love the music, dancing and the script. Beautiful.
One time, I was out with The Girlies - Toaster Oven and Squeak Rodriguez, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a very handsome man. He asked me to dance. So we did and I discovered that he was from Argentina because he winked at me and said, "Qué hermosa sos!".
I about died...
"Stop it! My underwear is melting!" I exclaimed. I told him that I loved his accent. He continued to say that I was beautiful. Alas...I was in a relationship at that time, so I wouldn't have done anything further but dance with him, but his accent was divine and dreamy.
The same thing can be said when I actually go to Argentina. I actually enjoy sitting in the café listening to the people talk with one another. It's like "People Watching" but more of "Listening". I love doing it.
"Hola ché! Cómo andas?" they say with sing-song quality.
"Bien, mi amor. Cuándo venís a la Argentina?" (Fine, my love. When are you coming to Argentina?) they'll ask.
"Cuándo vos quieras" (Whenever you want)
I developed a mini crush on some of the men in Argentina when I go visit simply because of the way they speak. One male friend in particular knows this and will just speak to me while I develop goosebumps on arms. He is such a tease...jerk... lol.
I've always said that I may end up with an Argentine just because I love the way they speak. Who knows if that will still be true?
9) La Plata
The name "Argentina" is actually derived from the Latin word, argentum, meaning "Silver". On the periodic table of elements, it has a symbol of "Ag". Silver is one of the most important metals in the world. In any case, the country Argentina got its name because of the myth and subsequent discovery of the mountains being made of silver. In fact, the most important river in Argentine economy, "Rio de la Plata", was thus named because when Argentina was first discovered by European discoverers, it looked like a ribbon of silver running through the countryside. I personally dislike the English translation of the river, 'River Plate'. I think of actual fine-bone China plates, not "plate" as in "silver plate". I prefer "Silver River".
Whatever...
The point I'm trying to make without having to digress through numerous historical facts is that Argentina's silver trade is lovely.
The first time I went to Argentina, I purchased a pair of simple silver hoop earrings. Alas, I lost one in the back seat of a car only last fall. The owner of the car found the earring, but has declined to return it to me unless I go back out and date him again. To which I say, "poo", cause that jazz isn't happening ever again. He was so boring...I digress yet again.
The silver is so abundant in Argentina. The silver smiths have done some tremendous work on their jewelry. I love all the pieces that I've garnered from the jewelry shops there, though I still want my earring back...
GRRR....
I'll just have to travel to Argentina once more to get another pair. :)
Just think! My friends will have fun with that fact. I'll get to go back and visit my fellow Argentines again soon. :)
Thursday, December 11, 2014
$7 for a Fountain
Last weekend ended on a somewhat sour note.
Those events caused this week's events to be interesting...to say the least.
The guy I had been dating for six weeks, Date #8 (see other blog) decided, after having vomited for several days straight, that he was going to take some time off.
The text he sent to me made me think, "He means take time off of work."
I sent him a message back saying, "IF you want to hang out on Sunday and watch movies, let me know."
My message to him did not say, "Let's hang out and watch movies." My message was asking for a condition...anyways...I'm a language teacher. Communication is key for me.
He shoots back, "You're missing the point. I want to take care of myself. I want to focus on getting better. I'm not sure how long that's going to take."
Where in his message did he say that he wanted to break up?
I really and honestly was flabbergasted. I understand the poor guy is busy and overworked. I thought things were fine between us.
#Rude.
I had to go back to his restaurant and get a container I had let him borrow. His face fell when he saw me. "Don't look so excited," I said to him, half joking.
He mentioned that his roommate had gone to the hospital with a spider bite infection. All he had eaten was a Burger King breakfast sandwich.
I said to him, "I thought you didn't eat breakfast."
"I told you I went to the hospital this morning! I was hungry and I needed to eat something." Said #8.
Again...where does it say that he took his roommate to the hospital? Lack of communication....ugh...
As I was leaving, I asked, "So is that it? No more hanging out? No more you and me?"
He nodded and said that he was incredibly busy, but that he wanted me to stop by and say hello from time to time. He wanted to know how my school year was going to go. His being nice made me want to squish him like a bug.
He then makes matters slightly worse by saying they want to use me as a social media manager for both of the restaurants that he manages. At least I'll be making some money when we finally are able to sit down and do things. I need to catch up from when I was unemployed for these last seven months.
I'm confused. I spent the night at the hospital with this man when he was having an almost heart attack. I think I began to really like him while at the hospital. I felt so sorry for him. A man who had just moved here and is completely alone in the world. No parents. No contact with siblings. A little strange, but he seemed a kind and giving person. Just what I had been needing...whatever...I'll get over it.
This occurred in July 2014.
Those events caused this week's events to be interesting...to say the least.
The guy I had been dating for six weeks, Date #8 (see other blog) decided, after having vomited for several days straight, that he was going to take some time off.
The text he sent to me made me think, "He means take time off of work."
I sent him a message back saying, "IF you want to hang out on Sunday and watch movies, let me know."
My message to him did not say, "Let's hang out and watch movies." My message was asking for a condition...anyways...I'm a language teacher. Communication is key for me.
He shoots back, "You're missing the point. I want to take care of myself. I want to focus on getting better. I'm not sure how long that's going to take."
Where in his message did he say that he wanted to break up?
I really and honestly was flabbergasted. I understand the poor guy is busy and overworked. I thought things were fine between us.
#Rude.
I had to go back to his restaurant and get a container I had let him borrow. His face fell when he saw me. "Don't look so excited," I said to him, half joking.
He mentioned that his roommate had gone to the hospital with a spider bite infection. All he had eaten was a Burger King breakfast sandwich.
I said to him, "I thought you didn't eat breakfast."
"I told you I went to the hospital this morning! I was hungry and I needed to eat something." Said #8.
Again...where does it say that he took his roommate to the hospital? Lack of communication....ugh...
As I was leaving, I asked, "So is that it? No more hanging out? No more you and me?"
He nodded and said that he was incredibly busy, but that he wanted me to stop by and say hello from time to time. He wanted to know how my school year was going to go. His being nice made me want to squish him like a bug.
He then makes matters slightly worse by saying they want to use me as a social media manager for both of the restaurants that he manages. At least I'll be making some money when we finally are able to sit down and do things. I need to catch up from when I was unemployed for these last seven months.
I'm confused. I spent the night at the hospital with this man when he was having an almost heart attack. I think I began to really like him while at the hospital. I felt so sorry for him. A man who had just moved here and is completely alone in the world. No parents. No contact with siblings. A little strange, but he seemed a kind and giving person. Just what I had been needing...whatever...I'll get over it.
This occurred in July 2014.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
I'm Going to Take that as a "No"...
After a three year "absence", so to say, I have resumed dating again.
I honestly didn't think I was going to date ever again, much less be with someone long term. Right now may not be the case, but I know I'll end up with someone...I'm just not sure who.
I just don't have the time nor the willpower to sit through boring dates. I am the type of person that just knows if I'm going to click with someone or not. I have such intuitive abilities (or so I have thought) that I can know within five minutes of me meeting this person if things are going to pan out for the best or if they are going to tank like an aquarium.
BACKSTORY
In any case, it's been three years (2011) since I split with my son's father and about eight (2006) since I've really and honestly been on the dating scene. That is, unless, you count a period of one month right after my breakup in 2011. I went out with five different guys. All pretty nice, but really boring dudes. One date for coffee was enough with each of them. One of them pursued me relentlessly for six months. He was a doctor and also a lawyer in Jacksonville. After our first date, he told me he wanted me for my body and that I could just stay in his house, wear short skirts all day and just have, as he termed it, "an exclusive" partnership with him while he paid for all of my bills. Essentially, he just wanted a Sugar Baby. I was not about to spend who knows how many of the following years of my life with some jerk who was not going to let me work, was going to pay off all my student loans and keep house just so I could keep his "appetite" happy.
It was all for naught. I refused to cave in to his desires or demands. After six months of hard pursuit, he realized that I meant what I said, "No", and that he just wasn't going to gain access to Club Ren. Thank you, Lord! I'm a very hard-working, independent woman. It would have felt strange for him to pay for all of my student loan debt. He didn't incur that, but he was in earnest when he said he would pay for all my stuff. Sounds nice, but not working? I'd have felt a slave in his house. No, thank you.
After that mishap with Dr. Lawyer, I just figured that I needed to focus on my schooling, as I was getting my second masters degree, and on my son. My poor boy was going through a difficult transition of not being with both of his parents. Not to mention, after having spent the past five years of my life with someone who thinks nothing of cheating on his woman with the "female friends" he has amassed like termites coming out of the woodwork, I wasn't ready to date anyone.
I developed crushes on some of my male friends, but distance is a factor in what could have been in some of those relationships. Those books are best left on the shelf, and as it is, I value their friendship over broken hearted feelings.
Needless to say...this past month has been a flurry of activities in my life. Some of you know that I had been unemployed since December. I had been frantically looking for work to no avail and time and most definitely money was running out quickly. My son kept getting sick all the time and it turns out that he is going to need a tonsillectomy. The following day after that diagnosis, I bump into a former "friend" of my ex at his school. Our kids are in the same exact classroom. The only chair available is right next to this woman. I quickly sent up a prayer and asked Him that I be kind and polite, which I was. I think she was surprised that I was nice to her, being that I knew her past with my ex.
She mentioned to me, "I don't talk to him anymore."
This surprised me because my ex keeps his "friends" around like keys on a keychain, using them when he feels like it and keeping them around "just in case".
She asked if we could exchange numbers, which I agreed to. She called me right afterwards and asked if we could grab a coffee, but I was on my way to Saint Augustine to help out a friend clean her house. I told her we could meet up probably within the week as I was going to be busy. When we finally did meet up, she apologized to me for four hours for having meddled in my relationship, for having carried on with my ex while I was still with him and for a number of other things.
Forgiveness is a HUGE thing...I think had she told me this immediately after having split with him, I would have beat the crap out of her. Time does heal wounds...I told her that after having been hurt by my ex so many times, one becomes numb to it all and no longer begins to care. I told her that I forgave her and I think she and I may be on our way to becoming friends. Only time will tell. :) Though it may sound silly, the release her confession gave to me really and honestly set me free.
The day I go to Saint Augustine turned out to be very advantageous for me. I called a friend who has kids that my son loves to play with and we agreed to meet up for a playdate. During the playdate, she mentions that they need someone at their photo studio to greet customers. Since I know lots of people, I told her that I would look around. The job description was actually something I could do! I told her, "I would love the opportunity to work for you both".
She went home, spoke to her husband and they both agreed that I would be perfect for that job!
The following weekend, I started working for my friends at their photo studio. It was also that same weekend that I joined a free dating website.
A friend of mine, who shall not be named, recently split with her significant other. She joined the website not to actually date, but just to see what was out there. She kept telling me, " You have to join so you can see these guys. Some of their profiles are funny!"
After having the disaster of Match.com, I was not ready to "date" nor even think about it.
However, friends pester and I caved in.
The REAL Story.
I created a profile.
I was honest in my profile. I mentioned that I was not here for booty calls, I am here to find an actual relationship, yada yada yada.
Within the first 48 hours, I received over 200 messages from different guys.
I opened my account on a Saturday at 10 a.m..
Date #1: I went on my first date the following day, Sunday, at 5:15 p.m. in Saint Augustine. Since I now work weekends in Saint Augustine, I'd rather date there. We went out for coffee. I managed to freak him out by pulling down my hair and sniffing the strands. I'm not sure about you other ladies, but when I've had my long hair up in a bun all day, all I want to do is let down my hair, massage the roots and smell my hair. Is that weird of me?
Well...it's sure freaked him out. A friend of mine later told me, "Maybe you turned him on." Maybe, but I'm just going to assume that I freaked him out.
However, he did message me recently and said that I was fun enough to hang out with, but not in the dating sense. So maybe I have a new friend? Second Date: Meh...probably not, but maybe we'll just be friends. Just regular friends.
Date #2: Also on Sunday. What a pest. He kept emailing and texting me for 48 hours straight. This guy I will refer to as the Italian Rude Dude... He at least paid for my dinner. He kept referring to his ex-wife as a variety of female dog. NEXT!!!
Date #3: Thursday after opening my account. Location: Mexican Restaurant in Jax. Food: Chips and guac. I liked this guy a lot. I think he liked me too because five minutes after parting ways, he said he wanted to meet me again...still waiting on that one! Second Date: Three weeks and counting for our second date! I'm just going to assume that I won't be hearing from him any time soon.
Date #4: Also that same Thursday night. This guy turns out to have been born close to my hometown. He also had studied abroad in Ecuador and spoke Spanish. We could have had a lot in common, but he ran out of the date only 20 minutes in! Location: He made me change the location of our meeting from the Town Center to San Marco. When I'm poor, broke and fabulous...I can't be driving all over Fruit Cove, Saint Augustine and downtown Jax for some guy that has "mysterious" stomach pains. Come off it, man! If you're really sick, say so. (Come to think of it, maybe he was?) If you don't like me, say so as well. In any case, I think he really did have a stomach issue because a few weeks after our failed date, he sent me a message at midnight saying he was really horny and I was beautiful. Second Date: Yeah....no.....
Date #5: The Friday after opening up my account. Really, really nice guy. A wee bit older than me, by about 13 years. I'm closer in age with his oldest daughter than I am to him. Could be a deal breaker on the age of his kids...Very polite, fun and laid back. Location: The Conch House on Anastasia Island. Activity: Drink beer, watch me eat, and talked about the most fascinating topics. We had agreed to go a second date, but more on that in a moment.
Date #6: One week after opening my account, following Saturday. The Troubador. Not to say I'm into numerology, but the #6 harbors negativity for me. This poor man...pobrecito...words cannot express how sorry for him I feel. He drove over an hour and a half to meet me. He sang to me. (No, thank you!) He had the romance turned way too high, like a furnace on full blast... Within five minutes of our meeting, I wanted him gone and out of my sight. I was so turned off by his incessant talking about love, dancing, his career in the Army and him having wanted to be a priest in his childhood that I felt the need to write him a letter the following day outlining why I couldn't be with him.
He was also super machista, which could be a HUGE problem for me later on down the road, as I mentioned that I am independent. He had sensed that I wasn't into him, because about 20 minutes into our date, he asked me what the problem was. I told him I needed a beer to relax. We wander off to get a beer at Isabela's Fine Cigars. I went to pay for it, he pushes my hand aside, forks over a $20 and gives me a look saying, "I will always pay".
It's nice when BOTH of us are drinking and you want to pay, but if I'm the only one drinking, I'll pay for myself.
He even asked me while we were sitting on my friend's front porch, "With whom do I need to speak with about dating you seriously?" WHAT?!!!! This is the 21st Century. I am an adult. I am a mother. You can ask ME if you want to date me. He also told me that I would fit in perfectly with his mom and sisters. NOOOOOOOOO.....I shudder even as I type this. Thank God I avoided THAT one!
The Troubadour actually messaged me last night and asked, "Couldn't I see you again and see if we spend the night together?" Um....NO?! If I didn't enjoy the date with you then, what makes you think I'm going to consent for a "daredevil" night, as he put it? Like, seriously? Second Date: Delete and block.
Date #7: Friday, 13 days after opening my account. The Hot Smokin' Nerd. (sigh...) This was the date that was absolutely FANTASTIC, or so I thought. He had messaged me, ironically, while I was on my date with The Troubadour. I was so put off by The Troubadour, that I was not about to answer anyone else on social media nor anywhere else that day. I also had had a second date planned with #5 that same night that I met #7, but I just knew that my date with #7 was going to go so well, that I made an excuse to #5 and said I had to work early. Which I did, but I knew I was going to have fun with #7.
In any case, after having checked out #7's profile, I felt an immediate attraction. I could feel the chemistry radiating off the keyboard. It wasn't anything he had said. It wasn't even how he looked (though he is very handsome). I cannot describe it...words fail me here. It was a magnetic pull even before I met him.
#7 mentioned that he was a busy guy, working two jobs, but that he enjoyed a few things in life but that he generally kept a low profile on social media and in life. Loves his kid very much, etc.
I found that we had some major similarities when we went on our date. I felt he could have been the male version of myself. I am a woman who has no inhibitions. I don't understand how I don't have a filter, but I struggle in normal day to day activities because I blurt out random stuff that later on, I think to myself, "What was I thinking?!" Our popsicle date went so well within the first five minutes, he invited me to go with him to work for an hour. We went and had some more beers and I allowed him to kiss me. I don't just let ANYONE kiss me. Sure, I may be attracted to a lot of men, but that doesn't mean that I am going to be kissing just anyone, much less let anyone pass first base without a huge slap or kick in between the knees. You know what I mean? If I don't like a guy, I will show him the exit. Nuff said!
We ended up going on three dates. Nice ones, at that. Simple, walking around, having a beer, sitting and people watching...talking about intelligent topics...cuddling...some kissing...it was nice. :D (sigh...)
I made the mistake, when my mother asked me after the third date, of simply telling her his first name. I should have just made up a different name. She went and found him on social media, commented on a picture of his saying how dumb something was, and then I never heard from him again. To this day, I still haven't heard from him, though it's been about a week and a half. All I want to tell him is that I didn't say anything to my mother. I also want to tell him to change his security and privacy settings on his social media profile to not allow public people to comment on his photos, like my bulldozer mom.
I yelled at my mother. She completely crossed the line. I barely knew this guy. He barely knows me and to have the mother of some girl you just possibly started dating comment on one of your pictures?! I asked a few other friends what they thought themselves of the situation, and it was the same, "Your mom is scary". Many men would run the other way.
Oh dear...Thanks, Mom. Thanks a bunch.
I will no longer tell my mom anything about any of my dates unless they are serious material.
She had a cow because I chose popsicles as a location for a first date. What is so wrong with eating a popsicle? A second date was going and getting beers else where. She accused him of being cheap. Given my current financial situation and me being mindful of other's pocketbooks, what is so wrong with going to those places? Apparently, a lot!
So she scared him off...nor did she apologize, though she now knows not to go stalking people on social media. Thanks...yet again...
It's a pity because though I knew about some of his skeletons prior to our first date. I didn't care what they were. And I certainly wasn't nor will I be sharing them on here, but if I didn't care about his past, he should realize that. Mystery is alluring to some people.
I am the type of person that cares more about what a person had become than what they were.
1) Are they hard-working?
2) Are they loving?
3) Are they smart? (and that doesn't mean that they have to have a bazillion degrees like me)
4) Can we carry on a conversation and do we have chemistry?
5) Are their past obstacles ones they have overcome?
I can say that #7 and I checked each other off on all of them. Perhaps I was just sooo into the attention from him that I went overboard. Hindsight for myself proves that it was probably so. Sigh....
I sent him a message saying, "It was really nice to meet you. I'd like to see you again," but nothing...
I can say that maybe after a week of not hearing from #7, I moved on to #8.
Date #8 is a nice guy. I met him as he was the bartender of one of the places I went to. His co-worker, who happens to also work at a sandwich shop in the same building I work in. She mentioned to me the following day, "My boss is smitten with you". Well, thank you! That's pretty nice to hear! Nice choice of words, there, I might add.
This past Sunday afternoon, she invited me out for drinks at the bar she works at. Her boss was there. He blushed each time he saw me. When I was about to leave, he thrust a pad of paper and a pen at me. I looked coyly at him, "Is there something you wish to have from me?"
"yeah...your number"
So I gave him my number, we went out on a date that same night. Went to the beach...held hands...it was nice. :)
Similar qualities to #7, though not as handsome, but is equally adorable.
Kind of busy as well...I'm not going to hold my breath any longer.
The text messages:
There were a few guys that I gave my number out to. I wish that I hadn't. One in particular was incredibly persistent. Thankfully, it's just a Google Voice Number, so it's not like they have my real digits. I can block whomever, which I've already done to the Troubadour. Bwah hah hah.
One guy found out that I was a fellow South American. He would not leave me alone. One of the last messages he sent to me before I blocked him was, "We can kiss...with tongue". Um, ew...excuse me, but who says that to someone they don't even know?
Maybe to someone they've been dating for a while? or have had chemistry with ? I have no idea....
Screw dating. I'm turning back into a female hermit.
I honestly didn't think I was going to date ever again, much less be with someone long term. Right now may not be the case, but I know I'll end up with someone...I'm just not sure who.
I just don't have the time nor the willpower to sit through boring dates. I am the type of person that just knows if I'm going to click with someone or not. I have such intuitive abilities (or so I have thought) that I can know within five minutes of me meeting this person if things are going to pan out for the best or if they are going to tank like an aquarium.
BACKSTORY
In any case, it's been three years (2011) since I split with my son's father and about eight (2006) since I've really and honestly been on the dating scene. That is, unless, you count a period of one month right after my breakup in 2011. I went out with five different guys. All pretty nice, but really boring dudes. One date for coffee was enough with each of them. One of them pursued me relentlessly for six months. He was a doctor and also a lawyer in Jacksonville. After our first date, he told me he wanted me for my body and that I could just stay in his house, wear short skirts all day and just have, as he termed it, "an exclusive" partnership with him while he paid for all of my bills. Essentially, he just wanted a Sugar Baby. I was not about to spend who knows how many of the following years of my life with some jerk who was not going to let me work, was going to pay off all my student loans and keep house just so I could keep his "appetite" happy.
It was all for naught. I refused to cave in to his desires or demands. After six months of hard pursuit, he realized that I meant what I said, "No", and that he just wasn't going to gain access to Club Ren. Thank you, Lord! I'm a very hard-working, independent woman. It would have felt strange for him to pay for all of my student loan debt. He didn't incur that, but he was in earnest when he said he would pay for all my stuff. Sounds nice, but not working? I'd have felt a slave in his house. No, thank you.
After that mishap with Dr. Lawyer, I just figured that I needed to focus on my schooling, as I was getting my second masters degree, and on my son. My poor boy was going through a difficult transition of not being with both of his parents. Not to mention, after having spent the past five years of my life with someone who thinks nothing of cheating on his woman with the "female friends" he has amassed like termites coming out of the woodwork, I wasn't ready to date anyone.
I developed crushes on some of my male friends, but distance is a factor in what could have been in some of those relationships. Those books are best left on the shelf, and as it is, I value their friendship over broken hearted feelings.
Needless to say...this past month has been a flurry of activities in my life. Some of you know that I had been unemployed since December. I had been frantically looking for work to no avail and time and most definitely money was running out quickly. My son kept getting sick all the time and it turns out that he is going to need a tonsillectomy. The following day after that diagnosis, I bump into a former "friend" of my ex at his school. Our kids are in the same exact classroom. The only chair available is right next to this woman. I quickly sent up a prayer and asked Him that I be kind and polite, which I was. I think she was surprised that I was nice to her, being that I knew her past with my ex.
She mentioned to me, "I don't talk to him anymore."
This surprised me because my ex keeps his "friends" around like keys on a keychain, using them when he feels like it and keeping them around "just in case".
She asked if we could exchange numbers, which I agreed to. She called me right afterwards and asked if we could grab a coffee, but I was on my way to Saint Augustine to help out a friend clean her house. I told her we could meet up probably within the week as I was going to be busy. When we finally did meet up, she apologized to me for four hours for having meddled in my relationship, for having carried on with my ex while I was still with him and for a number of other things.
Forgiveness is a HUGE thing...I think had she told me this immediately after having split with him, I would have beat the crap out of her. Time does heal wounds...I told her that after having been hurt by my ex so many times, one becomes numb to it all and no longer begins to care. I told her that I forgave her and I think she and I may be on our way to becoming friends. Only time will tell. :) Though it may sound silly, the release her confession gave to me really and honestly set me free.
The day I go to Saint Augustine turned out to be very advantageous for me. I called a friend who has kids that my son loves to play with and we agreed to meet up for a playdate. During the playdate, she mentions that they need someone at their photo studio to greet customers. Since I know lots of people, I told her that I would look around. The job description was actually something I could do! I told her, "I would love the opportunity to work for you both".
She went home, spoke to her husband and they both agreed that I would be perfect for that job!
The following weekend, I started working for my friends at their photo studio. It was also that same weekend that I joined a free dating website.
A friend of mine, who shall not be named, recently split with her significant other. She joined the website not to actually date, but just to see what was out there. She kept telling me, " You have to join so you can see these guys. Some of their profiles are funny!"
After having the disaster of Match.com, I was not ready to "date" nor even think about it.
However, friends pester and I caved in.
The REAL Story.
I created a profile.
I was honest in my profile. I mentioned that I was not here for booty calls, I am here to find an actual relationship, yada yada yada.
Within the first 48 hours, I received over 200 messages from different guys.
I opened my account on a Saturday at 10 a.m..
Date #1: I went on my first date the following day, Sunday, at 5:15 p.m. in Saint Augustine. Since I now work weekends in Saint Augustine, I'd rather date there. We went out for coffee. I managed to freak him out by pulling down my hair and sniffing the strands. I'm not sure about you other ladies, but when I've had my long hair up in a bun all day, all I want to do is let down my hair, massage the roots and smell my hair. Is that weird of me?
Well...it's sure freaked him out. A friend of mine later told me, "Maybe you turned him on." Maybe, but I'm just going to assume that I freaked him out.
However, he did message me recently and said that I was fun enough to hang out with, but not in the dating sense. So maybe I have a new friend? Second Date: Meh...probably not, but maybe we'll just be friends. Just regular friends.
Date #2: Also on Sunday. What a pest. He kept emailing and texting me for 48 hours straight. This guy I will refer to as the Italian Rude Dude... He at least paid for my dinner. He kept referring to his ex-wife as a variety of female dog. NEXT!!!
Date #3: Thursday after opening my account. Location: Mexican Restaurant in Jax. Food: Chips and guac. I liked this guy a lot. I think he liked me too because five minutes after parting ways, he said he wanted to meet me again...still waiting on that one! Second Date: Three weeks and counting for our second date! I'm just going to assume that I won't be hearing from him any time soon.
Date #4: Also that same Thursday night. This guy turns out to have been born close to my hometown. He also had studied abroad in Ecuador and spoke Spanish. We could have had a lot in common, but he ran out of the date only 20 minutes in! Location: He made me change the location of our meeting from the Town Center to San Marco. When I'm poor, broke and fabulous...I can't be driving all over Fruit Cove, Saint Augustine and downtown Jax for some guy that has "mysterious" stomach pains. Come off it, man! If you're really sick, say so. (Come to think of it, maybe he was?) If you don't like me, say so as well. In any case, I think he really did have a stomach issue because a few weeks after our failed date, he sent me a message at midnight saying he was really horny and I was beautiful. Second Date: Yeah....no.....
Date #5: The Friday after opening up my account. Really, really nice guy. A wee bit older than me, by about 13 years. I'm closer in age with his oldest daughter than I am to him. Could be a deal breaker on the age of his kids...Very polite, fun and laid back. Location: The Conch House on Anastasia Island. Activity: Drink beer, watch me eat, and talked about the most fascinating topics. We had agreed to go a second date, but more on that in a moment.
Date #6: One week after opening my account, following Saturday. The Troubador. Not to say I'm into numerology, but the #6 harbors negativity for me. This poor man...pobrecito...words cannot express how sorry for him I feel. He drove over an hour and a half to meet me. He sang to me. (No, thank you!) He had the romance turned way too high, like a furnace on full blast... Within five minutes of our meeting, I wanted him gone and out of my sight. I was so turned off by his incessant talking about love, dancing, his career in the Army and him having wanted to be a priest in his childhood that I felt the need to write him a letter the following day outlining why I couldn't be with him.
He was also super machista, which could be a HUGE problem for me later on down the road, as I mentioned that I am independent. He had sensed that I wasn't into him, because about 20 minutes into our date, he asked me what the problem was. I told him I needed a beer to relax. We wander off to get a beer at Isabela's Fine Cigars. I went to pay for it, he pushes my hand aside, forks over a $20 and gives me a look saying, "I will always pay".
It's nice when BOTH of us are drinking and you want to pay, but if I'm the only one drinking, I'll pay for myself.
He even asked me while we were sitting on my friend's front porch, "With whom do I need to speak with about dating you seriously?" WHAT?!!!! This is the 21st Century. I am an adult. I am a mother. You can ask ME if you want to date me. He also told me that I would fit in perfectly with his mom and sisters. NOOOOOOOOO.....I shudder even as I type this. Thank God I avoided THAT one!
The Troubadour actually messaged me last night and asked, "Couldn't I see you again and see if we spend the night together?" Um....NO?! If I didn't enjoy the date with you then, what makes you think I'm going to consent for a "daredevil" night, as he put it? Like, seriously? Second Date: Delete and block.
Date #7: Friday, 13 days after opening my account. The Hot Smokin' Nerd. (sigh...) This was the date that was absolutely FANTASTIC, or so I thought. He had messaged me, ironically, while I was on my date with The Troubadour. I was so put off by The Troubadour, that I was not about to answer anyone else on social media nor anywhere else that day. I also had had a second date planned with #5 that same night that I met #7, but I just knew that my date with #7 was going to go so well, that I made an excuse to #5 and said I had to work early. Which I did, but I knew I was going to have fun with #7.
In any case, after having checked out #7's profile, I felt an immediate attraction. I could feel the chemistry radiating off the keyboard. It wasn't anything he had said. It wasn't even how he looked (though he is very handsome). I cannot describe it...words fail me here. It was a magnetic pull even before I met him.
#7 mentioned that he was a busy guy, working two jobs, but that he enjoyed a few things in life but that he generally kept a low profile on social media and in life. Loves his kid very much, etc.
I found that we had some major similarities when we went on our date. I felt he could have been the male version of myself. I am a woman who has no inhibitions. I don't understand how I don't have a filter, but I struggle in normal day to day activities because I blurt out random stuff that later on, I think to myself, "What was I thinking?!" Our popsicle date went so well within the first five minutes, he invited me to go with him to work for an hour. We went and had some more beers and I allowed him to kiss me. I don't just let ANYONE kiss me. Sure, I may be attracted to a lot of men, but that doesn't mean that I am going to be kissing just anyone, much less let anyone pass first base without a huge slap or kick in between the knees. You know what I mean? If I don't like a guy, I will show him the exit. Nuff said!
We ended up going on three dates. Nice ones, at that. Simple, walking around, having a beer, sitting and people watching...talking about intelligent topics...cuddling...some kissing...it was nice. :D (sigh...)
I made the mistake, when my mother asked me after the third date, of simply telling her his first name. I should have just made up a different name. She went and found him on social media, commented on a picture of his saying how dumb something was, and then I never heard from him again. To this day, I still haven't heard from him, though it's been about a week and a half. All I want to tell him is that I didn't say anything to my mother. I also want to tell him to change his security and privacy settings on his social media profile to not allow public people to comment on his photos, like my bulldozer mom.
I yelled at my mother. She completely crossed the line. I barely knew this guy. He barely knows me and to have the mother of some girl you just possibly started dating comment on one of your pictures?! I asked a few other friends what they thought themselves of the situation, and it was the same, "Your mom is scary". Many men would run the other way.
Oh dear...Thanks, Mom. Thanks a bunch.
I will no longer tell my mom anything about any of my dates unless they are serious material.
She had a cow because I chose popsicles as a location for a first date. What is so wrong with eating a popsicle? A second date was going and getting beers else where. She accused him of being cheap. Given my current financial situation and me being mindful of other's pocketbooks, what is so wrong with going to those places? Apparently, a lot!
So she scared him off...nor did she apologize, though she now knows not to go stalking people on social media. Thanks...yet again...
It's a pity because though I knew about some of his skeletons prior to our first date. I didn't care what they were. And I certainly wasn't nor will I be sharing them on here, but if I didn't care about his past, he should realize that. Mystery is alluring to some people.
I am the type of person that cares more about what a person had become than what they were.
1) Are they hard-working?
2) Are they loving?
3) Are they smart? (and that doesn't mean that they have to have a bazillion degrees like me)
4) Can we carry on a conversation and do we have chemistry?
5) Are their past obstacles ones they have overcome?
I can say that #7 and I checked each other off on all of them. Perhaps I was just sooo into the attention from him that I went overboard. Hindsight for myself proves that it was probably so. Sigh....
I sent him a message saying, "It was really nice to meet you. I'd like to see you again," but nothing...
I can say that maybe after a week of not hearing from #7, I moved on to #8.
Date #8 is a nice guy. I met him as he was the bartender of one of the places I went to. His co-worker, who happens to also work at a sandwich shop in the same building I work in. She mentioned to me the following day, "My boss is smitten with you". Well, thank you! That's pretty nice to hear! Nice choice of words, there, I might add.
This past Sunday afternoon, she invited me out for drinks at the bar she works at. Her boss was there. He blushed each time he saw me. When I was about to leave, he thrust a pad of paper and a pen at me. I looked coyly at him, "Is there something you wish to have from me?"
"yeah...your number"
So I gave him my number, we went out on a date that same night. Went to the beach...held hands...it was nice. :)
Similar qualities to #7, though not as handsome, but is equally adorable.
Kind of busy as well...I'm not going to hold my breath any longer.
The text messages:
There were a few guys that I gave my number out to. I wish that I hadn't. One in particular was incredibly persistent. Thankfully, it's just a Google Voice Number, so it's not like they have my real digits. I can block whomever, which I've already done to the Troubadour. Bwah hah hah.
One guy found out that I was a fellow South American. He would not leave me alone. One of the last messages he sent to me before I blocked him was, "We can kiss...with tongue". Um, ew...excuse me, but who says that to someone they don't even know?
Maybe to someone they've been dating for a while? or have had chemistry with ? I have no idea....
Screw dating. I'm turning back into a female hermit.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Adventures in Job Searching
A very close friend of mine once said, "Mom, talk to Ren about getting a job. She can leave one job one minute, have no prospects, and find another one in two seconds."
How true that was for such a long time!
I felt my running streak came to almost a demise in this past year. But maybe my streak of bad luck has come to an end? I don't know, but I can't wait to find out.
Within the past two weeks, my life has been an interesting mix of...well, I just don't know what to describe it as...but for lack of a better word, an interesting mix.
I haven't publicly blogged about it, except in my other blog, "Pineapple Pirate School for Language Snobs", but a year ago, I was let go from one job I absolutely came to despise. You can see the post here.
I worked for an online school based out of Orlando. At the time I got hired, it was an absolute God-send. I was in a terrible relationship. I had no money as my own paycheck was being sucked dry by bills and, "other" people. The school, as I am a teacher, hired me and paid me $8K more a year! I could finally leave my oppressive situation and finally start over! Yes! You can also read about that here.
Things at that job were more than great for a year! Then came a huge change that made everything spiral down. At one point in the final year of my time at that place, I had over 253 students. Anyone who works in a regular brick and mortar understands that your sanity will be close to nil and you'll actually want to strangle yourself for lack of peace. Not to mention, my own kid had no schedule and was practically raising himself. I'd often hand him my tablet and he'd whine, "Mommy? I'm hungry!". I'd tell him to wait "just a second" and a few hours later, it would be 11 o'clock, and he's fallen asleep. I remember thinking to myself, "Just waiting for summer!" As I mentioned above, you can read the whole incident above.
Then came the summer. With the online teaching job I had, you don't get summers off. I reveled in my newfound status of an unemployed Spanish teacher about to go back to Argentina for a month during the North American summer. A week before I left, I got a phone call from a middle school down the street from where I am currently living. I went to the interview, got the job a few hours later and proceeded to get really excited about what I was going to be doing for middle schoolers.
It takes a special person to be a middle school teacher.
I was to teach six 90-minute classes of "Intro to Spanish". On my roster, I noticed that I had more students in a tiny classroom than I had ever had before. Total, I had about 241 for first semester and about 246 on the roster for 2nd semester. Broken up into each class equaled around 40-42 students in my classroom. The first couple of days of school, I had a few kids even sitting on the floor. Not classy for a county school district that is supposed to be #1 in all of the state of Florida.
For the remainder of the semester, I tried my best. I even had people come in to give me pointers on what they would do in my classroom if they were the teacher. People that came in were not all consistent in their feedback with me. It was so confusing. The majority said they understood what my dilemma was in terms of a small classroom and too many students, and gave me credit for that. However, the principal gave me bad marks on everything.
I am the type of person that doesn't like to beat around the bush. I am a resilient soul. I'd rather someone be completely honest and up front with me and tell me, "This is how terrible you are doing." or "We don't like you." etc. If someone doesn't like me, fine! I don't care if you don't like me. I'll kindly remove myself from your presence and get the hell out of Dodge. Then we can both exist in our own ecosystems without each other's negative Baloney Sandwich.. But don't sit there and be wishy-washy with me and pretend that you're my friend and that we are going to eat ice cream together, and then go and tell people that I'm a horrible person, teacher, friend, mom, sister, daughter, etc.. Karma is not a kind thing. I'd hate to see what it does to people such as bad souls as some of the people in the school district I was in. A friend (a REAL friend) warned me, "Don't be too friendly with these people, Ren! They don't understand people like us and will back stab you at any moment!" I took her advice, but man! She wasn't joking. I ran into a former co-worker and was very warm and friendly with her. What a cold shoulder... Just because I've been terminated doesn't mean that I'm radioactive or toxic. Puh-LEASE! People can just be snarky...just saying.
Anyways...back to what I was saying...All the great ideas that I had with my students flew out the window because of the small size of my classroom. I mean really small. My classroom was 13'x25', I believe. I know the 13' to be true because I measured the tiles for the width of the room for a project my kids and I were doing together. I wanted to do language and culture center tables with them. I wanted to be able to play games for them to learn. All the kids were shoved into that tiny classroom and were practically on top of one another. As a result, I also had some kids that were mean, and evil and downright rude. I realize I am the adult here, but if you haven't taught, and have never taught middle school, you don't know what Hell on Earth is like. Middle schoolers are exactly what I described up above.
However, I did have about 3 classes that were lovely, well behaved little children. Some of them would give me Oreos, or blue little staples to put in my stapler. Some gave me chocolates and flowers. Some even gave me hugs and told me that I was their best and most favorite teacher. If that's not love and if that's not success, I don't know what is. One student even said that she wanted to be a Spanish teacher because of me. Granted, she's only in the 7th grade. She may end up changing her mind, but that was still nice.
I was let go the day before Christmas break. I had just finished a messy project with my students where they made Three Kings Day crowns. Glitter was everywhere. I had paper plates strewn about. Glue was stuck to the desk. I was busy cleaning up when the principal popped his head in the door and asked to speak with me. Everything after that was a blur. He'd mentioned that my progress had not improved with my classroom management. I knew what he was referring to.
About a week before my firing, I had been really sick and out for three days. The reports I had received about my students were HORRENDOUS. My kids were the epitome of evil children on speed. My classroom neighbor, who could hear everything through the walls and the vents said things had gone really badly while I had been out. That the principals had been called down several times to my classroom. It was not a pretty sight.
I will pause here and interject myself and say that had I had the necessary resources and maybe transitioned back into classroom teaching, maybe I would not have gotten fired from that job too. But I like to believe that God has a plan for everyone and maybe it was just His will for me to get fired. I'm still a little sore about it all, though.
How true that was for such a long time!
I felt my running streak came to almost a demise in this past year. But maybe my streak of bad luck has come to an end? I don't know, but I can't wait to find out.
Within the past two weeks, my life has been an interesting mix of...well, I just don't know what to describe it as...but for lack of a better word, an interesting mix.
I haven't publicly blogged about it, except in my other blog, "Pineapple Pirate School for Language Snobs", but a year ago, I was let go from one job I absolutely came to despise. You can see the post here.
I worked for an online school based out of Orlando. At the time I got hired, it was an absolute God-send. I was in a terrible relationship. I had no money as my own paycheck was being sucked dry by bills and, "other" people. The school, as I am a teacher, hired me and paid me $8K more a year! I could finally leave my oppressive situation and finally start over! Yes! You can also read about that here.
Things at that job were more than great for a year! Then came a huge change that made everything spiral down. At one point in the final year of my time at that place, I had over 253 students. Anyone who works in a regular brick and mortar understands that your sanity will be close to nil and you'll actually want to strangle yourself for lack of peace. Not to mention, my own kid had no schedule and was practically raising himself. I'd often hand him my tablet and he'd whine, "Mommy? I'm hungry!". I'd tell him to wait "just a second" and a few hours later, it would be 11 o'clock, and he's fallen asleep. I remember thinking to myself, "Just waiting for summer!" As I mentioned above, you can read the whole incident above.
Then came the summer. With the online teaching job I had, you don't get summers off. I reveled in my newfound status of an unemployed Spanish teacher about to go back to Argentina for a month during the North American summer. A week before I left, I got a phone call from a middle school down the street from where I am currently living. I went to the interview, got the job a few hours later and proceeded to get really excited about what I was going to be doing for middle schoolers.
It takes a special person to be a middle school teacher.
I was to teach six 90-minute classes of "Intro to Spanish". On my roster, I noticed that I had more students in a tiny classroom than I had ever had before. Total, I had about 241 for first semester and about 246 on the roster for 2nd semester. Broken up into each class equaled around 40-42 students in my classroom. The first couple of days of school, I had a few kids even sitting on the floor. Not classy for a county school district that is supposed to be #1 in all of the state of Florida.
For the remainder of the semester, I tried my best. I even had people come in to give me pointers on what they would do in my classroom if they were the teacher. People that came in were not all consistent in their feedback with me. It was so confusing. The majority said they understood what my dilemma was in terms of a small classroom and too many students, and gave me credit for that. However, the principal gave me bad marks on everything.
I am the type of person that doesn't like to beat around the bush. I am a resilient soul. I'd rather someone be completely honest and up front with me and tell me, "This is how terrible you are doing." or "We don't like you." etc. If someone doesn't like me, fine! I don't care if you don't like me. I'll kindly remove myself from your presence and get the hell out of Dodge. Then we can both exist in our own ecosystems without each other's negative Baloney Sandwich.. But don't sit there and be wishy-washy with me and pretend that you're my friend and that we are going to eat ice cream together, and then go and tell people that I'm a horrible person, teacher, friend, mom, sister, daughter, etc.. Karma is not a kind thing. I'd hate to see what it does to people such as bad souls as some of the people in the school district I was in. A friend (a REAL friend) warned me, "Don't be too friendly with these people, Ren! They don't understand people like us and will back stab you at any moment!" I took her advice, but man! She wasn't joking. I ran into a former co-worker and was very warm and friendly with her. What a cold shoulder... Just because I've been terminated doesn't mean that I'm radioactive or toxic. Puh-LEASE! People can just be snarky...just saying.
Anyways...back to what I was saying...All the great ideas that I had with my students flew out the window because of the small size of my classroom. I mean really small. My classroom was 13'x25', I believe. I know the 13' to be true because I measured the tiles for the width of the room for a project my kids and I were doing together. I wanted to do language and culture center tables with them. I wanted to be able to play games for them to learn. All the kids were shoved into that tiny classroom and were practically on top of one another. As a result, I also had some kids that were mean, and evil and downright rude. I realize I am the adult here, but if you haven't taught, and have never taught middle school, you don't know what Hell on Earth is like. Middle schoolers are exactly what I described up above.
However, I did have about 3 classes that were lovely, well behaved little children. Some of them would give me Oreos, or blue little staples to put in my stapler. Some gave me chocolates and flowers. Some even gave me hugs and told me that I was their best and most favorite teacher. If that's not love and if that's not success, I don't know what is. One student even said that she wanted to be a Spanish teacher because of me. Granted, she's only in the 7th grade. She may end up changing her mind, but that was still nice.
I was let go the day before Christmas break. I had just finished a messy project with my students where they made Three Kings Day crowns. Glitter was everywhere. I had paper plates strewn about. Glue was stuck to the desk. I was busy cleaning up when the principal popped his head in the door and asked to speak with me. Everything after that was a blur. He'd mentioned that my progress had not improved with my classroom management. I knew what he was referring to.
About a week before my firing, I had been really sick and out for three days. The reports I had received about my students were HORRENDOUS. My kids were the epitome of evil children on speed. My classroom neighbor, who could hear everything through the walls and the vents said things had gone really badly while I had been out. That the principals had been called down several times to my classroom. It was not a pretty sight.
I will pause here and interject myself and say that had I had the necessary resources and maybe transitioned back into classroom teaching, maybe I would not have gotten fired from that job too. But I like to believe that God has a plan for everyone and maybe it was just His will for me to get fired. I'm still a little sore about it all, though.
In any case, I was let go right before Christmas. The principal had the nerve to say, "Well, it's the holiday season. You'll get a part time job somewhere." I wanted to slap that bastard across the face.
His secretary, whom I will say is a lovely angel, stayed with me to help me pack. She told me several times that she was amazed at how well I was taking it. I told her, "I'm trying really hard to be strong here and not cry."
That happened December 19, 2013.
A friend of mine goes to a church close by where some of the kids I had attend Sunday School. One of them somehow connected my friend and I together. I found out that there had been a substitute keeping watch over the new round of kids that I would have had. Each semester brings in new kids. I had been excited that I was going to start fresh with new kids. I even had new policies in place for the 2nd semester. Alas, it was not to be.
It's only been after months of fruitless job searching online that I was able to find a part time job through people I know.
In order to get unemployment in Florida, you have to search for 5 jobs or more a week. Only one person called me in for an interview and that was the county where I live. They needed a graphic designer, but still haven't called me back. That's okay, though. Because, through networking, I got a job!
In fact, the same day that I started working for the photo and video studio I am working for right now, I went to visit an old employer just to see how she was doing. She needs someone desperately and said she would love to have me work for her!
So now I have two jobs. I am super excited!!!
Let's see what life has in store for me now! I'm hoping my negative streak is over.
Maybe teaching is not for me anymore.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Right up my alley!
Trolling Facebook tonight, as I always do each and every night, I found the link below on a friend's wall.
Velociraptor Statue
Not only do I have the opportunity to make my own legacy by having a life sized, realistic Velociraptor in my garden, I can purchase him for only $2250.
That's what I call a real bargain!
So, I am now a Speedy Thief and a muscular menace! I do eat meat, but mostly only in Argentina. I have terrifying bicuspids! RAWR!
I have not frequented the nail salon, so I can say that my feet are looking a little beastly right now.
I remember my dad calling me "The Shark" when I was a kid since I would wander about the house with items appropriated from hapless family members at inopportune moments of their lives.
I want to slap that sucker in my garden. I can't wait to see the reaction on some people's faces when they walk up to my front door.
It's like he's saying, "Hey, yo! What's happenin'? Fancy a skip in my garden? Don't go eatin' my birds now, yo."
Velociraptor Statue
Not only do I have the opportunity to make my own legacy by having a life sized, realistic Velociraptor in my garden, I can purchase him for only $2250.
That's what I call a real bargain!
So, I am now a Speedy Thief and a muscular menace! I do eat meat, but mostly only in Argentina. I have terrifying bicuspids! RAWR!
I have not frequented the nail salon, so I can say that my feet are looking a little beastly right now.
I remember my dad calling me "The Shark" when I was a kid since I would wander about the house with items appropriated from hapless family members at inopportune moments of their lives.
I want to slap that sucker in my garden. I can't wait to see the reaction on some people's faces when they walk up to my front door.
It's like he's saying, "Hey, yo! What's happenin'? Fancy a skip in my garden? Don't go eatin' my birds now, yo."
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Paradise of Alligators, Beaches and Bugs vs. Land of Oz.
Kansas experiences hot summers.
Kansas also has some cold winters.
An exciting thing is that I don't have to deal with snowy winters anymore as I am now a Floridian Transplant. I do have to deal with hot, humid summers from about mid-March to mid-October, though. Winter here in Florida is cold. That being said, even though Florida is part of North America. We typically have two seasons: hot and cold. There is no in between.
You're probably shaking your head and wondering..."What does she mean that it's cold in Florida?"
I shall explain.
Florida, being humid year round, experiences a few months of chilly to cold weather in the wintertime. When it is 60 degrees here in Florida, it's cold. It's a wet kind of cold.
As a kid growing up in Kansas, anytime the forecasters said, "Well, folks, It's going to be 60 degrees tomorrow" in December or January, that meant you could run around like Superman without a jacket and wear shorts and a tank top. My dad used that term whenever he noticed I ran around without a jacket or sweater. "You are not Superman!" he would shout at me with his Ecuadorean accent. "You are going to get sick!" "Sick" always sounded more like "seek".
Another thing about living in the Land of Four Seasons is that you have to wake up extra early to warm up your car when it's cold. You have to scrape ice or snow off of your windshield. You run the risk of your boogers freezing while prepping yourself for your daily bump and grind, like if the weather is below 20 degree Fahrenheit. Do I want to do that all time? No, thanks. Although, living in Kansas does have its benefits.
This summer, I will hopefully be going home for a few weeks to enjoy the summer heat of Kansas. Kansas summers to me are incredibly hot, but at least they won't be as humid as they are here in Florida. It seems to only get humid before it's going to rain in Kansas. One thing I really like is when you first walk outside in the summer. It's like a blast of nice, hot air in your face. I like getting nice and tan. :D
If I were to move back now, after having a ten year absence with exception of family vacations, I might have a better tolerance for the nasty weather. In Kansas, you can experience the four seasons in merely one day. Once, I wore shorts in the morning as it was 80 degrees outside. By nightfall, it was snowing. I don't know many places in the world that can do that in one day.
All of this nostalgia for my home state reminds me of the last winter I spent at home before moving out to Florida ten years ago. I lived for 21 years in the Land of Oz
before moving out to the Paradise of Alligators, Beaches and Bugs.
I worked at a place called the "Nazarene Publishing House" back in 2003-04. As the name implies, it was a place where books were published. I didn't spend my time working with books, though. I worked in their cafeteria. The former manager is one of my mom's best friends, Nancy. She is an amazing cook. :D This place was located on Troost Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri, in a pretty crappy area of town. When it was first founded in 1912, the area in which the NPH is located was a nice place. Not so much now. Even the Hostess head bakery was located next door. I could actually touch the Twinkie Building! Now, there's nothing but resident hookers and crackheads on every corner. But apparently, there are plans to revitalize the area. Good luck with that, City Commissioners!
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| Run away!!! |
One day, in February '04, I was hard at work in the kitchen, cleaning and cooking. A blizzard was forecast for the day. I didn't think anything of it, as I was used to snowstorms. I wasn't expecting it to come until late afternoon. My car at the time was a 1994 Mitsubishi Mirage, 5 Speed, Periwinkle Blue, with "Hello, Kitty!" car seat covers.
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| Mine had Black Spray paint on the hubcaps. Thanks, Dad! |
The Ren-Mobile, a great little car for driving in the snow. It would only take me about 30 minutes to drive to work or home. Work was 8 miles from my house. No biggie, right?
Well, this particular day the president of our company sent us home early because the forecasters kept saying "It's a doozy out there folks!" It turns out that February was one of the snowiest on record, which has been surpassed by now, I believe.
Everyone else in the House was able to leave right then and there, but we kitchen workers still had food to pack up, dishes to wash, tables to clean, food to restock, etc.
When I got out to the parking lot and my car, five inches of snow had since fallen since that morning. I started my car to warm it up. Grabbing my ice scraper from the back seat, I began to brush snow off my car since it's against the law in Missouri and Kansas to have snow all over your car while driving. Snow has the potential to fly off your roof and hit someone's windshield, thus causing a visual barrier. It's some sort of liability issue. It's ridiculous.
Twenty minutes later, I'm still brushing snow off of my car. Meanwhile, the snow is falling fast and accumulating quickly. I hop in the car, put my car in reverse and all I can hear is my tires spinning. So... I get out AGAIN! I figured if my tires were spinning, what I needed to do was scoop snow from underneath my car in order to back out of my car space. I'm laying there on my stomach, scooping snow from underneath my wheels, on the corner of 29th and Troost Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri, which, mind you, is a VERY BAD area of town. Anyone from KC on both sides of the state line know not to go in that area after 5 pm. All I'm doing is shoveling snow from underneath my car and my tires. I am laying there on my stomach and thinking, "I could get shot at or mugged and have my car stolen".
After spending 10 minutes backing my car out, success! Kansas City lies on some pretty large hills and river bluffs. Everyone hears that Kansas is flat. Well, not eastern Kansas.
Trying to drive either up or down these bluffs and hills with snow and ice on the road is just a tad difficult. I decided I was going to take the "Long Way" home, which is more or less flat, but takes me about ten to fifteen minutes more time. It's more or less the same distance, but there's more stop and go traffic. The publishing house is only 8 miles from my parents house, if you take the Interstate and go the way of the hilly side roads, but it takes awhile to get to and from going the backroads because of stop and go traffic.
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| Route A in Grey; Route B "The Long Way" in Blue |
I'm driving south on Troost Ave., all the while praying to God that I don't get stopped by somebody demanding my car or worse, pointing a gun at me. I'm the only one on the road, except for the homeless people and neighborhood crack heads sitting on the benches, waiting for buses.
Driving in the snow takes great care. I'm not sure what your expertise is driving in the snow, but my motto is "Safety First". I don't care if you are an expert at driving in the snow. I will be a slow driver until I feel I can drive safely at a fast speed. Any of you can drive as fast as you want and flip me the bird...I still don't care. Safety First.
As I am heading south on Troost towards 43rd Street, I see that I have a green light! "Green light, go! Heck, yeah!" I thought to myself. I'm finally emerging from the bad area of Troost and Gang... Accelerating carefully, I am near the intersection, when all of a sudden...out of NOWHERE, there's a guy crossing the intersection, crossing Troost. All I can think of is, "WTH?! I'm the only person out here on the road. Can't you merely wait until I cross through the intersection? Don't you know that I have the right of way since I am the one with a green light?! ARGH!!!"
Of course, I slow down because I don't want to get a ticket, just in case there are cops hanging out and about, you know. As I stop at the intersection, with a green light pour moi, mind you, I notice that this man is wearing shorts. SHORTS! IN WINTER!! DURING A SNOWSTORM! Picking his way carefully across the walk, I also notice his legs are VERY white. I thought to myself, "This poor black man is so cold, and wearing shorts, that his skin has turned white! Aw, poor guy!" If I had had a blanket or a jacket, I would have gotten out of the car and given him one.
Upon further observation, I noticed why his legs were white. They were prosthetics.
With my mouth agape, all I could think of was how absurd this all was to me. As he finished walking across, I put my car in first gear, skidded, slipped and slid some more. I was prevented from leaving my new perch because, guess what? My green light had turned red. Boo. I sat there some more thinking, "Lord, why do I encounter the most random stuff?! Answer this for me."
With the light finally turning green, I slowly made my way to the next intersection where a Metro Bus was stopped and surrounded by, guess what this time?! Cop cars, paramedics and fire engines. I couldn't see this down the road six blocks because in a snow storm, you can't see squat more than 10 feet in front of you. It's impossible.
Yet again, I had a green light, but yet again, I was prevented from going through the intersection by a police officer. He motioned for me to roll my window down. He asked me where I was going.
"I'm going home from work, Officer." I said.
"Where's home?" he asked, eyeing my little blue car with suspicion.
"Merriam, in Johnson County, where I live with my parents." Saying that you're from Johnson County while you're in KC is your ticket anywhere.
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just your car looked suspicious with those spray-painted hubcaps of yours." I rolled my eyes, and said "Thank my dad for that one. He didn't like silver color that they were and thinks they look better spray painted black. But, since you've stopped me, can you tell me what's going on?"
Turns out that an attempted purse snatching had occurred on the bus. The intended victim was a little old lady who had a heart attack that had to be carried out on a stretcher. The assailant was arrested by one of the cops and they were waiting for backup. The cop moved me along and I was on my merry way.
It took me TWO HOURS to drive 8 miles. Luckily, I didn't have any more strange encounters. When I got home, I wasn't able to park my car in the driveway because a foot of snow had fallen. That's how fast it snowed in the two to three hours I had left since work. I had to park my car across the street. As soon as I got inside, my mother impatiently asked me for the meal that I had brought home from work.
"Are you going to give me any of Nancy's food?" she asked, pursing her lips.
I was in such a bad mood that I said, "No. I'm going to eat this myself."
I told her about my day. Mom had absolutely no sympathy for me.
As absurd as that whole story was, I certainly did not bat an eye. I seem to be destined for interesting things and events.
Even if it includes weather.
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