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That dirty old man!

I visited my 97 year-old great aunt again for dinner last night. 

As we spent 10 minutes walking out of the dining room with her walker, we eventually passed this old man who had been eying her the entire night. 

He started the conversation with my great aunt right off the bat with "Since my wife just left the table I can now say this: if I were 50 years younger and so were you.... Or better yet, if I was 20 and you were 17, then I would come knocking at your door." 

"What?" my confused aunt asked.

The nearby nurse replied, "He says you're VERY kind." 

That dirty old man! 

Worth the Words

"A being breathing thoughtful breath,

A traveler between life and death."

Going

I've been asked "So what are your plans for after college?" for the 72nd time as of today. 

I don't even know 72 people, yet alone I haven't spoken to more than 20 people within the past two weeks including the two customer service agents I called today. 

I need to give myself a title, coin a phrase, something obscure but not questionable. Something catchy. 

Something other than: I'm going to use my bilingual skill in some form in some type of business because I majored in Business and Spanish. 

And something other than the process of elimination. You can cross doctor, web designer, and serial killer* off your list of "acceptable professions." 

*serial killing is considered as an acceptable profession because its method is based on most company mottos, and it employs tact

I also don't need it to sound too new-age. 

I am Katie. My profession is. I am a. And I do. 

I conducted a social experiment on a few Argentines I met while speaking/"studying/"learning Spanish in Argentina. Inebitably, whenever I introduced myself as a student, I was always asked what I was studying. This baffled me for some reason, as it was quite clear to me that even though I could have been studying an actual profession to which others might study abroad, it would seem illogical that they wouldn't also simultaneously study Spanish. As it was, I was there purely for Spanish - to take random classes in Spanish, to live with a family, to do an internship with a local business, basically to survive - in the middle of the night on a weekend downtown finding a taxi, buying pears at the neighborhood fruit stand, giving speeches in Spanish without notecards in actual classes- on their language. 

I grew so weary of the "oh, of course you are here to learn Spanish" response that I began replying, "I'm a writer." The story unfolds right there, can't you see it! I'm already interesting. Others have succeeded off of this profession, and I am guaranteed that I will too. *As it is, I wouldn't be an "attempted murderer" because that reduces my success rate. 

What am I going to do after I graduate? 

What am I going to pre-label my success to be? 

Where am I going?

Well, I'm going. Isn't that more mysterious, more momentous, more monumentous! 

Cinturón

The moment I thought all of my songs comprised the word "corazón," they didn't. I've never heard the word "cinturón" so many times in one car ride's worth of radio time. 

Looks like I'll be sticking my mano in your cinturón next time we go for a drive..... car safety, guys. 

I'm not an absolute prick.

On a positive note: I haven't gotten a single 7-hour migrane in over a month! 

At most, I'm still enrolled.

Ah ha ha ha ha ha. Ha. Ha. 

That's like what? The mole power to the 15th frustration I've had with my university's employees saying they'd put me on a list or would do something for me, and then I find out that nope, I just have to call five different people, print, fill out, and email several pages, track down people, and save my ass again. Because obviously no one keeps records or gets the info processed and into the system. 

Hey, give me access, and I could even do it myself.

Good thing I keep every email. 

This isn't even Argentina, where everything is rightly excused for being "desorden y desorganizado." 

I get it. People make mistakes. 

Too many mistakes.