Latin American Men Suck

I'm sick and tired of Latin America. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, an emptiness in my stomach, a ringing in my ears, dirt in my nose, dust in my hair, and the feeling that I was unwholesomly objectified more than 500 times in one afternoon. 

I hate the men here. Oh how suave they are! Oh how charming with their right to grab you at any moment! How special I feel whenever I'm walking and the men just stare! (Not) Sometimes I stare back. Sometimes I just walk with a daze in my eyes. Sometimes kids will whistle and think they are that much cooler. Sometimes they flip me off. Sometimes I flip them off. 

We are past the point of appreciating individual beauty, class, or aura. As long as I have boobs and a vagina I will be praised and given my goldstar: a stare. 

I hate men. Pay no attention to me, please. This isn't the attention I want or need. I will slaughter you all. 

And it really helps that I'm blonde and 5'9" 

Wifi en mi cama

I didn't have wifi in my bed - or so I thought until the other day when I happened to sit at the end of my bed while trying to send a text message and then my whole world changed. 

If I'm snuggled and lying in bed I can blog, Facebook, and Instagram, but I cannot send iPhone text messages or FaceTime. Fail, Manzana. 

However, if I am five feet in the opposite direction of my pillow, I can most certainly have a FaceTime without it cutting out every five seconds. 

What happens when I am lying in my warm bed and do not want to get up? I hit send, toss the phone to the end of the bed, and then when I'm sure it has sent, I reel in the top blanket that it is on. 

System to beat the cold. System to use my technology amidst shitty wifi. 

Move-in day

The first two weeks back at school are the best, and I'm a little bumed that I am not there to participate in the general excitement and such. I'm not the least bit sad about not hauling a bunch of unnecessary crap up three flights of stairs. 

I miss my roomies terribly. 

Now that everyone is posting about moving in and such, I suppose I should add my two cents about my move-in day. 

My move-in day took me about 17 hours in transit and five minutes to move in. It was wonderful. Of course, I did bring my own school supplies and a monton of medicine, but other than that, I was all set. 

My decoration: Queen Victoria. May she be an inspiration to us all. 

Note: Yerba Mate, Coconut Oil, and Thomas Hardy

Café inspiración

Nunca desistas de un sueño, sólo trata de ver las señales que llevan en el. 

Thank you, quaint café 

Immune system fail

I don't know how I went from swollen glands and borderline strep and aching flu -> to blocked tear ducts and allergies -> to pink eye. 

Time period of this transformation: 3 days

You'd think I was a sickly child all over again. 

I would kill for some hot, gooey cinnamon  rolls right now. Or Ramen. 

A big lettuce, tomato, mushroom, kalamata olive, red onion, cranberry salad with feta and balsamic vinegar would probably heal me instantly.

And the first doctor only prescribed me Ibuprofen. The chances of me dying in Argentina have increased tenfold. 

I console myself with "at least I don't have malaria and typhoid and am lying in some forgotten Italian hospital." Ahem 

Should have had my apendix removed before coming. That would be pretty bad... I wonder, if my apendix burst, would I have to wait 3-4 hours for the doctor to make a house call? 

And now everything's blurry so I'll stop. 

Ibuprofen

I hate it how I've now been near death with swollen glands so augmented I can't even move my neck, and both of the two times the doctor has prescribed ibuprofen. 

He prescribed an antibiotic the first time, and then yesterday (when he made his house call, because that's what they do here), he didn't see any plaque on my throat yet and just prescribed me ibuprofen. 

I refused the prescription because I had already brought a bottle over from the states. 

And now today, I'm as sick as a dog with assured plaque on my throat. I'll even give you a vivid description - green snot and difficulty swallowing. 

I can't figure out why I've only been sick twice in the past three years, and now I've been sick twice in just the three weeks I've been here. 

I've only kissed like what, 500 people on the cheek to greet and say goodbye. 

But no hugs. I need some hug therapy. Where are my Indiana people? 

I also need that antibiotic. Sorry to be a bother, but can the doctor come over again because I wasn't lying when I said that I am going to be very sick if I'm not proactive in getting this antibiotic. 

I don't need a doctor to tell me to take a ibuprofen...

Batter's up

I've batted my eyelashes so many times today that my eyelids are tired. 

Blonde, American, and mujer charm. 

Crackin that quip whip

I can't even remember how many years I've been waiting to employ these two responses to two very specific situations. 

1. The first being: "Well, I asked you second!" 

Someone asked me my name. I didn't quite fancy giving out my name so I tried to deflect the question by asking "what's yours?" to which they exclaimed "I asked you first!" And I proudly proclaimed "well, I asked you second!" 

They were absolutely dumbfounded by this simple and hearty truth. 

Life goal made. 

2. The second being: "Laura no está, Laura se fue, Laura se escapa de mi vida."

Two of my South American friends were speaking in Spanish, trying to figure out where their friend Laura was, to which I heartily interjected the song by Nek "Laura no está," Laura se fue..... 

Second life goal made. 

I am content and at peace with my mind, no longer on edge about when I will utilize these quips I find so internally clever. 

Beauty sleep

Well, I think I'm moving to the Southern Hemisphere. I seem to be getting better sleep here than back in North America. 

One of my favorite sleep routines is to go to bed when everyone else in the house does at 12pm, sleep until 10am, get up and make coffee. Grab a spoon of Dulce de Leche, and proceed to sit in bed sipping coffee and working on homework.

Then, when I return in the afternoon around 6pm, I take my siesta until about 10pm (which is when we eat dinner). 

Unless it's Friday or Saturday...

Beauty sleep has never been proven truer. And I'm eating crap food - so my entire life has been turned around purely based on getting more than four hours of sleep. Though I do often find myself madly craving Brussel sprouts... 

Instant grams of joy

That moment when your two favorite instagrammers like all of your photos and then start following you. Hollaaaa

Gritos del Partido

Mi pasatiempo nuevo:

tumbando en mi cama y escuchando a los gritos del partido de la cercana estadio. 

My new pastime:

Lying in my bed, listening to the ceaselessly roaring battle cries of the fútbol game that is being played in the nearby stadium.  

I don't know who's playing since Belgrano played last night. 

Parada de colectivo

Whenever I'm standing at the parada de colectivo, and someone asks me for money or to swipe my bus card for them when they can't pay me back, I do not find the sweetness in my heart to respond in Spanish or grant them grace. I simply respond in the most redneck accent "I caint inderr stand uh licka what yer sayin." Sometimes I respond in broken Spanish with an Australian accent. And if I really want  throw a curve ball, I throw in a few numbers in German. And apparently this happens to me a lot. 

I've actually swiped my card several times, and I don't mind at all if they pay me en efectivo. One bus ride is $4.10pesos. They give me a five, and since they're at my mercy I cannot give them change. Basically, every five times this happens I get a free ride, minus the extra time I employ charging that money back onto the card. It's like getting store credit or frequent flyer miles.

At the same time, this is a small victory especially if you use the dólor blue value which is about $8pesos/$1USD. After all of this, I make a good $0.40USD. 

I'm heartless. And I evidently spent way too much brain power on this trivial occurrence. See you at the bus stop. 

Wifi works from my bed... Sometimes

If we are having a textversation, and then I just stop responding, there is a 100% chance that I am in Argentina and the wifi is simply acting as normal: never consistent. 

There is also a 100% chance that I am snuggled in a warm straw bed and will most definitely not get up and go somewhere else in the house to find the optimum wifi signal. 

I will simply sigh, put down my phone, put my earplugs back in, and resume my five-hour siesta fiesta. 

Hasta la never pronto. 

Lines, vines, and trying contrasts without pants

I'm just going to go ahead and ruin it for ya'll. The next time you watch the movie "Letters to Juliet," please note all of the extras in every scene wearing green/teal pants. Literally, all of the people are wearing green pants. 

Why? 

To contrast with the wine-red building façades. 

What does my photo below lack? The contrast of a living and not dormant vine. 

Calling anyone with green pants...

Dulce de leche

What is the melting point of Dulce de leche? 

Answer: My heart

Scalding away my hypothermia

Well, that was the best two-minute scalding hot water trickling at a slow drip shower I've had in a long time. 

You go Argentina! 

last viernes noche

Whenever people in Córdoba, Argentina say they are going out in the evening for a small, quiet gathering, you know to bring your phone charger and the number of a remis and then cancel any plans  until the next afternoon. 

While at this quiet gathering, you would then proceed to sample the local food and drink while casually avoiding any photos, although extreme photo bombing is acceptable.

It might be 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside, but there is a nice glowing feeling inside with the small and quiet cluster of people - the warmest you've been in two weeks.

As far as dancing the local dance, men always take the lead - which is for the best when you don't know how to dance at all, or are a little confused by all of the Andean pipe music and house lights that are on. 

My least favorite thing to do is smoke. My least least favorite thing to do is second-hand smoke. 

Como se dice "Swing-dancing the Tango."

And that one time I walked 25 cuadros along Rafael Nuñez in the cold because I got off the bus too late. 

Siesta fiesta

So that whole siesta thing isn't to be taken lightly. Literally everything except the buses shut down for at least four hours in the afternoon. I got out of class early one afternoon and decided to knock out all of my errands while I had the free time, to which I discovered that I was in a ghost town of sleeping people. I didn't know what to do, until someone suggested that I just take a nap. "But what about all of the things I have to get done?!" 

No te preocupes. 

Let's just say that it really only took me one week to adjust to this kind of schedule. This way of life. We'll see how long I can keep this up.

Cuando en Córdoba

"Cuándo en Córdoba!" seems to be our go-to phrase whenever we do anything different from what we're used to. As in, eating 15 empanadas. As in, dancing until 5am on the weekends. As in, walking 15 additional blocks because you got off the bus too early. As in, eating Dulce de Leche with a spoon every morning because you can. As in, always getting lost and over-committing to social engagements of taking Mate. As in kissing everyone you say hello to on the cheek. 

Cuándo en Córdoba!

I want some MALK

I decided that I needed milk in my coffee. I went to the mini-supermercado y then proceeded to peruse the 10 different kinds of milk I could buy. 

Just think about all of the different milk options in Walmart - each slightly differing from the other, but like I said, only slightly.

I will still never know what kind of milk I ended up getting, but it does taste like milk.

And then that milk expired three days ago, and I'm still drinking it because that is what we do here. Food regulations are applied loosely. 

Día de la muerte de Kátie

I literally thought I was going to die the fourth night I was here. My glands were so swollen I couldn't move my neck. I had chills because I had a fever. I couldn't see the light. 

After a minor break down in the international office trying to communicate in Spanish my imminent death, I was told that the doctors made home visits. Literally, ambulances come to your house just so they can prescribe you some of them fine drugs.

I was sort of livid because I had called my doctor before I left on this trip to see if she could give me a z-pack in the event that this did happen to me, but no. 

I really did try to self medicate the first two days upon feeling ill. Thank goodness I had my netty pot, lemons, garlic, and salt water to gargle. 

I don't even think it was the throat part that was so terrible. The fact that there is no central heating, and all of the windows have huge cracks and it's 30 degrees outside on top of having a fever was probably when I lost all hope. All I needed was a big fat antibiotic and I was okay. 

Needless to say, if I ever need medical attention again, I can handle it in Spanish. 

Cuando me enamoro

Estoy enamorada con el conductor de mi colectivo. 

I am in love with my bus driver. I have taken the bus at least twenty times since the first and only sighting, but I still have hope in seeing him again so I can just gaze into the bus' review mirror. 

One night at dinner I decided to reveal my burning passion for our N5 bus driver, and I said that he was "guapisimo" upon which I was chided for the incorrect use of the word. Apparently no one uses "guapo" in this part of the Latin American world. No. "Guapo" is for Mexico only. "Lindo." 

Replace "tu" with "vos." 

Replace fine wine with Fernet. 

My whole life has been a lie. 

Desorden y desorganizado

The most comical every day scene on the streets of Córdoba is the array of various displays of transportation. I have not yet ventured to take out my phone and snap a quick photo in fear of being robbed, kidnapped, and thrown into the nearby river, but this photo is on my list, believe me. I can't help but let out a heartily obnoxious chortle every time I see this unusual occurrence. 

Let me paint the picture for you. Aside from the three lanes actually being used as four and a half lanes, the traffic flow is constantly in motion, and you squeak with fearing insistence of the barely making it preservation of human life as you run to cross the street. 

These are the vehicles in order of appearance: 

Motorbike

Honda CR-V

Car from the 70's 

Car from the 40's 

Horse racing down the street pulling a cart

Brand new BMW

Every time I see the horse pulling a cart at 20 mph in high traffic, I just want to yell "Lightening! Copperhead! Swedish meatballs!" at the top of my lungs and clap my hands.

Spanish class in America

That one time when you took four years of Latin as a child and then three Spanish grammar and two Spanish literature in college and then went to Argentina and realized that five Spanish classes just wasn't going to cut it. That was my first day. But I was also recovering from the travel at the same time so I'm not sure how mentally with it I was anyways. 

And then I sampled the local drink and could see the new Jerusalem. 

Como se dice "hinge"

For some reason, the door to my room fell off the only hinge it was on. I understand that the wind is howling outside and all, but this door is an inside hall room door. After I shoved the almost balsa wood door back into and onto the door frame,  the door became only slightly loose and proceeded to bang obnoxiously as the wind rhythmically sucked its way through the house. And it's like 3am on a Sunday night.

Salchicha

It is 5:30am, and I literally danced Merengue, Salsa, y Cuartato the entire night. And now, as I attempt to fall asleep at 6am, the dog that is yelping next door better be being eaten alive or slaughtered. Heck, find me a nice boulder, mound of dirt, or machete.

I used to like dogs. Emphasis on the past tense.

First things first: leaving the airport in Merica

Much to my anticipation, my suitcase was 20 lbs over the weight limit. I only had one suitcase, but I blame the weight on the Texas tea towel souvenirs and Chacos. Thankfully I had packed a backpack in my suitcase so I was able to quickly transfer some of the weight from my suitcase.

Transferred items:
Shoes
Salt and pepper shakers
Southern Living magazine
Twine

I think the weight was in shoes. Looks like I'll be leaving most of those here.

So there you have it, after a frantic panic leaving the airport. My theory is that since my suitcase weighed more than half of what I actually weigh, and other people probably weigh 2-3 times the weight of the suitcase, I shouldn't have to be penalized because my clothes weigh more than I do. Fat people...  I mean, what's the difference in weighing 115 pounds and my suitcase being 70 pounds, and other people's suitcases weighing 50 pounds and weighing 160 plus? A good 25 something pounds still heavier than my weight. I mean it's not like I have an opinion about this nickel and dime or pound exceeding scenario or anything.