Kool-Aid vs. Mexican water

Posted in Uncategorized on March 18, 2012 by Cristina

Frantic phone calls from my mom at 7:25, 7:37 and 9:10am until I finally pick up. She’s panicking about my sister being in Mexico. “I got 3 text messages, they’re all BLANK! I’m afraid she’s in danger and trying to talk to us!” With sleepy voice, I promise that she’s fine and that we’ve chatted.
Mom: “On the Skype? Did you talk to her on the Skype?”
Me: “No, mom, not on THE Skype, but a different interwebbs thing that I can’t explain right now… and she’s alive.”
Mom’s imagining my sister bound and gagged in the back of a van, barely reaching her Blackberry to send blank SOS messages. I shouldn’t have let her watch that movie Cellular:

I guess she was looking through our photos, freaking out that this will be the last picture of Anca taken down there.

Even though they own a house in Mexico that they visit often, my parents still have a crippling fear of drug lords, kidnappers, tamale ladies, piñatas, jalapeños, etc. I’ve tried to reason with them about the relative safety of Mexico, but they insist on speeding 70mph in their Jetta straight to the beach without venturing into neighboring villages. sigh. Minus the cursing and sex talk, this is not unlike conversations we’ve had:

If only they realized that my sister is simply too hung over from partying with her moreno-ponytailed-hotness of a boyfriend ’cause she was probably doing this late last night:

If she actually IS in the back of a van, she’s making out and miss-texting.

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Wardrobe malfunction

Posted in Uncategorized on March 17, 2012 by Cristina

Since I started commuting to work by bike in the fall, I have yet to buy rain gear or change my outfits. Heels, dresses, no gloves, etc. A couple of recent incidents tell me I should reconsider this attitude.
This week, I wore a purple dress I’ve worn often (like, on Halloween)… but not much on my bicycle. Standing in front of the projector, explaining the stem-changing verb mostrar: Yo… muestro, tú muestras, ella muestra… Waaait a second, some students’ eyes are fixated on ummm, not my face. Then the horrible moment when I realize my dress is see-through. The slip  had shimmied all the way up to my waist and the projector’s glow was turning class into a peep show. ¡Uuuuuuf! Luckily, there was a podium I could get behind to fix the skank-fest.
The second, and even more embarrassing incident, was an unfortunate pencil skirt malfunction. I thought I’d hiked it up enough to ride safely, but realized AFTER teaching for 2 hours that the slit had split all the way up to my butt. The horror! So, for my second class, I was getting creative with not turning my back to them… “why don’t YOU come up and write it on the board?” Paralyzing.

Fashion ads should have captions like this ’cause there’s no way this lass rode her pencil-skirt-ass on that yellow bike.
Thankfully, neither of these episodes happened during my no-underwear laundry week. Lesson learned. Time to adjust my wardrobe, dress more sensibly and stop pretending I’m her:

This bitch probably didn’t have a job and I wanna keep mine.

Chore snore

Posted in Uncategorized on March 5, 2012 by Cristina

I never took Home Ec (because I was in ESL) and I’m pretty sure I would’ve failed if I had. This weekend, I was trying to make vegan chilaquiles that required toasted pumpkin seeds. I burned not one, not two, but THREE batches of seeds. I can’t believe I didn’t give up.
This morning, when collecting chicken eggs from the ladies that I’m watching for a friend, I dropped one and broke it. In Home Ec. that would’ve been my pretend baby and I’d get an F-.
My biggest homemaker flaw is laundry. Not sure what’s wrong with me, but I’m fucking terrible at it. I’m the asshole who leaves it in the dryer for days only to find that my neighbors are the kind souls who fold it for me. Dirty loads are epic and when clean, they form a lavender-smelling mountain in my room that I don’t fold for weeks!


I invent lame excuses like a lack of change. One kind friend texted me, “You want $33 in quarters? They’re yours!” She knew that I’d been wearing bikini bottoms and then no underwear all week. Unacceptable behavior for a so-called adult.
Not sure if all this can be remedied, but I’m hoping that I get extra credit for being able to open up a bottle of wine with a shoe and for sealing all my correspondence with red wax. A++ for awesomeness at impractical skills! Aaaaand, I guess it’s better that I learned English instead of egg-baby care.

No Faith in Hell

Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2012 by Cristina

I don’t think there’s a hell, but if there is, I’m fucked. One reason is because I’m a big-time sinner and the second is because I don’t repent for that shit. I was driving around doing some photo stuff this afternoon and this sign reminded me of my possible fate:

“Always remember”?! How could we forget? Literature makes it sound so terrible, I don’t think we need a sign. Ever since reading Dante’s Inferno, the image of Ugolino gnawing on Ruggieri’s head has been burned into my previously innocent mind.

Ugh, it would suck to be Ruggieri. While these guys are in the deepest level of hell, it’s unlikely that I’d go below level III according to this handy chart either drawn by God, the Devil or a masturbating monk who loved donuts:

Since it seems that eternal punishment is individually tailored, I’d wager that mine would play out something like this:
I’m in dark, freezing water full of slimy creatures and some striped-shirt bro is sitting on a rock close to me. His feet stink and I can hear him constantly smacking his gum as he sings Blink 182 karaoke songs. There are buzzing mosquitoes that bite the exposed parts of my body and the water tastes like absinthe. It doesn’t get me drunk. My mom is on the shore, watching a video recording of my life on repeat, shaking her head.
If the Devil reads this blog, there you have it.
Fingers crossed that there’s no hell because not sinning is not an option. That would be my hell on earth.

Inventory story

Posted in Uncategorized on February 25, 2012 by Cristina

This week’s project was copying another photographer’s style, which I did from 10pm-2am on Monday night. Using Margaret Stratton’s Inventory of My Mother’s House as the model, I semi-randomly collected items in my house and photographed them. The idea was to look at my belongings through the eyes of an outsider, perhaps someone going through my stuff upon my death. Sticking to Margaret’s themes of food, cleaning supplies, trinkets, books, etc, I quickly realized that, taken out of context (physical background, my personality, an explanation), this collection can paint a strange portrait. Here are 10 of the 48:

Figurine, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Embroidery, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Paprika, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Como agua para chocolate, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Pen, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Chillies, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Dial Soap, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Brassiere, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Egg holder, Inventory of My Own House, 2012


Hair, Inventory of My Own House, 2012

Yeah, I have a figurine of a peeing boy, use bar soap and keep a ziplock bag of hair. Luckily, I’m still alive and can rationalize these things. It’s an interesting exercise: try looking at your belongings and ask yourself,
“What story would these tell to someone if I wasn’t around?”

Gross x Nasty = Me + Cars

Posted in Uncategorized on February 20, 2012 by Cristina

I did something disgusting. Again! Adult irresponsibility turned my car into a coffin of nastiness. I’d asked for bull-whip kelp from the coast and a friend was kind enough to bring one. Planning on photographing it the following day, it went in the back of my car. Got super busy, and my
I’ll do it tomorrow, tomorrow attitude lasted for TWO WEEKS. The shame!

That thing festered, got gooey and started smelling like a salty corpse. I was swallowing a lot of saliva in repulsion every time I got into my car. I’m disgusting for letting it go that long. Even worse is that this is less gross than something I did in Germany a few years ago.
I drove to Strasbourg with family one warm October day and, since we all love drinking, I pulled over and purchased some federweißer, a sweet sparkling wine. Threw the two gallons in my trunk and kept driving. Long story short, my brakes went out, nearly crashed into a semi on the return trip, barely made it back with burning smell coming from under the hood. I didn’t touch my car for a week until I could take it to the mechanic. Do you know what happens in 7 days in a sealed car with 2 spilled gallons of liquid fructose pooling in the spare tire well? Biology is what happens:

I walked to my car and noticed that it was a little darker than normal in the windows. Strange. When I opened the door, a cloud of fruit flies oozed out. There. were. so. many. nasties! An orgy of thousands of drunk adolescent fruit flies! After freaking out and doing some breathing exercises, I realized my only choice was to roll down all the windows and drive as quickly as possible (without brakes) around downtown a few times to let the wind suck them out. Just dooo it and do it fast! My skin was crawling with the critters hitting my face and going up my nose as smoke was emerging from under the hood. It was bad. I arrived back home and stumbled out of the hell that was my Toyota Camry. My upstairs German neighbor poked his head out the window, saw me shaking my arms crazily with flies everywhere, smelled the burning metal and slammed his window. No tolerance for people who let disgusting things happen in their cars.

I hope there won’t be another incident like this in my car, but since the larva to pupa cycle is undeniable and history repeats itself, fair warning!

More days!

Posted in Uncategorized on February 18, 2012 by Cristina

Sickness and starting a new job didn’t prevent me from trying to squeeze all the happy-good-times out of this week. Bad news: still sick. Good news: I’ve learned that it’s delusional to think that I can fight my tendency to spend time with loverfriends. Can’t stop agreeing to hang-time (or making memes), so I give up. Maximum-fun-to-death continues; now, guilt-free!