I havent written a blog in a while because I havent really felt like it. I’ve been broke, I’ve been sad, I’ve felt like a piece of shit excuse for a human being and that’s the way its been; but monday… it’s over. After 3 months of ‘here and there’ work or no work at all; eating rice and lentils; getting short on insulin for Chena; drinking south american tap water; killing millions of flies and spiders; borrowing minute amounts of money from friends (which is something I’ve never had to do before) … it’s over, or at least different from here on out. I have at least one friend here now; some others are less interested in being friends, but that’s because I’m spooky (Spokane remembers). I’d change if I knew how without dumping everything about myself that might be worth a damn. Even if not worth a damn in a “successful member of society” way.. maybe I could at least make an attractive corpse if given the chance.
I have a feeling that whether I travel or stay in one place everything will be the same for me as long as I’m still me. I’ve broken too many backs in my past to go backwards with full cooperation from the broken and I don’t know how; nor know if I want to, move forward just to accomplish a repeat of whats happened in the past. stuck stuck stuck.

After the “christmas ghost” incident (that I still need to finish) I haven’t drank as much till this week but at least its with someone around my age and not someone old enough to me my mom. I stopped the whole theory that I would start smoking to feel more like a writer and I stopped eating any meats again. Soon I’ll cut out chicken entirely as soon as I get my money and can start buying more proteins than lentils, garbonsoz and milanesa. I WILL find tofu.

I’m going to write a short film about zombies. (lets see how long I believe that)

I’m going to watch a Christmas movie. Bad Santa or Elf?

She was a little early.. but she came. It was a woman who I had traded emails with months ago who lived on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. After the last email she sent me, I kind of forgot to respond for a month or so and while going through some old emails I contacted her last week to see if she was still around. She emailed me from her work this Friday asking if I wanted to get a drink and eat at an Indian restaurant not far from my house. I knew nothing about her personally, I assumed she was older and a professional working here, as most older Americans I talk to are. She had mentioned to me that she was from Oregon as well, which was a big coincidence and that her parents were hippys who dragged her and her siblings all over the country going to keggers and doing acid.
I had no plans for the evening, so we traded emails till she got off work with a 500 peso bonus burning a hole in her pocket. We met at an intersection and went from there. She ran across the intersection dressed like a hip young professional, sunglasses, chemically straightened hair and a fake tan. It didn’t phase me too much except that I was sure we’d have little to talk about. I guessed her age was about 35 at first before the sunglasses came off. She made a comment about being much older and hoping it wasn’t weird; after which revealing that her age was 45. I was actually shocked but as the night went on there were many other factors that made her age more relevant.

It had started to rain so we started out at the first bar we saw half a block away. It was the wrong bar, but we went anyway. We walked in as the only women there and possibly the only women who had ever walked in. It was full of short dark men watching an Argentine tennis match. The jukebox was blasting what sounded to me more like Mexican ranchero music, but I hadn’t heard much Argentine music and had no basis of comparison. We ordered a 40 of Quilmes, a cheap light beer from Argentina, and took a table in the back. We couldn’t hear each other at all but it was clear from the start that she was the talker and didn’t mind yelling over the sound. Luckily some better music followed, making the background noises more familiar and pleasant to hear when her voice wasn’t audible over the outdated jukebox. I never asked her to repeat when I missed a phrase; partly because I’ve become accustom to nodding my head due to lack of understanding and also due to not wanting her to scream in my ear anymore than necessary.

The men were staring at us creepily, I couldn’t help but give them dirty looks when I should have been listening. They joked among themselves and snickered while glancing over their shoulders; making themselves an instant enemy to a paranoid atit-sexist American. I listened to her talk as well as I could between glaring at men and fighting the music, but I generally gathered that she had lived here for a year, had a 25 year old boyfriend who lived with his parents, had been way into the grunge scene (as a Nirvana song struck a nerve), and had a 2 year degree in hospitality. We finally agreed it was too loud and left after paying for the beer.

It was still drizzling but we walked in the general direction of the restaurant anyway, with plans of hitting another bar. A strange place with giant rentable statues of animals and characters caught our eye; I was particularly drawn to the sheep and her to Betty Boop but we walked on anyway; slightly disappointed that neither of had a reason to ever rent one. We found a bar that seemed uncomfortably small but upon entering revealed a little stairway that lead into a South American version of a NASCAR shrine. It was covered in Ferrari memorabilia, both for sale and collectibles in glass cases from famous Ferrari drivers I have never heard of. We sat and ordered some food with our beer this time, to ensure that we wouldn’t get sick later. Strange eating hours prevented us from ordering anything we wanted and I ended up with a cheese sandwich and peanuts. She was getting drunk fast and I was buzzed but managing.

I still hadn’t said more than 10 words yet as she went on about her life in Spain as a waitress on a yacht. She had gone to Spain alone when she was 25 for no good reason and one night got plastered by herself in some bars near her hostel; Somehow waking up the next day on some docks. She awoke to 2 “majestic looking blonde Spaniards” who asked her if she needed a job, She then turned her 2 week vacation into a 4 year stay on a ship serving rich men caviar in short skirts and high heels. I could see it happening. She was lucky with her looks at her age and probably had always been pretty. I didn’t realize till later what a big part of her life and personality she had attributed her looks to, even though I should have noticed. She hod gotten a job in Buenos Aires at a software company oddly enough and said that hospitality at her age was nearly impossible (plus the fact that being an illegal citizen here your best chance at a job seems to be with a software company or call center). She gets paid $1500 pesos (good money) to answer phone calls as an American so the customers calling the Vonage phones with California numbers, don’t ever find out the company is located in Argentina.

While we (she ) were talking, outside was the loudest thunder I had ever heard followed by fantastic lightening; and just like the creepy men, she didn’t see or hear an ounce of it over her own voice; with “like totally” and “for sure” type phrases riddled in between everything she said. She seemed confident although self involved but was slightly entertaining just for the fact that she was such a character. We ate our sandwiches, drank our beer and I had an episode in the bathroom with rain shrapnel in my contact lens. It stopped raining just as we decided to leave and we continued to walk towards the Indian food.. which was 80% of the reason I came. However, we saw an Irish bar called the Dubliner that was almost too strange to resist. It was eerily Irish inside; save for the hundreds of four leaf clovers hanging everywhere and painted on the windows. For some reason I don’t think Irish bars would really do that year round, if at all. It’s hard to know whats an American version of another countries behavior and what’s accurate when you haven’t been there. This time she ordered a bottle of wine but to my distress it was white. I haven’t had a good white wine since I was too young to care what the hell I was drinking. Now I’m picker and have developed taste buds. I of course drank it anyways since she was paying and it never crossed my mind to order something else. After 2 glasses of wine, It started getting weird. She actually let me speak a little and asked me questions about why I’m here and what I’m doing here; what do I think about the place; what have I done since I was here and the like. I told her I was studying online; here to take a break and focus on some things; I mentioned that I brought my dog; that I have a studio in Palermo and that I can’t stand not having hot sauce. She scared the bartender with a laughing scream as I told her last year when I came here I had taken a bottle of hot sauce to every restaurant with me. I couldn’t tell at first if she was making fun of me or what but form this point on everything I said she responded with “oh my god that sounds just like something I would do” or “you sound exactly like me! its so weird that we have so much in common”. I thought it was amusing too till later in the night. She was noticeable drunker and started getting really excited about everything I said. Repeating over and over that I was brave and oh that’s amazing how strong I am and so on; It was all drunken pre-planned ramblings that people say when they really just want to get back about themselves or don’t have enough friends (my mean theory). So I stopped talking and she happily started again. She seemed in love with her own life, proud of her adventures and things she had done while not regretting things she hadn’t. I was happy in a way that I had met her, even if only to see that a woman can be 45, still traveling, not married, not running from something and happy with never having had children or settling down. ; but then she got into her family life and It was obvious that as firmly as she believed her mother was evil and unapproachable; she secretly regretted not having a relationship with her. It made me really sad to think of a 45 year old women who doesn’t talk to their living parents. The drunkenness started to taint her enthusiasm and the rest of the night was dead set on revealing her other side….
to be continued.

I deleted about 1/2 my “friends” list.
Now it only has people I actually know, people I might meet in the near future and Che, Fidel Castro and Steve Zissou. I deleted you either because we don’t ever ever talk, you had no intention of meeting me (and you’re in Argentina), or you’re a jerk… which is the most common case.
This probably wont matter that I’m writing this because if you are any of the above you also don’t read my blogs or don’t speak English…. so on that note…. you’re either really fucking boring, too self involved, or a total shit. So I’m not losing anything and neither are you.

This was inspired by a guy I talked to online for months who lived in Cordoba, Argentina, he was coming to Buenos Aires to visit friends and said we’d get coffee, I emailed him what’s up after he’d been here a couple days and he literally said “I was in the plaza, I didn’t see you, where were you?” – we had never agreed on a place to meet, there are about 1000 plazas in the city and um.. what? He basically did some “I threw the ball (hides behind his back)” thing to me.. what.the.actual.hell? Ok, done.

Other note.. I’m going to do what I want with my blog and I whine A LOT in blogs because that’s the only place I have to vent anything. If you don’t want to hear it.. don’t read it.. its ok.. I don’t need comforting and you will get really sick of me really fast (if you’renot already) if you read them a lot because I guarantee you they will be depressing at times (and have REALLY shitty spelling and lots of typos). This is the only public blog on my list just in case the deleted assholes need some confirmation.. which they wont….

If you are still on my list. It’s because you are great.. even if we never see each other and hardly talk.. I probably don’t hate you at all. (im such a bitch.) .. either that or I don’t know you.. but I think there’s only 2 of those left. (and fidel, che and the Zissou)

The Black and Green Whiskey Queen

One liter of water
one bag green tea
one bag black tea
one orange

Either make sun tea or brew for 20 minuites on medium heat and let cool

Pour into 8-12oz cup
add 1.5 shots of wiskey
cut open orange and squeeze into cup
add lots of sugar or as needed

DRINK

You are welcome.
This recipe is a product of being broke with no money for cola 😂

I’m bored, I drink a lot. When I don’t get robbed for my camera, I successfully bring home photos to upload to flickr.

Look 2, originally uploaded by LostLogo.

Today:
I saw a lady crying into a mans shoulder outside of a veterinary clinic below my apartment.
I saw a nun.
I saw a clown harassing patrons in the park for change.
I saw Lost in Translation.
I made a video.. recorded 10 mins of me talking and touring my apartment…
Listened to The Moldy Peaches over and over again.
Went shopping with the last of my cash and bought: dried peas, rice, pasta, bananas, oranges, spinach, soup base, tomato sauce = $3 US dollars.

3am: couldn’t sleep because I kept having reoccurring daymares of what I could have done different when I got robbed.. did the kid break his neck when I flung him down the stairs?.. should I watch the news? What else could I have yelled at that lady with the asshole dog… why doesn’t Ben acknowledge when I email him when at one point he had said he’s not going anywhere.. and now we can’t even be friends I guess? Remembering coming back from Argentina last year and the guy I had been dating was dating someone else… what if that noise I just heard was someone breaking into the house and I suddenly wake up with a hand on my head and Chena will bark and the guy will try to stab her.. but I’ll jump in the way and get stabbed myself.. then bleeding I’ll cover my dog and beg they don’t hurt her.. this is what it’s like at 3 am here…ahh culture shock.

I went to the expats website for some reason.. and read a few posts on the forum. One person has asked about vonage and I built them (vonage) up into a god for them to worship.
A guy posted about how bad drivers are here and how hes almost been killed several times and afterwards several people starting telling him that he “better get used to it and this isn’t Kansas anymore” and “how pathetic is it when people show up at the airport and don’t even speak Spanish” and “why don’t you just go home if you don’t like it” .. and these are Exapts (ex-patriots.. basically a fancy way of saying unappreciative outsiders) telling other expats “to get over it or go home”.. what the fuck is that? So I ripped into them telling them that thats the most assholish thing they can say to someone just expressing their opinion and distress in a new place… and how fucked up it is of them to be less understanding than the people who are natives here.. I called them ‘newcomer bigots’ and said that they might as well be the drivers running other immigrants down. How fucked is it to hear that the only people in the whole fucking city who should relate or sympathize with your culture shock are the ones telling you to go back to your country of origin? That’s why I don’t go to any of the expat dinners or talk to any of those people anymore. Elitist “I’ve traveled the world 100 times and you’re stupid” assholes.

Other than that, it was a good day because I didn’t get robbed and Chena didn’t get attacked.. but I have a feeling that subconsciously I’m not going to get over being robbed too soon. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel safe taking my good camera out of the house… being a fucking girl alone in another country is just as fucked as I thought it would be. Being a girl photographer and into journalism sucks even more. I can’t go anywhere without being at risk of being robbed.. even if I had some skinny little guy trailing behind me that I never talked to while I was out taking photos. I would be at much less risk of being robbed.

wtf do I do.. I’m here to take pictures….

I like crackers lots. I ran out of carbs for a while and didn’t notice till I felt sad and starving every time I walked past a bakery.

I didn’t do much today, but did see some huge broken down dilapidated building that I thought was abandoned… then a little girl stuck her head out the window.. and just after I saw a nun and decided it was an orphanage, just like the ones in the movies..the ‘porridge and mush for dinner and roaches on the ceilings and walls’ type of orphanage.. at least I’d like to imagine.

It was nice out and I lied in the sun with Chena on the floor of the apartment.. my legs haven’t seen the sun in 2 years and I now have brown liver-spot type marks all over them haha. Chena’s sight is getting worse but at least shes near sided.. when I take her to the park at night, she puts her nose to the ground and wanders off a bit… then, when she realizes I’m not near .. or near enough at least.. she perks her ears up and looks around. If I don’t call her right away she gets worried and starts turning in circles like shes lost… its sad and cute. She doesn’t like to be startled I discovered (big surprise). She couldn’t find me once, so I called her then stood behind a tree… when she came near I jumped out and grabbed her. She crumbled to the ground in fear and wouldn’t wag her tail at me for an hour. I suppose it’s pretty mean to tease blind dogs.. but I thought shed think I was playing like old times. I dont know how much worse it will get.. so far it’s only noticeably worse at night, and definitely near sided.. although when in the park during the day sometimes she starts walking up to a stranger like she thinks it’s me till she gets a few feet away from them then stops and looks confused until I all her. :'( my poor dog. She still doesnt understand she’s sick I think.. although she lets me know when its time for her shots… which is nice.

I read a great article about president Bush.. here’s an excerpt:

“As the president says, we underestimate him, but  he was not born stupid, he chose stupidity. Bush may look like a well-meaning dolt. On consideration, he’s something far more dangerous: a dedicated fool.” Article on why Bush is so stupid @ Slate.com

I don’t have anything that interesting to say today except the following which is probably only interesting to me:

****** touchy subject matter for people who are scared of or dont bother with race issues **********

Here’s a short and obvious statement on racism: …. if you had a bad experience with one person of one race or even 10 people of 2 races.. that doesn’t mean that they all.. everywhere.. are the same and all deserve one heaping spoonful of ignorant hate.. make an attempt to hate the person who has done you wrong and leave out the fact that they just happen to be Jewish or black or native american.. or just hate everyone in the world equally and leave out the race part all together.. no one who reads this wouldn’t already know that.. the only people who should be hated all at once .. are stupid people

I grew up in a lot of really racist places…mainly Montana and Idaho (white supremacy capital), and my stepdad was majorly racist.. so its not like I haven’t seen it or heard it.. but some asshole from Canada who I used to talk to online about 2 years ago got a hold of me on MSN and started talking about a “paki” at his work, and I nicely explained to him that that “was a bit racist…” and he said.. “well i didn’t call him that till he pissed me off.. and I was almost fired for telling him to go back to his country.” I stated again.. “because that also is racist”. He then stated.. “I was going to file a reverse suit against him if I was fired because he always fights with the white people there”.. and i said.. “Does he state that it is because you are white and call you whitey like you call him paki? or do you just happen to be white, and there at the time?” … his response.. “I don’t call him paki at work.. and he says ‘that white guy ‘ sometimes when talking to other pakis”.. and i say..” maybe hes being descriptive like if i were to say.. ‘ the guy who fell into the pit was a black/asian/mexican (whatever the case might be) man about 28 years old and 6 feet tall” .. his response.. “that’s considered racist in Canada”.. I say.. “socially accepted descriptive adjectives are racist?”.. his response.. “yep” … me.. “then maybe i don’t want to go to your part of Canada.. sound a little uptight and afraid of its own diversity”.. he says “it is.. but we give too much power to the minorities” .. me . “maybe people are uptight about racism because there’s so many racist people there”… “there are.. but don’t get me wrong.. I am racist at some people.. mainly Indians (american), I was amazed when I went to South Dakota and actually saw ones working and clean”.
I then go on some long speal about how I’m part native american (common claim.. I know..) and I grew up on several reservations and how shitty the government treats people on reservations.. and how he should consider it an economic problem for a group of people and not a race related problem .. he said “all they do is take money from the government and get drunk every day.. steal.. do drugs” .. and i said.. “oh yeah.. every native american in North and South America. from Canada to Antarctica? Oddly I know of plenty of white people living off welfare and getting drunk every day and I don’t think all white people are like that”..
Then basically, I just got irritated because he wouldn’t get a clue and said.. “your right.. all people of one race are the same everywhere in the world and you’re mr. white man and better than them all? k? you racist bigot asshole…” .. then I blocked him.
what a dildo face.
maybe he should eat more crackers.
( i really like the word bigot lately)

Yep.  I wrote a blog about not being able to meet people to talk to… I meet up with this girl who’s going home on Monday.. and as already freaked her out somehow. I am now officially lying about my past, and why I’m here, because people cant handle the reality that is me I think.. this is why I don’t meet people.

Henry David Thoreau is right about nothing really mattering, because we’re all alone anyways.

I re-lived this horrible car accident I was in when I was 13 while half dreaming. I couldn’t stop reenacting it and seeing the bloodied screaming person who was next to me trapped in the car. Always fun.

I then got stuck in a loop of terrible memories and remembered that when I was 5, I always walked home from school before my mom was home from work. One day I walked up the driveway and saw our horse laying on the ground dead and my miniature dachshund, and a neighbor dog, eating the her stomach. The horse had colic the day before from eating moldy hay and although we walked him for hours, he still died when everyone went to school and work. Her name was Apache.

Then I remembered how one of my friends has a mutual friend from school, although they were friends with them during different years, and who they know as a christian, and a good guy, and I knew to be a wanabe “Satan worshiper” who drew “satanic symbols” all over my book case and got in me in trouble even a year later in the Catholic girls home I was in (because my mom told them about the strange symbols…thanks mom).. funny how that happens.