tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61389152246224001402023-11-16T03:07:22.663-08:00Random Thoughts of a Not-so-Random MindSo this is my introduction... am I suppose to say why am I so great and why you'd love to read my blog? I guess so! This is a blog dedicated to random thoughts, things that normally occur to people and how our minds ramble about it... At some point, writing was my escape... After sometime, I'm starting to believe writing is a way of living...This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-16001809185481023622012-03-16T14:36:00.001-07:002012-03-16T14:36:40.094-07:00S*it Teachers SayOnce again the school year has begun. <br />
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When I was young, I was thrilled by it because it meant new teachers, new school objects, sometimes new mates, new adventures. Everything was new. And that "newness" made me feel excited at the very beginning - though later it was the same ol' shit, so I got bored and decided that I wanted vacations again. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi049tc3R1fDB0qZ-jvM2OuCezyBwrPhvmgx3Exby8vHl1-TKIvy6kIynjDYJs8mot42Hzu0zKTxcBIvfnSBqNI0AP6mYhB7A1iPzAlw9l6M4ubY35vqM_OaawjN1VmKLGx9BUjaBoxArnj/s1600/teacher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi049tc3R1fDB0qZ-jvM2OuCezyBwrPhvmgx3Exby8vHl1-TKIvy6kIynjDYJs8mot42Hzu0zKTxcBIvfnSBqNI0AP6mYhB7A1iPzAlw9l6M4ubY35vqM_OaawjN1VmKLGx9BUjaBoxArnj/s320/teacher.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behave propperly, you mother f*ckers!<br />
Or I'll spank you with my pointer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After some years, when I realized that being a teacher was my fate and that I was -and still am- in love with my job, the beginning of the school year became a very important event. On that day you get to meet your students, to see their faces for the first time, and you get a general idea of what the whole year might be like; also, you think about all the things you're going to do differently from the previous years or the new techniques or ideas you want to apply. </div>
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However, after some weeks, teachers tend to begin to mutate... and gradually, they become monsters. Yeah, I know, not all teachers are bad, but believe me when I say we all have a dark side students and parents never see. Even the one who adoringly smiles at her not-so-adorable students . Yep, they're the worse.</div>
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With all this I don't mean that we hate our students, that would be a lie. But there are some that can get the worse out of you! So, what do we do about it? Yes, we lie, we say shit we don't think in order to cover that dark side of ours.</div>
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For example, there's one thing teachers always say: I don't have a favourite student. Actually, we say that in order not to get the other students to feel bad about it, but we do have a favourite. I think it's impossible not to have a favourite. Sometimes, it's the one who offers him/herself to do whatever you want them to do. Other times, it's the one who you know doesn't get a single thing of what you explain, the one who needs your help constantly because it's too much for him or her to understand. Also, it could be the one who causes every single problem, but whom you know needs a lot of affection. Or, it might be that student that reminds you how <em>you</em> were when you were young.</div>
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The same thing happens when you have a few groups of the same age. They tend to ask which group you think it's better, and we say we don't have a favourite one. Even when we know that they know that it's a bare-faced lie. </div>
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Yeah, we're even cruel at times. When you have those annoying bullies in your class, there's a voice inside your head that tells you 10 different ways to make him/her fail in your class or 10 ways to get that child to shut the fuck up and stop messing up with the rest of the class. And let me tell you, that voice is cruel. Trust me, you don't think good things when you see a student of yours punching another one or insulting him/her.</div>
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Another example is the one about cursing. I mean, if you're at home and you accidentally kick a chair with your bare foot you're going to curse like a sailor. Students should pay attention to their language in class and inside the school, but when they ask you: "Have you ever cursed?" and you say "No", you're telling the biggest lie you've ever told. And that leads me to another thing, we tell them not to lie, but we lie to them!</div>
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Okay, I think I'm gonna stop now. The rest of the dark side will remain a secret... </div>
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-82018753839472391122012-03-04T16:42:00.000-08:002012-03-04T16:42:53.537-08:00No Internet, baby news and an award! Too much for two weeks!<br />
After two weeks of not having Internet service at home because of some stupid cable and a storm, I'm back and have 2 beautiful things to tell you...<br />
<br />
1- It turns out that I'm pregnant!! It's confirmed now, so I can yell it to the world... -I'm feeling kinda like Leonardo Di Caprio at Titanic in the "I'm the king of the world" scene. I still can't believe it and Leo either, but we're super happy about it! Now I'm all vomit and mood swings, but I guess it's just the first few months...<br />
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2- I've won a Liebster Blog award! Yay!! My adorable <a href="http://www.justkeepinitrealfolks.com/" target="_blank">Just Keepin' It Real Folks</a> blogging pal thought I deserved a Liebster Blog Award.... I'm soo happy!! I can't believe it! You've made my day =)<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegLw17wGdUoGvdub9reEs7HN7nMq6J4jZYapdVbU1BNbXLL9PZ31JLClNd6xtCVje4WkiOiYyWQuOhzCc4WJL4PLfqPPFfgzhcBBvzaGR_vOGB8dcXqszVSYExtmnfIVS9Gu1u_yTv9KT/s1600/liebster.jpg" /><br />
<br />
So, now, the Rules:<br />
<br />
<strong>1. Link back to the person who gave you the award.</strong><br />
<a href="http://www.justkeepinitrealfolks.com/" target="_blank">Just Keepin' It Real Folks</a> is a blog written by an awesome and super funny lady whose name I don't know, but who makes my day just by reading her posts. She's incredibly hilarious and most of the times we share our opinions on different subjects. Her Wacky Wednesdays posts are the best! So, check it out! I really want to thank her because it's the first time ever I win anything and it's even more special considering that I won it by doing something I really enjoy, that is writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm really glad you like it! =)<br />
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<strong>2. Pick 5 deserving people and notify them on their blogs.</strong><br />
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<strong>1.</strong><a href="http://www.youngmanbrown.com/" target="_blank"><strong>Good Youngman Brown</strong></a><strong>. </strong>His posts are just awesome! He shares anecdotes and thoughts about the randomest things you could think about and you can get easily related to what he says. He really makes me laugh, so I strongly recommend his blog!<br />
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2. <a href="http://crackyouwhip.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Crack You Whip</a><strong> </strong>is written by the adorable Tracie. She combines her sharp sense of humour with super funny drawings and creates very interesting posts sharing stories about her life or her thoughts. She's awesome! Besides, her comments are always very sweet!<br />
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3. <a href="http://transformednonconformist.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Transformed Non Conformist</a><strong> </strong>is a blog written by my fellow teacher Brett Minor. He shares anecdotes about his childhood, his children, college, etc. He was the first person who commented on my blog and who encouraged me to keep working on it. You rock, Brett!<br />
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4. <a href="http://dflybuzz.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Filter is Off</a>. This is a beautiful blog written by Karen. She's one of the strongest woman I've ever heard of. She's the devoted mother of a beautiful angel, Olivia, and shares all her thoughts without any filter. I was very touched when I read her blog for the first time, she's someone to admire, definitely.<br />
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5. <a href="http://nellievaughn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Buttons are not currency</a><strong> </strong>If we talk about being a bit quirky and having a dark sense of humour, you can't miss Nellie Vaughn's blog. Her posts are the coolest ever! Check on it! <strong> </strong><br />
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-42582671794439747702012-02-14T04:40:00.001-08:002012-02-14T04:40:48.973-08:00The best Valentine's Day everOkay, I know, it's been a while since I posted... This time I haven't been looking like a dying woman after trying to get tanned, I'm just back at work and school preparations for this year are taking longer than I thought...<br />
<br />
Today's Valentine's Day and I couldn't come up with anything to give my fianceé, so I just surprised him with the possibility of me being pregnant... I'm a couple of days late, so we don't know yet, but I'll tell you all about it as soon as I do. I'm terrified because this hasn't been planned, but don't want to drive myself nuts over it yet. <br />
<br />
I don't have much to say today... My mind is quite blocked right now! But I leave you something here for you to read that I found today... Of course it's dedicated to my man, who I love with every single beat of my heart!<br />
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<br /><br />
<em>"I love you" means that I accept you as you are and that I don't want to turn you into someone else.</em><br />
<em>It means that I don't expect you to be perfect, just like you don't expect me to be either. </em><br />
<em>"I love you" means that I will love you and be with you even through the worst of times.</em><br />
<em>It means loving you when you are on a bad mood or when tiredness forbids you to do what I wish for you to do.</em><br />
<em>It means loving you through moments of despondency, not just in joyful moments.</em><br />
<em>"I love you" means that I know your deepest secrets and that I don't judge you for them, asking in return that you don't judge me for mine.</em><br />
<em>It means that I have love enough to fight for what we have and not to let you go.</em><br />
<em>It means constantly thinking of you, dreaming of you, desiring and needing you; and expecting for you to feel the same for me.</em><br />
<em>"I love you" means "forever".</em><br />
<br />
Happy V's Day, people!<br />
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-51495457740698765552012-02-08T18:34:00.000-08:002012-02-08T19:49:40.821-08:00The girl who looked like a grilled chicken <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbeEroLutdmaMi_lZ5Kf7vEEGtKcTZAIaLhgmxdrJZV6Fo7mIP0PO7m-14YpxttwJUqIQrpPJY_NHFlj5all9NG8qQX9RnRUo_fRu6B7YnbRm_BepFrQUBnJIUOnyUi5vvmCmoG9-YmnzX/s1600/chiste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbeEroLutdmaMi_lZ5Kf7vEEGtKcTZAIaLhgmxdrJZV6Fo7mIP0PO7m-14YpxttwJUqIQrpPJY_NHFlj5all9NG8qQX9RnRUo_fRu6B7YnbRm_BepFrQUBnJIUOnyUi5vvmCmoG9-YmnzX/s200/chiste.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I looked almost like this after <br />
being in the sun for too long</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Okay, so I've been absent from the blogosphere for a couple of days. Nothing weird happened, no third eye appeared on my forehead, no horns grew on my head and luckily I don't look like the Yeti! However, this silly random girl who's typing right now, wanted to get tanned... And ended up looking like a grilled chicken! =( Actually, like an over-grilled chicken... So I had to be in bed and put on every single after sun I could find; also, while looking like a fresh tomato, I had to deal with people telling me to try every home-made remedy they could possible think about.<br />
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Now that I get to think about it, because for the last couple of days I felt like a tomato ready to become ketchup and my neurons were mushier than usual, I wonder why people say stupid things without caring about what the person they're talking to might think.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HvEettzh-FcOMyY0eQ4dMc1erJ5SJemCRPQKrs_6L1Omia_fJMTKCrm2V4-pIE8ZA4Q04xUK9edjmT4CcBEYpjXcd4HVKc34BOapa6yYTSVP7cSLZUwO8fhyphenhyphentIQgCdRy-kwXCXAdly7g/s1600/Casper%252004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HvEettzh-FcOMyY0eQ4dMc1erJ5SJemCRPQKrs_6L1Omia_fJMTKCrm2V4-pIE8ZA4Q04xUK9edjmT4CcBEYpjXcd4HVKc34BOapa6yYTSVP7cSLZUwO8fhyphenhyphentIQgCdRy-kwXCXAdly7g/s200/Casper%252004.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, this is my alter-ego!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I really hate people who say things just because they feel like talking. I think every day when they wake up they surely set a limit of words to be spoken that day, and they feel the need to fulfil that task so they don't give a shit for the stupid comments or remarks they might say. For example, I'm extremely white, right? Actually, according to one of my friends, I'm Casper-like white. So the other day, when some people saw me in my bikini said stupid things like <em>"Wow! You're transparent!" "Are you feeling okay?, you look really pale" "My God! Look at your legs! They're totally white! It's creepy, you know?" "Why are you so white, E?". </em>All those shitty comments made me want to smack the hell down out of those mother-fuckers and say: <em>I'm white, so what? What's the big issue? Who looks like a grilled chicken after trying to get tanned, me or you? What's your fucking problem, then?</em> <br />
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Another thing that freaks me out is people who gives you all kinds of home-made remedies. I mean, it's not that I have anything against them, they are really helpful sometimes and I'd really appreciate it if any of you ever recommend one to me; but what I hate is people who sees you and gives you 5 different things you can drink or do to feel better. The other day, one of my friends came to see me and the conversation we had was something like this:<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Friend:</strong> Oh, my God! Look at your skin! You're as red as a tomato! </em><br />
<em><strong>Me:</strong> (thinking: of course, idiot, I'm sunburnt!) Yeah, I know...</em><br />
<em><strong>Friend:</strong> You should put some Aloe Vera Lotion on it... You know what? My mom has this home-made thing: you have to take an old handkerchief and soak it into very cold milk and then put it on your skin. Or, you can boil some water and add oil, and whisk it until it's colder and it becomes some kind of jello, and then you put it on your skin. Oh, and there's another one! My granny used to put some tomato slices on my skin when I was sunburnt... Another option is...</em><br />
<br />
And she continued ranting non-stop for 20 more minutes about home-made remedies and I ended up believing I was about to become a new kind of salad if I followed her advice.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdEUmUngQzLrXxans2AgNCHRLtua5QnYQnP6g4Th-RS6ryay3wPjUfPq1LWU6vPuIddSn_aYxYHu-cy16ahi0FCeQDsyg6II-cR2eCrHCl9N9v0Cj1OiSasCQ8T7dWiuD3-eYsFgWPi_2/s1600/Heather-+Chiste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdEUmUngQzLrXxans2AgNCHRLtua5QnYQnP6g4Th-RS6ryay3wPjUfPq1LWU6vPuIddSn_aYxYHu-cy16ahi0FCeQDsyg6II-cR2eCrHCl9N9v0Cj1OiSasCQ8T7dWiuD3-eYsFgWPi_2/s200/Heather-+Chiste.jpg" width="138" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you see why it was <br />
such an insult to be <br />
compared with her?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
However, the worst thing handle is those people who tell you things like: "You really look like shit! Your face is all swollen...You look like Heather Locklear without make up!" or "Ugh, you have a blister on your lip... That's disgusting! Ugh, I can't look at you", oh! and there's another one even worse: "You definitely look like a leper with all that skin coming out of your face. Yuck!" <br />
<br />
Well, there are two good things that I have to highlight after this "steamy" experience: 1- the other day, when I was feeling like crap and looked like a grilled chicken, Leo looked at me and said <em>"You are all burnt and still look as beautiful as ever. You rock, hun!"...</em>yep, that's my lovely man!; and 2- I look like Oprah (well, not that much... I'm extra white, remember?), but skinnier and with green eyes! <br />
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Yeah, I definitely rock!<br />
<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-65883828942446139352012-02-03T11:05:00.000-08:002012-02-03T11:05:57.662-08:00Flying eggs, an exorcism and... Kevin BaconToday I'm having one of those days in which I'm more random than usual. I believe that's because it's very hot here in Buenos Aires, it looks like it's about to rain any second so it's really wet, the air is heavy and it seems I'm about to melt at any moment; therefore, my neurons are melting too.<br />
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This morning, after sleeping like hell at Leo's place and becoming mosquitoes' favourite dinner, I left for my zumba lesson. <br />
As I was walking to the gym I happened to pass in front of one of those new churches which, I think, belong to Jehovah's Witnesses. From the outside it looked like a storehouse with new wooden doors and two huge brown crosses painted on them; one of the doors was opened and you could see about 10 lines of 15 or 20 white plastic chairs, a stage with a book rest and a microphone, and another huge cross on the back. It's not that I stood there and saw all of this, but it's not the first time I happened to pass in front of it. <br />
Anyway, what called my attention was the voice of who I guess was the preacher saying "Leave them, demon! Let them be free!" and people saying "Hallelujah" after that. I was about to stop and peep through one of the windows, but obviously, I didn't. However, as I was getting closer to the corner of that street I could still hear them screaming "let them be free" and "hallelujah, brothers", so I ended up thinking that perhaps they were performing an exorcism? I was crossing the street and was still expecting to see Father Karras or Linda Blair coming out of this freaky church... Two bad neither of them did!<br />
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So I got to my zumba lesson, still thinking about Linda Blair vomiting something green and how I had emulated her once I got drunk and ended up throwing up some mint liquor I'd had a few minutes before that, and found out my teacher had based her entire lesson on songs from different movies. So today I got to dance "Footloose" song, yeah, the Kenny Loggings one. I was supposed to dance a bit like Ren (Kevin Bacon's Character), but as you already know, it's difficult for me to dance. So, while my friend looked like Kevin Bacon (who I still envy for dancing like that in final scene from the movie), I looked like Chris Penn, playing Willard while he was learning how to dance (remember "Let's hear it from the boy"? Danced by Ren and Willard?). Yeah, it was painful to watch, but I had a blast!<br />
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Then, as I got to my house, at some morning TV show they were talking about silly things adolescents do at school and I remembered IT. The day I almost get expelled from high school.<br />
I know what you're probably thinking: A teacher? Getting expelled from high school? Well, yes, people! I was not Mother Therese, I was one of those students who loved joking and doing stupid things with her classmates. For example, throwing an egg against the blackboard while my Geography teacher was writing on it.<br />
I must say I wasn't the one who threw it, but I was responsible for the idea. That lady was a huge pain in the ass and she was completely annoying. We were about to finish high school and wanted to make something stupid like that. She was the teacher who everybody hated, and we were the class everybody loved.<br />
One day, she was writing on the blackboard and one of my friends threw the egg against it. She stood there frozen, not only because of the banging noise, but also because it had hit it a few inches from her.<br />
After that, she ran away from the classroom, crying and the principal came. He threatened us, told us he was going to expel us all if we didn't say who had done that. We were called to testify in front of him, with our parents, but he never got to know who had the idea or who had thrown the egg. Finally, he didn't expel anybody because he didn't know who had done it, so he "dropped the charges" and we were able to graduate. I can't remember feeling more victorious than that day.<br />
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-16870286566240374212012-02-02T10:47:00.000-08:002012-02-02T10:47:44.948-08:00My neighbour, the trampWell, people, I think my next-door neighbour's a prostitute. Yeah, yeah, as you read it! I seriously think she's works as a prostitute. There's nothing wrong about it, it's the world's oldest job, isn't it? But, what is wrong is that she doesn't contribute with her neigbours' need to sleep at night. She doesn't contribute AT. ALL.<br />
<br />
It all began when she moved to our building. I live in a beautiful city, with very beautiful buildings and houses. The people living in my building are mostly old couples, or very old single ladies; except for myself and my mom, a lesbian couple who lives in the flat above ours, and a very tall and good looking blond who lives with her midget husband. And a couple of months ago, this young-woman with her son moved to the flat next to ours. We supposed she was divorced because a man comes every other weekend, and some days during the week, and takes the boy with him. <br />
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About a month ago, it was Saturday night and I was alone with Leo at my place. We were having dinner when we suddenly heard something like a moan coming from the hallway, we were silent for a while and heard the elevator's door, a few steps in the hallway and a stiffed laugh, and then, the flat's door being shut.<br />
The elevator is a fetish to some people, perhaps she was one of them, so it wasn't weird. We laughed at it.<br />
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Later that night, about 2 hours after the elevator episode, we heard some moans again coming from her balcony and 30 minutes later her flat's door opened, she went downstairs and came back into her flat only to go out again 10 minutes later. At that point, we were keeping everything quiet in order to listen at what was going on outside (yeah, I know, we were being nosy, but it was funny and we were curious about it). She came back up, and while she was opening the elevator's door we heard another man talking to her. 30 minutes later, a banging noise against the living room wall told us they were having fun.<br />
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At 1 a.m. I was woken up by her, shouting at the top of her lungs "YEAAAAHHHH, ALFREDOOO". Not only she scared the shit out of me, but also she woken me up and I really needed to sleep. I got up, trying not to wake Leo, to have a glass of water and while I was in the kitchen I heard her opening the door again. And I must say, she didn't make any effort to keep it quiet, she banged the door every single fucking time.<br />
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Obviously, you know what happened next... 15 minutes later, a new man came up. And so the night continued, with her screaming like a banshee and men coming to her flat every two or three hours. She finally got quiet almost at 6 a.m. and I was finally able to sleep.<br />
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Now, this has been occurring every time her son's at his father's house... And guess what? This weekend he's going on holiday with him. I'm so screwed. I think I'm gonna get some sleeping pills. <br />
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-43912905923839893042012-01-31T20:07:00.000-08:002012-01-31T21:13:34.455-08:00Ladies and gentlemen... My bitchy mother-in-law<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I still don't know who was the creature above who created mothers-in-law in the first place. What was he thinking? Was he planning on us needing a replacement for our own mothers? Was it that he didn't like his own mother enough that he needed the rest of humanity to have some kind of a substitute in case someone had issues like him? </div>
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My mother-in-law is anything but a substitute mother to me. She's nosy, bitchy and completely annoying. The thing is that at the very beginning, when I met her, she seemed the complete opposite to what I'm describing. Just a housewife with a huge smile and 3 sons, who was happy to have a female individual around his male-crowded house. Harmless, huh? </div>
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She played the perfect mother-in-law role for almost 6 years. Now, she became tired of it and Grendel's mum is beginning to replace her. She suddenly realized that what she was doing was out of the number 1 rule of the "Bitchy mothers-in-law Club": you must never treat your daughter-in-law as if she was your real daughter. For that reason, she began doing annoying stuff such as asking my boyfriend to stay at home for dinner because "your grandparents are coming over and when I told your granny you were going to E's house, she became so sad!". Bullshit! She just wanted him to stay at home because she knew we were going to be alone at my house (I live with my mum and she was going out that night). But hey, if she's bitchy, I'm bitchier (does that word even exist?) so I went there, had dinner, and after Leo's grandparents left we came to my house and she ended up there tearing her hair out.</div>
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"Jealousy is the green eyed monster" Shakespeare said. Well, in this case I could say "jealousy is the brown eyed mother-in-law". She's jealous of everything Leo does, and even more if he does it with me: "He talks to you" "He didn't say that to me... Well, that's because he doesn't care for me and only talks to you" "He doesn't even call me on the phone" "Sometimes, I know he's with you, but he doesn't call me to say he misses me... That must be because he doesn't love me at all" "When he sees you he's all smiles, when he sees me he's always in a bad mood" "I asked him to lend me some money, he said he didn't have enough... oh, btw, what a nice pair of jeans! Did he buy it for you? Oh, no! I know you work and earn money to pay for them... I just thought that since he said he didn't have enough money to lend me, perhaps he had spent it on you" </div>
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Okay, so she turned 50 last year and she was unlucky enough to get divorced the same year, so she's going through some "middle-age"/ pre-menopausal crisis and she cries over every single stupid thing. However, she cries even harder when she tries to convince me not to steal her sweet boy from her while looking like Puss in Boots and saying "I know that once you two are married, he's going to forget about this old lady here. Leo's not going to need me then, and I won't see him againg. I know he won't come to see me anymore once he's moved out of here. I won't even see my grandsons!" <br />
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Let's face it, after she has called at 1 a.m. on Saturday (Leo stays at my home on Friday and Saturday night) to ask my boyfriend if his car is inside the garage "because according to the weather report hailstones are going to fall tonight", only to attempt to continue the conversation by asking him "What were you doing? Were you awake?", I can definitely say she's nosy. Was she expecting Leo to say "No, actually I was passionately making love to E?" or " No, E's asleep. I'm watching some porn on the computer now" or "Yes, it's 1 in the morning! I'm trying to get some mother-fucking sleep!". She just wants to know everything. Every.Single.Mother.Fucking.Thing. <br />
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Now it's your turn to tell me what should I do? Should I kill her? Should I find her a man? Should I tell my boyfriend her mother is a complete pain in the ass? I tried to say that to him and he laughed and said "I know". How crazy is that?<br />
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I just know one thing: I definitely will decline the offer to join the "Bitchy Mothers-in-Law Club" in the future. I don't want any of my daughters or sons-in-law to be writing a post on a blog about how hideous his or her mother-in-law is.This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-8261308049103226012012-01-29T17:48:00.000-08:002012-01-29T17:48:50.726-08:00Stupid Facebook posts and bitchy mothers-in-lawThere are 2 things that turn me onto a bitchy mother fucker: stupid Facebook posts and my mother-in-law.<br />
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I hate those people who think Facebook was created to be used as a diary. Let me explain what I mean by showing you three examples:<br />
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<em>Sat., Jan. 28th 2012. 2:07 a.m.</em><br />
<em>Nicolás says: I'm so bored! I think I'm going to go to bed now. Bye.</em><br />
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<em><em>Sat., Jan. 28th 2012. 2:12 a.m.</em></em><em>Nicolás says: Okay, I'm going to bed now. Bye.</em><br />
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<em>Sat., Jan. 28th 2012. 2:15 a.m.</em><br />
<em>Nicolás says: Off to bed. Bye.</em><br />
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Is there any need to write the same stupid post 3 times? That makes me yell at him in my mind: we already understood you were going to bed, we don't need to read it three times! We aren't as stupid as you are! Or, as I said to my friends: he wants someone to talk to him because he's bored, but he's an asshole and nobody wants to talk to him because he does stupid things like these. <br />
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The same happens with those people who buy something and are desperate to show it... Such is the case of one of my Facebook contacts who bought a car on Thursday and for three days in a row posted things such as: "Washing my baby" (accompanied by a picture of him next to his car), "Feeding my baby" (and a picture of him putting some gas in it), "Taking my baby for a ride" (guess what?? Yes! A picture of him driving the car accompanied the post). I was about to reply to the last comment saying: "why don't you get a real babe instead? Oh, yes, I forgot, you're too busy masturbating thinking about your car that you can't even possibly think about a getting a real woman"<br />
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Then, there's always someone who's always willing to ruin a post by making the stupidest comment you have ever read. That's the case of this one...<br />
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<img alt="funny facebook fails - "20 Isn't Even a Time."" class="event-item-lol-image" height="226" src="http://cheezfailbooking.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/funny-facebook-fails-isnt-even-a-time.png" title="funny facebook fails - "20 Isn't Even a Time."" width="478" /><br />
For crying out loud! What the hell was this lady thinking about? Is it possible to be even dumber? It looks like a post written by Jim Carrey's character on "Dumb and Dumber"...<br />
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Okay, I think I'm going to talk about my mother-in-law on another occasion because this Facebook thing gets me on my nerves.<br />
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I'm gonna go now.<br />
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I'm leaving.<br />
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Okay, the bitch is off.This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-5708918008911923432012-01-28T10:58:00.000-08:002012-01-28T10:58:35.698-08:00Saturday 9: How do you mend a broken heart?Trying on a Saturday Meme over <a href="http://samanthasaturday9.blogspot.com/2012/01/how-do-you-mend-broken-heart.html" target="_blank">here!</a><br />
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<strong>1-How did you cope with your biggest heartache?</strong><br />
Well, after yesterday's post I might say blogging. At first I would only cry and become a teary mess any time I had to refer to it, then, in time, I began discussing it with my friends... Right now, I blog about it. I wasn't planning to do it, but I realized I needed it.<br />
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<strong>2-Who was the last person you visited in a hospital?</strong><br />
My boyfriend, two years ago, when we had a motor-bike accident. Actually, I didn't visit him, I went there with him, does it count? <br />
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<strong>3-How many jobs have you held in your life? How many of those were part of your chosen career field?</strong><br />
I've held 3 jobs in my life. The first one was as a shop assistant at a perfumery, and it was a complete pain in the ass. I had to deal with crazy old ladies who wanted me to advice them on which stinking bottle of perfume to buy or which varnish color to chose. Then, I began working at the school where I'm working now. And the third one was another teaching position at another school in which I lasted a month: I had to teach 6-year-olds inside a classroom in which, if it rained, you had to use an umbrella because of the huge leaks on the ceiling and also you had to carry a flashlight with you because there was a short circuit somewhere inside of it and the power would go off. It was impossible to work there and also dangerous!<br />
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<strong>4-How did you discover Saturday 9?</strong><br />
Accidentally! I can't remember the site where I've read about it, but here I am!<br />
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<strong>5-If you could take the train from anywhere to anywhere, where would "anywhere" be?</strong><br />
I'd take the train in Paris and then I'd go cross-country across France. My biggest dream is to go there someday and visit the Louvre Museum.<br />
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<strong>6- When was the first time you cooked for someone else?</strong><br />
6 years ago, I made my boyfriend some ravioli with with sauce for lunch. I don't know what I did wrong, but the raviole were all mashed up and the sauce was a bit viscous...They were completely inedible, but hey, I've improved a lot since then! I haven't killed him accidentally, yet lol The funny thing is that he said they were delicious =P he really loves me lol<br />
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<strong>7-What's the worst veberage you've ever tasted?</strong><br />
When I was 16, an old friend of mine try to convice us that she could make some cocktails. She made one with whiped cream, grenadine and tequila! It was completely disgusting.<br />
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<strong>8-Is there anything in your life you are "certain about"? Firm in your beliefs? Strong in your convictions?</strong><br />
Whatever you do, good or bad, it always comes back to you. You could say I firmly believe in karma. <br />
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<strong>9-Do you know anyone who has a very unsual pet?</strong><br />
Yeah, my friend's boss has 2 ferrets: Malena and Moustache. They're horrible, honestly.This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-2077437555560670982012-01-27T13:40:00.000-08:002012-01-27T13:40:00.731-08:00DysfunctionalI was intending to write about something else, but since yesterday afternoon I've been a bit anguished. I created this blog to ramble about anything that comes to my mind and I can't seem to keep something out of it which is what this post is about. <br />
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Dysfunctional. Remember how I rambled about how many words can describe us? Well, here I've found another one that suits me fantastically. You may wonder why that is and what this has to do with my post, well, I'll tell you right away.<br />
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It was May 2009 when my family began to collapse. My father has always been a complex person to deal with, his mood would change in the twinkling of an eye and he would turn aggressive or even violent towards any one who would dare to face him. Most of the times the person confronting him would be right, but he would have never accepted that. He would start yelling, insulting or attempting to punch you; I remember once I got to work on a nervous breakdown because he had been about to punch me right in the face. <br />
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That year, on that month, the day of my nephew's first birthday, he had a huge argument with my brother whom he always treated like crap. He had always seemed jealous of my brother and he had never treat him like a father would treat his son. Because of that argument, my brother stopped coming to my house and instead, my mother and I would go to his house to see him and my nephew. Sometimes, my brother would drop my nephew at home, and my father would ignore him completely because, according to him, the baby didn't like him (how could a one-year-old baby not like someone I really ignore it). The thing is that we, specially my mother, would spend more time with my brother and my father completely lost it because of that.<br />
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He became obsessive with my mother and psychologically abused her. He treated her like shit too. He also threatened to kill her in more than one occasion, not because he was going to do it, but only because he wanted to scare the hell out of her. He said things like he was going to hurt my brother or set his store on fire, because, according to him, she preferred my brother over him. Also, he became something like a religious fan and locked himself up in my brother's old bedroom to read the Bible every day and had a cross hanging on his chest.<br />
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We got to a point in which I was driving myself nuts and had to be around all the time because he would take advantage of that time alone with my mother to threaten her and all. I was afraid to leave my house, thinking that someone was going to call me to say he had killed my mother. <br />
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By December 2009, a few days before Christmas (my birthday, btw) he left to another province because he had relatives there. We felt free at last, because that year was a huge nightmare. My mother was happier, I was calmer, and my brother even came to my house.<br />
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On January 2010, one of my aunts (who lives where my father went) called us and told us he was coming back because some friends told him he had rights and that our house was his house too. He came back and as he entered the flat locked himself up in my brother's old bedroom. By lunch time he came out and that's when everything completely collapsed. He pushed my mother against a wall and hit her, and he only stopped when he heard me screaming like a maniac "Let her go", I still don't know what happened to me there because my mind went blank. My mum says I began trembling and crying and yelled at him so much that he froze where he was, he tried to hug me and I yelled even more. She grabbed my hand and we packed some things and left. <br />
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To make a long story short, we left and never came back. We lost everything, all our belongings and the furniture, except for our clothes. He never let us take anything out of the flat. It took us a month to find a new flat, meanwhile, I had to live with my boyfriend and my mum had to live with my brother. We were able to buy some furniture and we had a fresh start in another town. My mother had to change her work because he went there asking for her a couple of times, and we reported him to the police for domestic abuse. He found a job as a taxi driver, and I've seen him wandering around my block with his car a couple of times.<br />
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Two years later, here I am, at my house. Right now my mother is playing games with my nephew in the living room. Everything changed for us. We are still afraid of going out, because we don't know when we might run into him. The last thing we heard about him was that he moved out of our old flat and now lives with his girlfriend somewhere else. He took everything with him, our belongings, everything. <br />
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My family's dysfunctional. <em>I </em>am dysfunctional too. This nightmare has changed me a lot. I can tell you I don't hate him, I don't love him either. He's just a person who turns out to be my father. In 22 years I lived with him we had our good times and also our bad times, but after everything that happened I'm not capable of feeling anything towards him. He just doesn't mean anything to me anymore. He's just someone who scares the shit out of me and who, right now, represents a threat to me and my family. <br />
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Yesterday was his birthday, and that's what moved me to write this post. I didn't even send him a message. I don't know if he spend it with someone and I don't care either. I know this might be a bit strong to read for some of you, but as I said before, I'm not capable of feeling anything towards him. Yet, I have been anguished and yesterday was a hard day for me because it reminded me of everything I went through two years ago. I think I might never recover from it, but at least right now it's just anguish, it's not pain anymore.<br />
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<br />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-19263536129627688092012-01-25T20:41:00.000-08:002012-01-25T20:41:40.634-08:00The importance of being a kid's crushWhen I was a student at secondary school I always paid close attention to my teachers; not only to what they said, but also to how they looked like, the way they spoke, their gestures. While I grew up, I remember hearing my male classmates saying how pretty our Psychology teacher was or what a great body our Culture and Art teacher had. They fell irremediably in love with them, because they were young and had a nice body, or a nice face, but also because of how they spoke and the gestures they made. I remember thinking that they were lucky -my classmates, I mean- because we hardly ever had male teachers and the ones we had were old and pretty much disgusting, so we girls fell a bit disappointed.<br />
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It was a curious thing to see: the boys were so crazy about these two teachers that even the most barbaric ones behaved like perfect gentlemen and paid close attention to their lessons. They would fail in every subject, except for Psychology and Culture and Art. They even stayed a bit longer inside the classroom even after the bell rang just to wait for them to leave. They wanted to enjoy their presence until the very last second. So, yes, most of them had a major crush on these two teachers, and that was one of the things that scared me the most when I began teaching because you never know if you can handle it (not because I would pay attention in that sense to one of my students, but because they can get confused and interpret you in the wrong way, that meaning huge troubles).<br />
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Let's face it: I'm 24 years old and began teaching at a school when I was 19; I was very, very young at that point (I still am, for some people) and could not possibly handle a group of 17-year-old students because of the age difference. So, when my boss at that time called me and asked me to work as the substitute teacher of English of 11-year-old children, I agreed happily. <br />
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I don't mean to sound cocky at all, but I'm not <em>that </em>bad physically speaking. I told you before, back then I had 10 kilos less than now, and was 1,70 mts tall (as I am now). My hair is dark brown and my eyes are green, so I'm a bit attractive to some people. The thing is that, while I believed it could not happen because they were 11, I ended up becoming not only the substitute teacher of English, but one of my student's crush. <br />
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He was the sweetest child to me, but outside the classroom he was an authentic pain in the ass. The other teachers loathed him! And, back then, I could not understand why because he was such a sweetheart with me and I protected him as if he was my son. However, three years later, when he was in the 9th grade, with 14 years old and almost 20 cms more than me, I turned out to be his teacher again and he made his feelings towards me very clear the first day I entered the classroom with the head of the English Department -who's also my friend, Pamela. He came to us and said to her: "Can I give you a hug? You're the best! You've chosen the most beautiful teacher of English in this school to be our teacher!" I could not believe what I was hearing and he took advantage of that and added, still talking to my friend: "I want to marry her someday, but I doubt she'll ever pay me attention". I was shocked, and my friend told him to behave propperly so that I could like him more (it was just a strategy to get him to behave in a better way because he almost gets expelled from school that year).<br />
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Well, the rest of the year was pretty much like <em>my </em>secondary school years and my male classmates liking the teachers: he waited for me to arrive and told me how pretty I looked, or asked me if I was tired, or told me about any song he had heard on the radio he had thought we could work with in class. He would behave propperly, and do everything I asked him (and the rest of the class, of course) to do for my subject, he even studied! (which is much to say because he suffers from the Lack of Attention Syndrome) I, in exchange, would help him with everything teachers help their students,what he didn't understand, what he needed me to explain him again. And obviously, following my motherly instinct, I protected him from the other teachers who didn't know anything about his personal history or his attention issues. He had to work hard to pass the other subjects because he had nearly failed in all of them, except from mine. I've always valued his efforts and knew how hard it was for him to be there and pay attention, and he realized he knew a lot more than what he thought he knew about the language. He was a good student.<br />
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The year ended and he, once more, said that he wanted to marry me, but since he knew it is impossible he said I would always be his crush. And also, he said that apart from that, I was the best teacher he had ever had because I was the most understanding and compassionate and I had helped him a lot throughout the year. I was almost in tears that day, because he really meant it and I was very, very proud of him and his accomplishments.<br />
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Now, he is almost 16, and 1.90 mts tall and has a girlfriend; anywhere he sees me he stops to say hello and I always feel happy to see him progress because I've treated him like a son, but he always tells everyone at school that he'll always love his 6th year substitute teacher of English. Being a kid's crush wasn't so bad in the end.This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-15442091854167106012012-01-25T09:36:00.000-08:002012-01-25T09:36:07.514-08:00The woman who fought against the zumba lessons and lost the first round.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.imujer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/curves-ahead-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" id="il_fi" src="http://www.imujer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/curves-ahead-6.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The other day I saw this picture on a magazine and got me thinking about how obsessed we women get with weight and our body. Someone had the brilliant idea of making women think that if they are skinny or almost rachitic the world will be on their hands. They've made us believe that being skinny makes us perfect and, for that reason, millions of women around the world get obsessed with the image of perfection. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The funny thing about it is that it doesn't matter how much I disagree with that idea, at some point <em>I </em>ended up believing it and thought I needed to pay a visit to a nutritionist in order to lose some weight. I'm 1.7 mts tall, and I was really thin when I was younger but now, my adolescent years are gone; and after some years of not doing any sport, eating whatever I wanted, giving up smoking and hearing comments from stupid, superficial people about how much weight I've won in these past 4 year I've realized I wanted to lose some weight so I went to see a nutritionist and she told me I had to lose 10 kilos (that is about 22 pounds) to reach my "ideal" weight. She gave me a specific diet to follow and almost ordered me to do some sport at least twice a week.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Since I'm not a big fan of sports because of the clumsiness I've talked you about a hundred times before, I decided to try on some dancing lessons. I mean, one thing is to run, trip and fall while chasing an imaginary person on the treadmill, and another very different thing is to dance. How harmful could it be? Well, apparently, dancing is a deadly weapon to me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One of my friends recommended me some zumba lessons (for those of you who had never taken one, it's a mixture of latin rhythms like merengue, salsa, cha cha, mambo, reggeaton, and others) and I decided to take them. The first day I went there not only I realized that I'm even clumsier than when I was younger, but also I'm completely uncoordinated. I mean, I always knew I was a uncoordinated, but not <em>that </em>bad. I tripped a thousand times, I confused the legs I had to move and also accidentally slapped a lady on her arm. In the mean time, I tried to do the cha cha steps and the mambo ones without falling flat on my ass or embarrassing myself even more. Oh, and let's not skip the fact that I was trying to catch my breath every two seconds because it seems that half of the time I was hyperventilating, not to mention that my face was getting red as a beet and also I was sweating like a pig. In the end, I left the class looking like a sweaty, clumsy mess and swore to God I was not coming back.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But, guess what? Two days later my friend practically dragged me to my own, personal hell again and, surprisingly, I was able to complete a full choreography without tripping, slapping or stepping on someonelse's feet... I was still uncoordinated, and my movements were completely ackward, but I felt I was Barishnikov's heiress. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Today was my 5th lesson and I'm able to say I'm improving. I'm still clumsy and uncoordinated, and I tend to hit people accidentally. Besides we've got a new classmate, a man, and he's way worse than me... </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-40057730101315200782012-01-10T10:23:00.000-08:002012-01-10T10:23:21.318-08:00Random stories of a random girlSo I told you I was going to tell you stories in order for you to get to know me... So, here are some of them!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkJTomUFP_cdve63VGg2RZGtRWluJT7poeMgG168p0Ezc2dQcKRapBULNAXIxc2H6ArcrtmQ3yyJxgZzQRy4EwTxPr2oVVqNMdgiZg3t2eQxE1gaP0cqBzvR282i-4S8nT_I1los0xwQM/s1600/ouch-pop-bubble-gum_0203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkJTomUFP_cdve63VGg2RZGtRWluJT7poeMgG168p0Ezc2dQcKRapBULNAXIxc2H6ArcrtmQ3yyJxgZzQRy4EwTxPr2oVVqNMdgiZg3t2eQxE1gaP0cqBzvR282i-4S8nT_I1los0xwQM/s200/ouch-pop-bubble-gum_0203.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">see? do you remember it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>*Do you remember "Ouch!" bubble gum? It came in a small, pink box and each bubble gum band looked like a bandaid. When I was 3 and my brother was 9 he wanted to race me. I said no, and he said that if I won, he was going to give me a box of this, which was my favourite bubble gum. So, we went outside and the race began, only to end up with me falling and scraping my forehead, my nose and my chin after he had put his feet in front of mine. He was not going to give up the bubble gum so easy... but I won in the end, my mom gave it to me anyway.<br />
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*I'm super clumsy, did I tell you that? It's like my presentation card: "E. Clumsy. Teacher" So one day I was at school, I had been working there for two weeks at that point, and that first year I was the substitute teacher -yeah, the one who nobody ever takes seriously. <br />
I was with this group of students which were a complete pain in the ass -oh and I must make a point here: people, don't believe when teachers tell you all children are good, nice and adorable. NO! That's the biggest lie I've ever heard, but I'll talk about this on the next post. <br />
I'm rambling too much, sorry! <br />
Well, as I was saying, I had this group of students which were terrible to work with and I was scolding one of them. I was walking around the room with my "bitchy-teacher" face, saying "Today, after classes, I'm going to talk to your..." And I couldn't say "mother" because I stumbled with one of the desks' leg and fell flat on my knees. Yeah, it wasn't that funny then LOL.<br />
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*Two years ago, I was celebrating Halloween with my students at school. Their relatives came to see them because they danced Thriller (yeah, I taught them that, how cool am I? lol) and after that, I was busy offering their relatives some sweets. I approached one of the girls' grandfather and after showing him the cauldron with sweets, I said: would you like some sweets, sir? And his answer, with a polite smile was: "No, thanks. I'm a diabetic" Yeah, I wanted to vanish right there.<br />
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So, do you have any funny story to share? Leave a comment, I'd really appreciate it =)<br />
<img align="right" src="http://i1109.photobucket.com/albums/h427/Euge87/58BE98AF33EA0E8B9FC20B5CE708D453.png" style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px;" />This.is.mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568886800917445881noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138915224622400140.post-50742616894411448502012-01-09T18:08:00.000-08:002012-01-09T19:42:14.925-08:00This.Is.MeTwenty four. Woman. Engaged. Teacher. Student. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Sister-in-law. Friend. Dreamer. Loving. Caring. Patient. Quiet. Funny. Crazy. Unpredictable. Kind. Polite. Passionate. Reader. Film lover. Music fan. Blogger. Writer. Singer... How many words can describe a person? Is there any way to convey to the reader how you really are through words? In case there is, how many words do you need? The list, I guess, is infinit...<br />
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I began working on this blog two days ago, because I needed to vent. Then, I read my post again and it was really depressing, like "read-this-and-you'll-commit-suicide" depressing, so I decided I should come up with something more interesting -or at least I hope it is- to give a fresh start to this blog. <br />
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So here I am, trying to think of all of those words that might describe me, but then I realized that it's not enough with words, I'm going to need full sentences and stories in order for you to know me better (and obviously to keep reading my blog lol). So here's a list of things you should know about me:<br />
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*I'm terribly afraid of spiders, cockroaches and any other bug you might think of<br />
*I'm the clumsiest person you could ever meet. One of my students once said that I had two left feet, and guess what? He was completely right!<br />
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*I don't know how to ride a bike or how to swim (the first because remember? I'm clumsy!, and the second because when I was a child I almost drown in the sea and I've been a phobic since then)</div>
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*I'm a book worm</div>
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*I'm writing this Blog in English, but I'm Argentinian.</div>
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*I love Panic! at the Disco and Muse.</div>
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*I'm not short but I'm not that tall either.</div>
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*I love coffee</div>
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*I was born on Christmas Day (yeah, I share my birthday with Jesus, how cool is that?)</div>
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Well, now that you've gotten to know me a bit more, I'm going to start working with the second post which is far more interesting lol.<br />
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If you liked or hated my blog, I'd really love to read your comments, I firmly believe in constructive criticism, so I'm waiting for yours!</div>
Have a lovely day!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
E.</div>
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