So. Anyway.

You know how when you don’t do something for a really long time, and then it’s like, “well, it’s gone this long without being done, why do it now?” and you just put it off until it becomes this thing and then into a source of anxiety or fear or something, so you just keep not doing it?

And that, my friends, is your Rorschach test for the day.

But in this case, I’m talking about writing.  And now that I’ve been laid up for two and half days with dehydration and vertigo and run out of all the things I’m capable of doing without vomiting, I thought I’d go ahead and rip this particular bandaid off.

Hopefully this gets the stone rolling again, and we’ll be back on the blogging for the two random biweekly site visitors.


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Search Engine Dreams

…And then the Tyrannosaurus stepped off its unicycle and blared, “You shall not pass!” – and Christmas was finally over.

I live for the day someone stumbles upon this blog after googling the phrase above. The exact phrase.

In the meantime, our little corner of the world marches back from Russia in the coldest days of winter, and wanders past Pluto with a golden record and no phonograph,  ventures into the forest during a lightning storm. And there’s a fin in the water.

Ah well.

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Acting like a couple of boobs

[Editor’s note: Leta has gained some weight. It looks great on her. It does wonders for her chestiness. She still wants to lose some weight, though, so I thought I’d help her in the best way I can. …And the best way I can is mockery, I guess.]

Hernán: so.
whatcha up to?


Hernán: No kidding.
I have a good nickname for you. “Boobs”.


Hernán: Hey, Boobs! Pass me the salt!

Leta:  you’re awesome at this.

Hernán: at what?

Leta:  Nicknames

Hernán: I know.
Could also be “McBoobs”.
Because of the McDonald’s ref

Leta: You’re a horrible person

Hernán: I’m just milking it for all it’s worth.
(wink wink)

Leta: Ahahahahahaha

Hernán: At least my pun wasn’t a bust.


Hernán: you’re the breast punster ever, baby.

Leta:  No, baby. It’s your cup.

Hernán: udderly titillating!

Leta: impossible to be melon-choly

Hernán: I’ve got nuthin’ left, bra

Leta: While my cup runneth over.

Hernán: You’re so perky, baby.

Leta: Because we’re bosom buddies

Hernán: We’ve made some great mammaries together, haven’t we.

Leta: (i was gonna use that one, you bastard.) Through good times and hard knockers

Hernán: I don’t mean to implant ideas into your mind.
(I’m working, dammit)

Leta: it’s clear you’re nursing your own ideas

Hernán: I enjoy these well rounded conversations in which we juggle double meanings.

Leta: You often throw me a curve

Hernán: You make me titter.

Leta: we’re a good pair

Hernán: I give up. I can’t keep abreast of this conversation anymore.

Leta: It’s been well rounded

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Taking the Fun Out of Tonguing

I am a woman of two countries.  Since I wasn’t remotely acquainted with my other homeland until relatively recently, I am still learning the ropes.  This includes my other language, Spanish.

I’m not a diligent student.  I am busy.  I have a really short attention span.  I try to combat these drawbacks by surrounding myself with different materials.  Multiple books, CDs, ebooks, an online program–just so I have a variety of things to switch between.  While the books and online work is alright, I have to say that the language CDs fluctuate between mildly baffling and really fucking stupid.

I can deny pet ownership. That's about it.

The least offensive of the audio CDs was a standard Learn Spanish program.  It started out normally enough, with helpful basic phrases and words.  But not too far in, it started on describing houses.  And then questions to ask when buying a house.  I was left to wonder, who buys a house before the fourth disc?

Next up, I tried a discounted Learn and Drive sort of CD, two discs.  It was, essentially, a musical.  An awful musical.  It included a soulful song about one’s wardrobe (“Look at the colors of my life, mira los colores de mi vida…”), a jaunty song in a restaurant (“A table for two, una mesa para dos…“) and the disembodied voice of a high school Spanish teacher, inexplicably stalking his former student.  I will grant you that I learned some things, but I paid the price in ear blood.


My third stab at a CD for the car was a single disc that tried to cater to the college student on a trip to Spain.  The two English speakers featured are a vacuous girl who probably sleeps with her high school cheerleader uniform and a Bill-and-Ted level intellect who probably sports a frosted faux hawk and Hollister.  So this, I thought, is how douche bags learn Spanish.

Oh, yeah. I'm calling this one out.

I suspected, given that both the Spanish speakers on the CD had Spanish accents, that I was learning phrases that would work better in Spain than Argentina, and I later confirmed this with Hernán.  I did learn some things from this CD, such as “Let’s go to a gay bar,” “Do you have condoms,” “Make love to me,” and “let’s be friends.”  Hernán has requested that I unlearn the come ons.

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Stories I hope someday I’m good enough to write about

Between the idea and the story there’s a sea of uncertainty and typos, an abyss that can swallow you whole like the Star Wars desert vagina, a pit of lava with fire tigers swimming in it, a flock of hysterical teenagers that just spotted their favorite heartthrob winking at them and waving from way over there, and you’re in their way. There’s a process that can exhaust you, that turns pleasure into chore and adamant will into Call of Duty all-nighters. It’s skill, it’s effort, it’s tuning out the why-bother elf that whispers in your ear: Why bother? You’re not Asimov, you’re not Cortázar, you’re not Tolkien or Le Guin. Hell, you’re not even Dan Brown! Why bother, we could be readingwatchingthatmoviegamingreading, why bother?

But someday, if I’m ever good enough, headstrong enough, lucky enough, I would like to write the story about the louse that awakened to socialism, and rallied its fellow lice to fight for their rights to a little bit of blood, to live freely instead of being despised and killed on sight. I want to write about the odd little man that sailed between the Pacific islands putting out volcanoes for a fee, about the genius boy whose sole goal in life was to know everything that there was to be known, until his head got so big its gravity started pulling everything towards him, everything, until the entire universe was within him, was him. Those, and many others, even if only Leta will read, because they feel heavy inside my chest, and I need them out.


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For Better, For Worse

It goes without saying that couples share an intimate co-existence.  That’s what makes them couples.  Duh.

Of course, much is shared within that existence.  Hernán has already written here about intimacy and embracing the typically unembraceable.  There are other unpleasantries that one’s partner is privy to, ones that can’t be remedied by a little air freshener.  The humiliations, the mistakes, the struggles–no matter how personal–are both of yours to bear.

I was at Target last night when a commotion broke out at the front door.  I was too far away to know what was happening in detail, but apparently a couple was attempting to walk out with a very full basket, having neglected to purchase any of its contents.  The man, who was not small, was shoving against the Target man, who was enormous.  A woman I could not see seemed to be arguing with the Target woman at the same time.  The Target man finally prevailed, and the man fell to the ground as the woman screeched (possibly going down as well).  They both got up and ran to the parking lot.

I wondered how the car ride would be.  Would they argue, assigning blame for the failed venture on each other?  Would they ride away in silence?  Would they cry?  Were they in need, and comfort each other about having to endure such an undignified life?

Thinking to my own life, I wonder about Hernán’s support of me when I’m struggling.  I know he finds it frustrating for many reasons.  I wonder how exhausting it is to bear.  I wonder if I’ll ever wear him out completely.

It’s an intimacy that’s endured, but it comes part and parcel with those that are cherished.  But I’m still sorry.

Edit by Hernán: As beautifully written as this was, I just wanted to point out that she’s in no danger to wear me out completely. She exaggerates. That is all.

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Even Far Away, We Still Have Inane Conversations

Leta: you know, elephants are kinda assholish when they’re trying to kill.

Hernán:  Yeah.
Elephants are big.
Big people tend to be assholes.

Leta: not all big people

Hernán:  Most big people. The rest die young.
Big targets, you know.

Leta:  elephants kick and kick and stomp and kneel and gore and trample.
like a cat with a mouse.
except they kick people across the ground
I’m just sayin’

Hernán:  We make them go extinct.
We win, in the asshole race to utter destruction.

Leta:  why the hostilty?

Hernán:  Hostility towards whom? You?

Leta:  elephant hostility
people they are killing
ouch, yo.

Hernán:  Oh.
I’m just saying, it’s just people killed by elephants.
They are statistical anomalies.
Can’t feel sorry for them.

Leta:  i know it’s an anomaly
i find it…interesting, I guess.
Bulls (cow bulls) have done the same to people

Hernán:  You know how giraffes kill?
Big guys are only using what they can.
What weapons they have.
Elephants are fat.
Let them stomp.

how do giraffes kill?

Hernán:  They kick.

Leta:  with those spindly little legs?

Hernán:  They support those hugeass bodies, you know

Leta:  i wonder what it looks like, a giraffe kicking something
is it funny looking?

See near the end.

Leta:  wow. it is funny looking.

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