Alright, OK, so you think you are intellectual and ready to vote because you've watched all three presidential and vice-presidential debates. Well I bet you didn't tune in when Obama and McCain had their Dance-Off.
Before you go to the polls on November 4, 2008, I would highly recommend you check this out to make a clear and informed decision.
October 28, 2008
October 24, 2008
My CraigsList Roomate
My friend produced a great short movie about his experiences with finding a roommate off of Craig's List. Check it out! By the way, he's the one with the knife...
October 21, 2008
Psycho Ex-Girlfriend
This is the latest email exchange between my sister and me:
From: 007's sister
To: 007 in Africa
Subject: This is unbelievably hilarious:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/848306070.html
From: 007 in Africa
To: 007's sister
Re: This is unbelievably hilarious:
Oh. My. God. That is really frightening. I think I've actually done some of these things (like panicking when someone's cell phone battery goes dead).
Please, please, please let me not be that psycho ex-girlfriend. Let me be able to walk away with dignity when I need to.
Can I post this on my blog?
*****************************************************************
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
Source: Best of Craig's List -->Washington D.C.-->Dupont Circle
Date: 2008-09-20, 12:46PM EDT
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you. On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra." And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.
From: 007's sister
To: 007 in Africa
Subject: This is unbelievably hilarious:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/848306070.html
From: 007 in Africa
To: 007's sister
Re: This is unbelievably hilarious:
Oh. My. God. That is really frightening. I think I've actually done some of these things (like panicking when someone's cell phone battery goes dead).
Please, please, please let me not be that psycho ex-girlfriend. Let me be able to walk away with dignity when I need to.
Can I post this on my blog?
*****************************************************************
Why I'll be the Best 'Psycho' Ex-Girlfriend You've Ever Had!
Source: Best of Craig's List -->Washington D.C.-->Dupont Circle
Date: 2008-09-20, 12:46PM EDT
I know that all your ex-girlfriends are 'psychos.' I've heard all about them since hardly a day goes by that you don't make some eye-rolling reference to 'that crazy bitch' who practically ruined your life and then went off and married some successful 'douchebag' leaving you to troll local college bars in search of no-strings-attached ass while she enjoys quiet weekends at home with her new in-laws in Connecticut. That selfish, cunt.
I know that you don't think I could ever be as good of a 'psycho ex' as she was. But, I assure you. I can. I'll be such a raving lunatic nutcase - you won't even remember her when I'm through with you. Try me.
For starters - I am great in bed. Isn't that how all the 'crazy' ones start out? You'll meet me at some party through some friend of a friend of a friend who knows I have 'whacko' potential but will fail to mention this to the chain of people through whom we are introduced because...quite frankly, our friends don't really care enough about either of us to keep our best interests in mind. Alternatively, they *do* have our best interests in mind but know that our dramatic personalities and overwhelming egos are forces too powerful for even the most friendly, logical advice. Thus, they abort all attempts to keep us apart and allow us to get drunk and grope each other publicly, shaking their heads all the while because..this shit is gonna' blow up big time.
Meantime, we'll already be upstairs, half undressed where you'll be too drunk to censor yourself so you'll make overly generous blubbering commentary about how 'sexy' I am (as I knock into a table lamp with swanlike grace). You'll also rave on and on about how I have the greatest tits you've ever seen and am 'fucking amazing' on all other fronts (as if I didn't know). Compared to the four other chicks you've banged, this will be the best sex of your life. And as soon as we're done, you'll start forming a mental list of which buddies you are going to text message first about this while at the same time wondering if you could possibly spend the rest of your life with me.
In the sobering light of morning, you'll forget that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and instead opt for a "two-night stand" but you'll quickly realize that I am having none of that and somehow weasle my way into staying over, cooking breakfast and reading your newspaper. I will also have conveniently brought my toothbrush and some sanitary products which I quickly store in your bathroom cabinets since 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time at your place.' Your Maxim magazines will go from the top of the toilet to the bottom of the wastebasket because I find them 'offensive' and 'immature.'
Later that day, you'll log onto Facebook and find out that I'm 'in a relationship'...with you. Yay! At first, you'll think it's creepy but then (due to your inferiority complex) you'll take it as a compliment and change your relationship status too.
Within an hour, you'll receive 57 new notifications which indicate that I've commented on every photo in your album in which you appear with an unidentified female. Your relationships with these family members, college friends and co-workers will quickly disintegrate as you mistake my obsession for passion and declare your undying commitment to me and stop returning other people's calls.
Friends will caution you but you'll be too blinded by my mind-blowing felatio technique to notice anything. Besides, I've explained that they're just jealous of our love. Together, our poor self images will have us each convinced that the other is cheating. We'll fight about it all the time. Non-stop.
On our 'good days' we'll shower each other with undeserved gifts and sexual favors and the accusatory banter will be minimal - though still prevalent.
Things will be going 'pretty well' for a while until one night your phone battery dies and you fall asleep early - forcing me into an incoherent panic. Six unreturned voicemails and text messages will lead me to believe only the worst - you ARE cheating on me! To confirm my suspicions, I will immediately log into all your personal accounts - since you are so technologically oblivious you left your passwords saved on my computer - and find a message to be mad about. It will likely be a harmless flirtation from a platonic friend who lives six states away that pushes me over the edge.
Unable to reach her or you - I will scramble into my car and drive barefoot to your apartment where I will ride up on the curb knocking over an unsuspecting potted plant. The commotion outside will rouse you from your slumber and you'll stumble bleary- eyed to the window just in time to see me throw the car in reverse and plow into your beloved Huyndai Elantra.
In short order, the police will come, I will cry, you will shout, your landlord will evict you and your insurance company will drop you. On the bright side, our names will be forever emblazoned together onto a county police report.
Despite all this, it will take another several months for you to come to your senses and break-up with me. Knowing that I am a ticking bomb, you will execute this in the kindest, most reasonable way possible. You will make every effort to lift my spirits by explaning that "It's not you, it's me." and that "I deserve someone better."
All this, to no avail. The only way you can truly be rid of me is to change your phone number and move across the country where you'll make new friends and find a new insecure girlfriend to emotionally abuse for months until she finally reaches her psychological breaking point and throws a wine glass at you and storms out of a restaurant.
Everyone will be looking at you, dripping in Pinot Noir with an astonished look on your face. In your head you'll be thinking, "Ha. That was nothing. You should see my Huyndai Elantra." And, that, is why I'll be the best psycho ex-girlfriend you've ever had.
October 16, 2008
I got quoted in a news article!
Yesterday, we went to a restaurant in Virginia called Summers Grill and Sports Bar to watch the last of the presidential debates between Mr. Obama and Mr. McCain.
It was kind of cool because one half of the restaurant was reserved for Republican, and the other for Democrats. Independent voters were scattered here and there but mainly over the bar on the Republican side, drinking their sorrows away.
My side was watching CNN, while the Republican side was glued to Fox News. Anyways, it was an interesting experience. But instead of retelling the tale, I will post an article, as written in Spanish, by a friend of mine.
He even quoted me!
As anticipated, at the end of the party, the fans did not agree in the winner. "McCain and Joe the Plumber are winners" , it affirms Michael Calsetta, a retired private consultant in a leather jacket in which reads “Another for Democrat McCain". [007 in Africa], a thirty year old young adult who works for the Ministry of Health, differs: "Obama has won. He was more eloquent, and specific". However, they both agree on something: it is not over. " In spite of the polls, I am not confident [he will win], because this country has a history of making blunders " , Dorothee confesses.
*******************************************************************
A day later... Here is the full article:
Un derby electoral en Arlington Ricard González
Washington.-Joe Javidara, el propietario del bar de deportes Summers Grill, decidió que su establecimiento cambiara de eje temático ayer por la noche. En lugar de ofrecer el Argentina-Chile, como habría hecho habitualmente, prefirió que la veintena de televisores de su bar sintonizaran el debate presidencial. De hecho, el espectáculo no fue tan diferente, pues tanto las rencillas entre demócratas y republicanos, como entre chilenos y argentinos son históricas.
Según los camareros del bar, Joe no se equivocó, y se llenó la caja. Ahora bien, no tanto como en el debate de los vicepresidentes, cuando el bar estuvo a rebosar.
Como en los grandes derbys, se habilitó una de las dos grandes salas para los seguidores cada equipo. Ambas salas son simétricas, pero había una importante diferencia ayer. La republicana siguió el debate por la cadena de televisión Fox News, y la demócrata por la CNN. Y es que nada fastidia tanto como seguir un derby con un locutor con comentarios sesgados a favor del equipo rival.
En teoría, en el Summers Grill debería predominar la hinchada demócrata, pues está situada en Arlington, un suburbio de Washington DC en el que los demócratas necesitan vapulear a McCain para imponerse en Virginia. No obstante, sorprendentemente, en los cristales del bar sólo hay carteles de "McCain-Palin 2008". Encima, la sala republicana parece estar más concurrida que la demócrata. Mal augurio para Obama.
Más allá de algunas camisetas y pins, no existían grandes diferencias en las apariencias de ambas hinchadas. Predominan los jóvenes entre 20 y 30 años, con atuendo informal. Sin embargo, mientras hay un silencio sepulcral entre los republicanos, en la sala hay un ambiente más festivo. Se jalea a Obama cuando hace alguna internada por la banda izquierda, y se silban los disparos de McCain.
Quizás el contraste se debe a la moral de unos y otros. O al hecho de que muchos demócratas están sentados en mesas de unas diez personas, mientras los republicanos miran el partido solos, o en parejas. Será un reflejo de los instintos individualistas, o bien colectivistas de cada grupo?
Como era de esperar, al final del partido, las hinchadas no coincidieron en el ganador. "McCain y Joe el lampista son los ganadores", afirma Michael Calsetta, un consultor privado ya jubilado enfundado en una chaqueta de cuero en la que se lee "Another Democrat for McCain". [007 in Africa], una joven de treinta años que trabaja para el Ministerio de Salud, discrepa: "Obama ha ganado. Ha sido más elocuente, y espcífico". En cambio, ambos sí coinciden en algo: aún falta mucha liga. "A pesar de las encuestas, no estoy tranquila, porque este país tiene un historial rciente de de errores garrafales", confiesa [007].
El bar se vacía rápidamente tras la contienda. Massa, una periodista china está decepcionada. No ha encontrado ningún republicano de corazón. Parece que la sala republicana estaba llena de independientes que acabarán votando Obama. Así pues, el demócrata también ganó la batalla del Summers Grill.
It was kind of cool because one half of the restaurant was reserved for Republican, and the other for Democrats. Independent voters were scattered here and there but mainly over the bar on the Republican side, drinking their sorrows away.
My side was watching CNN, while the Republican side was glued to Fox News. Anyways, it was an interesting experience. But instead of retelling the tale, I will post an article, as written in Spanish, by a friend of mine.
He even quoted me!
As anticipated, at the end of the party, the fans did not agree in the winner. "McCain and Joe the Plumber are winners" , it affirms Michael Calsetta, a retired private consultant in a leather jacket in which reads “Another for Democrat McCain". [007 in Africa], a thirty year old young adult who works for the Ministry of Health, differs: "Obama has won. He was more eloquent, and specific". However, they both agree on something: it is not over. " In spite of the polls, I am not confident [he will win], because this country has a history of making blunders " , Dorothee confesses.
*******************************************************************
A day later... Here is the full article:
Un derby electoral en Arlington Ricard González
Washington.-Joe Javidara, el propietario del bar de deportes Summers Grill, decidió que su establecimiento cambiara de eje temático ayer por la noche. En lugar de ofrecer el Argentina-Chile, como habría hecho habitualmente, prefirió que la veintena de televisores de su bar sintonizaran el debate presidencial. De hecho, el espectáculo no fue tan diferente, pues tanto las rencillas entre demócratas y republicanos, como entre chilenos y argentinos son históricas.
Según los camareros del bar, Joe no se equivocó, y se llenó la caja. Ahora bien, no tanto como en el debate de los vicepresidentes, cuando el bar estuvo a rebosar.
Como en los grandes derbys, se habilitó una de las dos grandes salas para los seguidores cada equipo. Ambas salas son simétricas, pero había una importante diferencia ayer. La republicana siguió el debate por la cadena de televisión Fox News, y la demócrata por la CNN. Y es que nada fastidia tanto como seguir un derby con un locutor con comentarios sesgados a favor del equipo rival.
En teoría, en el Summers Grill debería predominar la hinchada demócrata, pues está situada en Arlington, un suburbio de Washington DC en el que los demócratas necesitan vapulear a McCain para imponerse en Virginia. No obstante, sorprendentemente, en los cristales del bar sólo hay carteles de "McCain-Palin 2008". Encima, la sala republicana parece estar más concurrida que la demócrata. Mal augurio para Obama.
Más allá de algunas camisetas y pins, no existían grandes diferencias en las apariencias de ambas hinchadas. Predominan los jóvenes entre 20 y 30 años, con atuendo informal. Sin embargo, mientras hay un silencio sepulcral entre los republicanos, en la sala hay un ambiente más festivo. Se jalea a Obama cuando hace alguna internada por la banda izquierda, y se silban los disparos de McCain.
Quizás el contraste se debe a la moral de unos y otros. O al hecho de que muchos demócratas están sentados en mesas de unas diez personas, mientras los republicanos miran el partido solos, o en parejas. Será un reflejo de los instintos individualistas, o bien colectivistas de cada grupo?
Como era de esperar, al final del partido, las hinchadas no coincidieron en el ganador. "McCain y Joe el lampista son los ganadores", afirma Michael Calsetta, un consultor privado ya jubilado enfundado en una chaqueta de cuero en la que se lee "Another Democrat for McCain". [007 in Africa], una joven de treinta años que trabaja para el Ministerio de Salud, discrepa: "Obama ha ganado. Ha sido más elocuente, y espcífico". En cambio, ambos sí coinciden en algo: aún falta mucha liga. "A pesar de las encuestas, no estoy tranquila, porque este país tiene un historial rciente de de errores garrafales", confiesa [007].
El bar se vacía rápidamente tras la contienda. Massa, una periodista china está decepcionada. No ha encontrado ningún republicano de corazón. Parece que la sala republicana estaba llena de independientes que acabarán votando Obama. Así pues, el demócrata también ganó la batalla del Summers Grill.
I mean really, how can you not know who to choose? Just look at them!
October 01, 2008
Something Artistic
I am itching to do something more artistic in my life. I am a big fan of graphic novels and wish I could draw so I could write a novel of my experiences abroad. It's a little narcissistic I know, but it would be fun nonetheless.
One of my favorite novels is Fun Home a graphic novel by Alison Bechdel. In it, she recalls her childhood in a large, Victorian house, with a father that, in hindsight, was probably trying hard to deny his homosexuality. It's a really great story, with a lot of interesting and insightful references to literature. I highly recommend it.
One of my favorite novels is Fun Home a graphic novel by Alison Bechdel. In it, she recalls her childhood in a large, Victorian house, with a father that, in hindsight, was probably trying hard to deny his homosexuality. It's a really great story, with a lot of interesting and insightful references to literature. I highly recommend it.
Enjoy in a book store near you...
PS: If you're looking for good stories for your graphic novel, write me!
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