In Which I Get My Usher On.

I let it burn.

Am now a member of the rare and highly criticized Red Race.

This greatly complicates my life, as I am now completely incapable of completing mundane yet essential tasks, such as dressing self or moving any appendage more than two inches.

This has also become a new means of flirting for me - entirely by accident, of course. 

Now, flirting is not exactly my forte in any language.  Virginia on the Flirt should (and does) terrify the male population.  You see, I’m not exactly good at it, and most of the time wind up punching whomever it is I’m working to attract.  Note: potential suitors are not fans of physical abuse.  At least not of that nature.

At any rate, leapt into the arms of an Argentine at the subway station this evening.  Was attempting to walk up stairs while keeping legs completely straight when lost balance and began teetering over.  A kind (touchy?) hombre caught me and straightened me again.  According to my amigas, he was very attractive.  Unfortunately, I did not get a look at his face as I immediately returned to the task at hand, but I do think such an individual could come in handy.  Would not have to use quite so many Band-Aids.

Various individuals have asked me how my weekend was besides the burn.  Oh, I assure them, it was spectacular.

I must admit, dear readers, that this is not true, as I honestly have no recollection of the weekend beyond the burn. 

I am in a state of despair.  Will I be red forever?!?

It’s alright, though, I suppose, as I’m not completely alone in my agony.

Two of my friends were also molested by the sun’s rays.  Well, three, if you count the Asian.  Which we do not.  We have valid reasons for this, as we collectively and utterly racistly decided that Asians do not burn.  Am not sure how we came to this conclusion – but it was a wonderful opportunity to make her our Aloe Vera slave.

In retrospect, this was perhaps a bit mean.

This slight dilemma of roasted flesh made for a rather difficult busride.  We quickly discovered that there was no true way to sit without having any part of our bodies touching the seat (I have since vowed to begin taking Lessons on Levitation). 

We howled for hours, more or less.

I’m afraid our presence may have scarred some small children.  They seemed to be most fascinated with us, as with as many races as they have in Argentina, Red seems to be nonexistent here.  It was also probably a bit surprising for them to watch us rub green goo on our bellies.  And not speak any Spanish.  Or any language, really, other than that of Great Suffering.

For those of you curious about my bikini usage, I must admit with great shame and minimal surprise that yes, I did encounter difficulty.  Evidently bought the top too small and the bottom too big.  Would have been fine, but the waves engaged me in a Battle for the Bikini.

Rude.

Bought a chocolate bar to ease the pain a bit, but forgot about it, and it can now only be classified as a liquid. 

This was nothing but a slight hindrance to my consumption of it.

First, opening the wrapper was a bit complicated.  Tried to kind of squish the chocolate mush down to one location, but evidently had opened it from the other end earlier in the day (really must begin writing down every action I take), so it suddenly spurted from the opposite end, all over my fingers.

Undeterred, I proceeded to happily lick it from my digits, and in the process, smeared it across my furniture, where it now resides with the glitter.  Did not notice this detail in my complete concentration on an attack strategy.

For my next step, I decided that licking the wrapper would be most beneficial.  This choice now befuddles me, for naturally, I concluded the process with more chocolate on my nose than in my mouth.

It was while contemplating further action that it hurled itself to the floor.  Game over.

Tomorrow is Ultimate Skip Day! 

Tony and I cannot wait.

I Have a Dragon. His Name is Tony.

My technology enjoys staging sneaky little revolts.

I am not sure why this happens.  However, I am sure I do not like it.

My computer has developed its own little personality.  It will roar when it is unhappy, humm and buzz when it’s pleased, and occasionally decides that obedience is optional.  (This is greatly disconcerting when considering the case of artificial intelligence/robots taking over the world… I cannot even control my Mac, and it has no means of locomotion.)

My phone is a lost cause.  It baa-ed in class today.  Baa.  Like a sheep.  Sometimes it gets too excited and forgets it’s on mute.

So now my class just thinks I make random animal noises.

Which is totally cool.

Speaking of cool, I was fingerprinted today!

We had to go get background checks in order to get our student visas, which involved a whole lot of wandering around downtown Buenos Aires with tiny maps, broken Spanish questions to clueless policemen, and an overall unhappy little crowd under an Argentine drizzle. 

My friend had a constant supply of chocolate for me, to ensure I didn’t punch anyone.  So I trotted along after everyone contentedly.

Did a very good job of pretending to speak Spanish in the background check office.  Sat and waited patiently until my name appeared on the screen – VIRGIN.

Thanks, Mom.

Tottled into the little office and took a seat in front of an efficient looking office worker.  Wasn’t sure what she wanted, and she didn’t seem particularly inclined to enlighten me, so I kept hopefully offering her random bits of paper. 

Things were going splendidly until she asked for my right hand.

Now, this is a bit of an embarrassing confession, but I do not reliably know my directions (driving with a copilot always an adventure!). 

I panicked.

Instead of simply stopping and considering my dilemma like a sane person, I picked up both of my hands and began flailing them about in front of her.  Vaguely affronted, she selected the proper one and snatched it out of the air.

Everything was fine from then on, at least from my end.  It was probably rather odd for her that I giggled at every fingerprint.  It was a little odd for me, too, in retrospect.

I tend to fall madly in love with inanimate objects.  They are rarely of any actual true value – and generally have absolutely no true purpose.  Yet I will obsess over them for hours, either moping about because I didn’t get them, or stroking them lovingly (ie Golem) if I do.

This is how I ended up with Tony.  Tony is my dragon.

Bought him off a street vendor today, and I think all my more normal friends were a bit surprised.  There were rows and rows of Argentine jewelry and typical “mate” gourds and even Rasta dreadlocks – and I bought a dragon made of wire.

He’s quite a ferocious beast, actually. 

Going to the beach this weekend!  Am completely thrilled.

This does, however, mean that I will be wearing a bikini.  Am relatively certain this falls into the category of Bad Ideas, as I tend to be prone to wardrobe malfunctions.  Regardless, will return home wonderfully tan (and perhaps infamous in certain regions of the country)!

Tony is teaching my The Ways of the Dragon.

I am teaching him The Ways of the Virginia.

Now that I have discovered a way in which to upload pictures, perhaps I can use this power for good.  As in, pictures of Argentina.  Not pictures of my dragon and me.

Side note: the Blog War continues.  

Am an Accidental and Frequent Participant in Things of Complete Oddity.

Second blog post in two days.  Am very official Blogger Person.

People have told me to only update my blog when I have something to say.  Unfortunately, I ALWAYS have something to say, and am not particularly adept at deciding what warrants being said.  (Once, I told a black person that February was not a real month, and the calendar should be dispensed of it entirely – forgetting February is Black History Month.  Oops.)

At any rate, on to more serious issues.

I have a glitter infestation problem.

They say to know thy enemy (I think, otherwise it’s just me saying it).  This is what I know:

Point of Origin: My body, after being coated in it at Carnival in Gualeguaychu.

Current Location: Everywhere.

Extraction Difficulty: High.

Extraction Strategy: ???

This is becoming a sincerely strange issue, as it literally occupies every space in my room.  I wake up every morning coated in the stuff, which, considering the current Twilight craze, is a bit frightening, as I am concerned I will be accosted by adolescent girls begging me to turn them into vampires.

Now, I may participate in questionable activities (swinging at the park when nearly two decades old, playing Pokemon on a regular basis, frequently forgetting how to speak the English language), but biting children is not among them.

I take solace in the fact that these sparkles seem to be determined to stick to my friends, too.  Of course, none of us have mentioned it.  However, I’ve noticed their skin seems to be more dazzling than usual.  Haven’t said anything, though, as do not want them to feel awkward.  Just stare at their flesh instead.

To conclude, I am about to call a Glitter Exterminator.

I am often asked by innocent acquaintances how I like school down here.

“IT SUCKS!” I always respond.

Overwhelmed by both my poise and stellar vocabulary usage, the topic often switches back to the weather.

I do have fairly legitimate facts that support this statement.

Firstly, school is FIVE (5) hours a day.  What a waste!  I could be running a marathon during that time!

Secondly, for some completely unfathomable reason, any social skills I claim to possess disappear once I enter the room.  Suddenly, I’m transformed into some form of a Shadowy Lonesome Hobbit Person.  Just sit sullenly at my desk until it’s time to go.  Quite a strange phenomena.  Fear that rest of class believes me to be entirely psychotic.

However, do not actually care what most of them think, for thirdly, I do not care for the company of some of my classmates.  Some speak Spanish better than me, some think they speak Spanish better than me, and some are just inherently obnoxious creatures.

We often have to read aloud from our books.  I never like doing this, therefore, I am often chosen.  I oblige, and bleat morosely through the text.  Halfway through, I am accosted by shouts of “we can’t hear!”  Now.  Before my mother gets too excited about the rest of the world (literally) agreeing that I mumble, I must inform you that this also happens to my entire half of the classroom.  There’s an air conditioner unit above our heads, which effectively blocks out any type of noise.

This always means I have to go back to the beginning, and attempt to read loudly in Spanish, which is quite like a gorilla trying to form words. 

WHYY do they complain that they can’t hear me???  I assure you, I am not worth being heard!  Also, none of us can hear them, but we just kindly read along in our own little books that have THE EXACT SAME SENTENCES.

No me gusta la escuela.

Translation: I am a rhinoceros.

School is about to get a bit more interesting though, as we have an oral presentation on Wednesday for which we chose topics today.

It would appear as though I have inadvertently chosen a porn star.

I cannot be certain on this point, as my research techniques are questionable (Wikipedia and prayer).  It is, however, looking rather likely, as most everything alludes to his fame based on his “erotic movies.”

Come to think of it, I vaguely remember my professor laughing when she wrote the name on the board and commenting, “this is for a good laugh!”

Hmmm.

I do not think I know how to properly research a porn star.  Am now very afraid to venture further into my investigation.

This is a wee bit awkward.

BLOG WAR.

I shall begin with a declaration.

I am presently engaged in a Blog War.

Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, allow me to explain (and for those of you who know what I’m talking about, read on politely while I inform the others).  A friend – now turned Combatant Enemy Person – and I are now locked in battle to see who receives more views. 

He, however, has had his blog longer and updates it with startling frequency.  This means he is currently in the lead, at least by plain numbers.  Proportionally, I win.

Somehow he is under the false assumption that he will squash me like a cockroach.  This cannot happen!!!

So I beg of you, dear readers, stalk my blog.  Furthermore, make friends, enemies, family members, cellmates, stray cats, EVERYONE read it. 

Victory is mine.

Yet when it has come to other things these past few days, unfortunately victory has been a bit more elusive.

Yes.  I am talking about maintaining my verticality.

Friday was dreadfully wet, and I awoke with any trace of common sense having snuck away during the night.

So with my defective brain, I decided it would be not only reasonable but advisable to wear flip flops (my feet are most unhappy when wet and enclosed and make strange sloshing noises as a form of protest).

If my life were a horror movie, this would be the part where the audience begins shaking their fists and yelling obscenities at the screen, lamenting the stupidity of the protagonist.

The walk to school was an adventure, to say the least.  Flip flops caused me to hydroplane, so I careened wildly down the sidewalks on footwear that was entirely out of my control.  Furthermore, my wet feet (happy though they were, not being suffocated in traditional shoes) decided staying ON the flip flops was not necessary.  Had to work to convince them otherwise every step, which was difficult as every time they would begin to cooperate, the flip flop would have escaped to a new location.

Also kept getting rain in my eyelashes, causing me to blink rapidly to remove the water, which instead transferred it to my contacts, temporarily blinding me. 

It is no surprise, then, that I walked into a moving vehicle.  This was quite startling to the driver, who was not used to having their vehicle accosted by an oncoming pedestrian.  (In my defense, it was on the sidewalk.  In their defense, they were backing out of their driveway.)  

It should be even less of a surprise that I toppled over.  Would have been able to catch myself had I not been wearing a mini skirt.  Somehow legs got caught in irregular motion, attempted to step forward to correct the problem, but mean skirt would not permit such an action, so instead was stuck in falling limbo for longer than necessary before yelping and landing on my bum. 

Needless to say, got more stares than usual that day.

Shockingly, arrived at school unscathed – but bearing a striking resemblance to a soaked puppy.

Wasn't quite so lucky yesterday - skinned my knee like a small child.  Unlike a small child, was not scampering wildly about or attempting any outrageous tricks.  Well, maybe for me I was.  Walking down a street is a harrowing experience when your balance is so unpredictable.

It’s funny, as from time to time I will manage to convince myself that my abnormality is merely an exaggeration of my own mind.  Surely, I encourage myself, I cannot be all that clumsy – after all, clumsiness is often thoroughly over-emphasized by young girls in an attempt to channel a more Bella personality, with the hope that they will thereby find their vampire.

I am pale enough for an entire relationship.  

No matter.  I will simply find someone to carry me about.  It’s my preferred method of transportation, anyway.

Blog Post Dos: In Which I Slay a Beast.

How often is it appropriate to update one’s blog?  I suppose it remains acceptable until one begins to document each and every waking moment – and I will continue to hold this belief until someone corrects me, so if I’m wrong, please stop me from blabbing away like some sort of idiot.

Had a lovely warm day today, and did not have to wear pants. 

Yet my outfit does bring me to my first point…

I awakened this morning in a cheery mood, as I so often do here.  (Although last night I had the strange problem of Hyper Body Syndrome.  It didn’t strike me as odd then, but as it occurs to me now that it wasn’t entirely normal…  Kept waking self up with random jerks accompanied by a hefty dose of flailing, which was fine until I awakened to find self attempting to run horizontally.  Distinctly remember thinking, “Well, this is irritating” – but no attempts to correct the problem.  Just flung about until morning.  New form of exercise?)

Back to the morning.  Woke up, tottled about happily for awhile, took a shower (where I am always pelted by falling objects – the hazards of four girls sharing one shelf), and returned to my room to ready myself for the day. 

And here struck tragedy.

Dancing about (for there really is no other way to behave whilst wearing a towel), I selected a dress and began to insert myself into it.  Felt a bizarre little scratching on my arm, so I began to brush it off, as I would any----

COCKROACH.  It was a COCKROACH. 

Now, I am not afraid of bugs, although I am slightly suspicious of cockroaches, as they claim to be able to resist nuclear attack.

Horrified by this intruder, I pushed it off my arm and onto the floor.  I stood over it, victorious, until I realized that its legs were still gallivanting about in the air.  It was stuck on its back.

I peered at it, uncertain.

Suddenly struck by brilliance, I journeyed to my bookcase and began to peruse the titles for a suitable weapon.  Finally selected a something I deemed to be heavy enough to crush a nuclear repellent beast.

I strutted over to the repugnant little thing, and gave it an assured tap with the novel.  I then lifted the book to assess the damage, only to find that it had mysteriously disappeared.

Puzzled, I turned over the book to discover that it had begun SCUTTLING AROUND THE COVER.

The panic!  The horror!

Beginning to believe in the invincibility of the cockroach, I began indiscriminately whacking the book (complete with freeloading cockroach rider) against various objects.  Wall – THWACK!  Dresser – THWACK!  Desk – THWACK!  Door – THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!  If anyone had been home, they would have been certain that World War III was occurring in my room before breakfast.

However, my cunning wit and sheer brutal strength persevered, and the repugnant little thing will trouble this earth no more.

You may now call me Stealthy Cockroach Assassin.

I Made a Blog!

Blogging is difficult.

No one ever tells you it’s difficult, of course, in fact they rave about it as being a total breeze. 

Let me be the first to tell you, this is a lie.  I speak from experience, as I too, fell for their clever ploys of ease.  Was very proud of self when decided to embark on the great Blogging Adventure.

However, as seems to frequently be the case, things went rather wrong from the beginning.  Here is, in exact detail, the events that unfolded:

1.     Decided to start blog.

2.     Opened computer.

3.     Googled “blogspot”. (See, things are going splendidly so far, right?)

4.     Selected the second option.  I never choose the first one as a matter of principle.

5.     Suddenly was asked to sign in to Truman account??  In my confusion, I did what the computer told me to, and was taken to…

6.    A PAGE ENTIRELY IN SPANISH.  How did this happen?!  Why me??

7.     Found button to switch to English.

8.    After a momentary panic when forgot that in a Spanish page, English would be under “ingles” and not therefore not under the E section, switched language of page.

9.    Was taken through a series of questions, where I was asked to make various decisions of varying importance.  Terrifying.

10.   Arrived, flustered, at first blog post.

I think I need a nap.

Unfortunately, this is one of my Unacceptable Activities while in Argentina.  Come to think of it, this is the entire reason of my blog – the state of being in Argentina, not the Unacceptable Activities, though I do suspect they will come up from time to time.

At any rate, yes, the rumors are true: I have fled the country again.  This time my place of refuge is Buenos Aires, a far cry from the freezing tundra of Kirksville.  (Hurrah!)

I’ve only encountered one major problem here: I don’t speak the language.  Now, examining this statement from a technical standpoint, it’s false.  I’ve taken years of Spanish, was an au pair in Spain – on paper, I look practically fluent.

But put me in front of an Argentine and I gape like a fish.

The gaping is actually intentional now, as I used to try to communicate with them.  This, as it turns out, was a Bad Idea. 

I would always begin with a confident smile, a quick nod in the direction of the person I was planning to address, and…  “Bleh bleh blah mel bhalhakd?” 

A bit taken aback by the sudden disappearance of my ability to form human words, I’d pause.  They’d stare at me.  Undeterred, I’d begin again.  “Malahb bleh blah blub?”  At this point, I’d realize that something had gone horridly wrong, and communication would be completely impossible.  So I’d take the mature route, and turn and run away.  Except I can’t really run that well, especially not on these slick sidewalks (I slide all over the place), so it’s more of an awkward, panicked hobble.  I take my dignity very seriously.

I suppose I’m beginning to get a bit better.  I can form some words when placed in social situations.  “Hola”, “gracias”, “ciao” – all staples of my regular interactions.  It’s good, though – every day I add another word to my list of Pronounceables in Public.

Public is a bit terrifying for me here, but I tend to make up for it by attempting to look utterly unapproachable.  Guys here are very vocal about their sentiments, and they have a rather strong attachment to white blondes – and what I lack in blondeness, I make up for in whiteness, as I’m practically reflective.  This means that everywhere I go, I’m followed by intrusive stares, comments, whistles, and honks.  Which is quite distracting, as I generally have to focus intently on the task at hand, namely: walking without falling over or crashing into any fellow pedestrians or stationary objects.

It is also incredibly difficult to cross the street here, as cars here are not particularly cautious.  Everyone drives like five year olds playing those racing video games, darting in and out of traffic, honking at nothing in particular (or white blondes??), and simply attempting to disprove any and all laws of physics.  They haven’t even bothered to put lanes on most streets, as no one pays attention to them, anyway.  Blinkers are for fools, and anyone who plans on going less than a billion miles an hour turns on their hazards.  Drivers SPEED UP toward crosswalks, and buses often take sharp turns, driving over entire corners of sidewalks.

Petrifying.  Especially because evidently at some point in my life, the common sense portion of my brain decided to stop functioning.  I just kind of wander into the middle of streets, nearly struck by oncoming vehicles, all to the screams of “cuidado!!” from horrified Argentines.  I think I need a leash.

That said, I do love it here.  The perfection of the weather is matched only by the perfection of my friends and “family”, haven’t worn pants in nearly two weeks, and every day is filled with new experiences, occasionally life threatening though they may be.

Hope that satisfies at least some of your curiosity, as that’s all I’ve got for now.  Let me know what you want to hear about, as what I feel like telling is generally far from anything entertaining to everyone else (example: had to abstain from writing about the cross-dressing man).  Actually, let me know if you want to hear anything more at all, as if no one reads this, I can go back to writing letters that I never actually get around to sending.  Equally influential manners of communication, really.

Nos vemos J