Blog Fame.

Have now been asked on multiple occasions to give “shout outs” to my most fervent admirers.

I am not sure how to go about doing such a thing.  But I know what it means.

I have made it.

Must admit I am not certain where “it” is, but assume it to be a good indication that I am well on my way to becoming Queen of the Internet Machine.

THE POWER!

This also, I feel, grants me – in fact, thrusts upon me the responsibility of acting like a famous person.

Now from what I gather through ardent research, this will involve the constant use of dark sunglasses and weather inappropriate attire.

I must also begin to carry around small creatures in my purse at all times.  Am considering purchasing a particularly plush bag in which to place my cat.

Must also begin to date a man who is older than me by at least a decade (the other option is younger than me by at least a decade, but that doesn’t seem quite desirable or even legal).  This will not be a problem, as with my spectacular Dating Skills I can snag anyone.

And I’ve already chosen my match.

For those of you who know me, you will assume that I am referring to the one and only Enrique Iglesias. 

I must correct you.  Though he and I are madly, passionately in love, there is another.

One other.

Lee Pace will be my Arm Candy, as he has a spectacular last name that is utterly pronounceable by all races.  Furthermore, he is not bad on the eyes, and strikes me as a complete gentleman.  If he misbehaves, I will write him a script, as he seems to be quite talented at following those.

I will also possibly put him in the corner.

Fortunately, I already have the insane-religion-that-no-one-understands part down.*

Now on to my entourage. 

I’ve decided I cannot possibly have anyone prettier than me amongst my disciples, so I will request that they all wear masks.

Disobedience will be met with the harshest consequences.

They will be banned.

These masks will be especially important in hiding the true identities of my companions, for I fear that one has already begun the ride on the Fame Train in her own right.

She was on Kirksville television.

Now, if I were to receive any application with such a background in performance on it from any other applicant, they would immediately be shunned.

Yet this particular entourage member is indispensible, as she is my fellow Awkward Party Attender.

At some point in our lives, we missed the stage when everyone learns how to be regular, socially viable members of society.

Instead, we stand in the corner at parties (frequently shoved behind potted plants, doorways, or obese gentlemen), and whisper worriedly to ourselves about our poorly planned outfits.

We emerge from these shadows only in severe cases of Dancing Fever, when we hit the dance floor and immediately begin to jerk our bodies about in the manner of someone being tased.

Another entourage member will not be surprised to hear that I fully intend on demanding at least two restrooms be within a fifteen foot radius at all times, neither trapped behind tricky locked doors.

And we shall keep our secret love affair away from the press.  Can’t upset my Lee.

I will, of course, have many more admirers.  I certainly hope they plan on sending me love letters.  And chocolate.  And candy hearts.

I think I’ll be able to adjust well to this life of fame.

*Last night I attempted to explain my religion to my host mother.  I don’t actually know any useful words for describing things of a religious nature though, so I ended up just shouting, “Jesus! God! Devil! Birth! Death! Life! JESUS!” and gesturing wildly with my hands. 

She now thinks I am a Satanist.

Things did not exactly go according to plan.

Gone are the days of feigned normalcy.

I. Am. Famous!

THIEVERY!!

I’ve kept trying to write this blog, but for some reason or another it’s proven to be rather difficult.

This is not for lack of topics, as I would gladly share my opinion on just about anything.  I find myself to be an expert on life in general, as I am an acting, breathing creature that has survived (some would say miraculously) nearly twenty years. 

I do suppose I should do an Argentina update, as this was the original purpose of the blog.

I attempted to go to Salta this past week.

From the beginning, I suspected it was one of the strangest vacations of my life.  Then I was nearly caught in the midst of a drug deal.

Oh, how I underestimate myself.

The bus ride to northern Argentina in and of itself was a bit of a personal nightmare, as we were trapped on the top floor of a violently rocking vehicle while the bathroom was conveniently located below us.  This was a bit of a predicament, as I find walking difficult on flat ground, not to mention navigating through a precariously narrow aisle way without tumbling into the laps of strangers.

I quickly became infamous for my perceived promiscuity.

Furthermore, they did not feed us on the bus.  For twenty-five hours.  I generally eat every twenty-five MINUTES.

Pushing these inconveniences aside as future amusing antidotes in the story that would become our travels, we trekked through the city of Salta in search of a hostel.

Though first we were laughed at by the information desk man for thinking we would be able to find accommodation. 

This was encouraging.

Finally ended up in a location.  I’d prefer to be more specific in my description, yet there is still open debate as to whether it was a prison, hostel, hospital, or clandestine concentration camp.

Despite our hesitation, there was a bed and a roof.  It was a kind of fun having fellow scuttling guests in the room.  Though they we were the only humans...

We proceeded to eat for the next four hours.  (This sentence is worthy of clarification.  No, it is not an exaggeration.  And no, I am not obese.)

After our feasting, we returned to the room and suspiciously lowered ourselves between the sheets.

Woke up the next morning ready to bolt from our current place of residence.

In readying my cosas, I realized I had misplaced my Elvis wallet.

I peered into the depths of my purse, scanning for Elvis.  Confused, I began to paw through my items.  No Elvis.

Hmmm.

A bit disturbed, I sat to ponder a moment. 

But of course!  My backpack. 

Relieved at my own brief insanity, I leapt to the sack began the search anew.  Humming absent-mindedly, I dumped out its contents and began shuffling through them.  Shuffle, shuffle.

No wallet.

Beginning to panic, I shuffled harder.  SHUFFLE, SHUFFLE.  Clothing was thrown from the bed, things knocked askew.

NO WALLET.

I stood above the disarray, panting. 

Robbery.

It was at this point that I was struck by insane rage.

I began pacing about the room, frothing at the mouth.  Thieves!  Bandits!  The scallywags!

Growling, I vowed that my wallet would be avenged.  I had just seen Taken a week before, so I had all kinds of ideas.

I. Would. Hunt. Them. Down.

Realizing my only potential weapon was a rather large hairbrush, and forcibly brushing their hair would only be effective if they were Rastafarians, I poutingly abandoned my plotting.

We took this as a sign of Vacation Failure, and got back on a bus to Buenos Aires.

I would like to insert here that at this point, we had not showered for approximately three days.

This did not stop the catcalls, which made me suspicious of their veracity.  In the defense of the hombres, none of the whistles came from within a fifty-foot radius.

It was on this ride home that the drug bust nearly occurred.  Here, they often stop buses to look at the luggage or check the documentation of the passengers (which is one of the reasons the thief also got my passport in my wallet, the brute). 

Evidently there was a thoroughly suspicious bag on our bus, as the Official Looking Men  stared it down for a half hour, and all the passengers were climbing over each other to watch eagerly out the windows.  Nothing came of this, but there was some intense staring for a good while.  The Drug Mafia must have psychically paid off the OLM.

We also stopped to eat dinner at a restaurant.  The kitchen was a warehouse.  Needless to say, it was a classy joint.  I plan to hold my wedding reception there.

Returned home and showered, much to the relief of the entire country.

The trip wasn’t a complete disaster, as I did return home with a backpack that has a long-necked animal on it (llama? alpaca? giraffe?) that I am madly in love with (there is a pouch for Tony, so he isn’t particularly jealous), and a t-shirt from a concert I didn’t go to.

Photos are forth-coming.

And for those who doubted my relationship expertise, I should like to inform you that through my methods, a consultee of mine is currently well on her way to becoming a Tanzanian princess.

As a final note, dear readers, please feel free to give me topics on which to write.  What would you like to read about?  I have many stories, and even more opinions, all ready for the sharing.

Where to begin?

Get Ready to Have Your Relationship World Rocked.

Lately, I have been bombarded with relationship questions from friends, animals, and plants alike.  “Should I break up with my girlfriend?”  “Why doesn’t my boyfriend like it when I shave his legs?” “Does this dress make me look fat?”  “Is photosynthesis a fancy version of an abusive relationship?”

All are understandably difficult questions.  And they will all be answered in this blog post.

Now, I am a bit of an expert on the subject, as I’m now working on a healthy three-year relationship with my cat.  Impressed?  Don’t let my credentials fool you – even I don’t have all the answers. 

Just most of them.

Allow me to continue with my lecture.

The first thing you should know about relationships is that they are relations between two individuals, generally both humanoid.

This is where many panic.

“Where can I find another homo sapien in with which to enter relations, Virginia??”

Have no fear, I will aid you.

The selection process is fairly basic.  There exist only a few critical qualifications:

Can the Prospective Relationship Partner (PRP) lift and hold heavy objects for an extended period of time?  Demanding a demonstration is encouraged.

Does the PRP possess a means of transportation?  Tricycles are desired but not required.

Is the PRP prone to rash actions?  If so, good!  They will often surprise you, which is considered highly romantic by mainstream society.

If you were honestly able to answer yes to the above three questions, congratulations!  You’ve snagged a prospect.

If not, do not give up hope.  Recruitment is easy.  I, personally, find it best to hang a sign out the window of your homestead, signaling you as a Single Person Looking For an Emotionally Unstable Strong Person.  Your neighbors will envy your ingenuity.

Once you have your prospect, it is time to move to Phase Two: Maintaining Their Interest.  You are a fascinating, wonderful person!  But that is irrelevant.

In making sure they do not get bored, run away, or are captured by the authorities, it is necessary to take certain steps.

1.     Make sure you have a plot of land or area in which they may roam.  This will avoid feelings of smothering.

2.     Change things up a little bit!  If you normally wear your hair down, shave it all off to keep them intrigued.  If you are male, you may consider fashionably shaping your hair into a mullet.

3.     Never let them know you’re interested.  Be aloof at all times, and if they approach you, begin to hiss and flap your arms at them.

4.     This is imperative: the PRP must chase after you, not the other way around.  To encourage this behavior, I find it useful to take something valuable of theirs, then tauntingly run away.  They’ll wish they were with you in no time!

Now that you’re in a real relationship, you may want to relax a little.  NO.

You can relax when you’re dead.

Relationships are work.  As such, I frequently suggest to my clients (aka, friends) that they demand fiscal compensation from their significant other.  Every job has a salary.  For the first week, I’d begin at minimum wage, and discuss a raise after that.  You must not seem high maintenance!

There are also, of course, fun times.  These often must be scripted to avoid argument, but generally result in Happy Feelings.

You may choose to act on these happy feelings, and show the other person affection.  This can be done in one of two ways:

a)     precisely three pats on the top of the head, or

b)    the sending of an E-card.

Unfortunately, you must also prepare yourself for The End.  It is statistically improbable that you and your significant other will remain together forever and always, as nothing lasts forever.  Especially not packages of Twizzlers.

On the day that you part ways, there are certain expectations that must be met.

Firstly, I recommend sending a stand in.  This way you do not actually have to do the work, and no one gets hurt.  If the other person in the relationship is foolish enough to show up as themselves, it will be a good test to see if they truly know who you are.

In ending the relations, it is prudent to ensure that the other person knows that you were not to blame.  Your innocence should be the main subject of discussion.

Once your good name has been cleared, you may chat at length about the weather, scientific facts, or recently released incriminating photos of celebrities.  This conversation may last a maximum of ten minutes.

Upon arriving back to your room, you must delete them from absolutely everything.  Further contact is always a Bad Idea, as it then opens the door to reminiscing about the past or murder plots, neither of which are desirable.

Taking into account this termination of contact, I discourage entering into romantic relations with friends, convicts, acquaintances, or co-workers.  Beginning a relationship with an enemy is often strategically invaluable.

With this wisdom, you are unstoppable!  You are on your way to becoming a Dating Machine.

And should you ever find yourself in trouble, who you gonna call?

No.  Not the Ghostbusters.

Virginia, Relationship Wizard.

Skip Day.

Blog, I am your master!!

Once again, my fear of not being funny has kept me from blogging.

Then I happened upon my views, and realized as I’ve lost most of my original viewership anyway, I have nothing to fear!

So here we go.

Today was Skip Day.

I love Skip Day.  There’s something about lounging about in bed all day while everyone else is stuck in school that’s absolutely luxurious.  I, however, am not a good bed lounger.  I get bored and start hiding under the blankets and pouncing on specks of dirt on the floor then bouncing back onto the safety of the mattress.  I quickly lose interest in this game. 

Instead, to pass the time, I begin guessing what different objects in my room are.  With my eyesight, this is quite an adventure.  Unfortunately, with my overactive imagination, I often convince myself that there is a fanatic Christian/murderer/midget/evil wizard IN MY ROOM. 

This is panic inducing.

In an effort to combat the intruder, I often ready my blanket to the defense position (wrapped around my head like a turban).  I then creep stealthily over pillows and across blankets, toward the unwelcome guest. 

It is often poised in this unusual crouch at the end of the bed that I realize my error.

Chairs aren’t nearly as frightening when one can see them properly.

I do tend to wake up early, so these types of shenanigans simply cannot last all day, and excitement about other activities often rouses me from my bed.

Skip day means I can take my walk in the morning.  This is thrilling in and of itself, as then I am out walking with the dog walkers.  These are very unusual men, as it would appear as though they have absolutely no interest whatsoever in animals – yet they have twenty or so wrapped around their waist.

The dogs themselves are remarkably well behaved, and trot along as a little pack through parks and busy city streets.  There are always ridiculous size differences between the animals, though this never seems to present a problem.

I’ve never seen a trampled Chihuahua.

My walk was fairly uneventful, except that I set off a car alarm and knocked over a moped.

Oh, but before that happened a man hit me with his pole.  This is not as inappropriate as it sounds.  He was carrying like a rather long post for some inexplicable reason (might have something to do with the fact that he was a construction worker… But what does one do with a long pole other than poke people?).  At any rate, he evidently lost control of it and bopped me in the head.

I took this to mean I do not fall into the category of Things People Would Not Touch With A Ten Foot Pole.  So that’s good for my self-confidence.

But the car alarm was surprising.  I was toppling off the sidewalk and used the vehicle to right myself.  This did not please the vehicle, so it began screaming at me.  Shocked, I reeled – right into a parked moped.  Which proceeded to tip over.

Thanks, gravity.

Did the only logical thing I could think of, and sprinted away.  Was wearing an excellent disguise, really, as I was in workout gear and everything.

Ironically, I was listening to “Can You Hear Me?” by Enrique Iglesias.

Yes, Enrique.  I think they heard us.

Virginia, Travel Writer.

Remember how way back at the beginning, I claimed blogging was super difficult?

That does not even begin to describe the impossibility that is maintaining a blog.

For instance, I have not posted in at least a decade.  Why, you ask?  It certainly isn’t for lack of stories.

Rather, I have developed the rather paralyzing fear of not being funny.  It’s addicting, having people tell you that they laugh at loud at your writing.  Now, I sit petrified at my computer for hours, watching the cursor blink mockingly as a symbol of my failure.

So I have abandoned the idea of comedy as an art form, and will now turn to travel writing.  As I was just in Patagonia, I feel this is fitting.

I will now commence.

Pre-Departure Steps.

Unless you are a wandering hobo, it is generally advised to pick a destination.

This involves spinning and pointing wildly at a map.  Did your finger touch land?  That’s your new paradise!

Next, it is of the utmost importance to research your place of vacationing.  If you find that traditional reading and studying is simply not for you, I recommend the following technique, which I frequently employ myself:

Wander the streets of your current area, randomly shouting the name of the place you will be visiting.  People are certain to approach you with all kinds of helpful advice.

The final step in preparing for a trip is perhaps the most thrilling – packing! 

Suddenly, you are granted the opportunity to defy all rules regarding what will fit into a backpack – testing age-old assumptions about the capacity of an enclosed space!!

I highly recommend abandoning all hopes of looking in any way human during your adventures.  Fashionable items have no place in a bursting backpack.  On desperate occasion, neither do hygienic items.  Who cares about smelling decently when you’re busy seeing the world??

(Until a cute guy shows up in your hostel.  And then you’re horrified by your own constantly disheveled appearance and vague odor.)

With all these things accomplished, it’s time to start your journey!

Buying tickets is optional.

Day One.

Attempt to get on bus.  This was more difficult for my gang than predicted.

Our first mistake was leaving our neighborhood late.  Retiro, the bus station, is about forty minutes away from where we live.  From where we get off the train to the bus station is anywhere from a five to fifty minute walk, depending on how many times you are shoved and/or robbed.

We got on the train less than an hour before our bus to Bariloche (point of destination) was set to leave.

This would have been fine, had we gotten on the right train.

We did not.

We were informed of this when I attempted to confirm with a fellow passenger that we were, in fact, headed in the right direction.  Upon hearing my broken Spanish, we were assisted by an American Robert Pattinson lookalike, who helpfully assured us that no, we were heading AWAY from our desired destination.

Horrified by our combined lack of inner compass, we scuttled off the train at the next station, frantically asked a cop the closest place to encounter a taxi, and set off in that direction – leaving the cop chuckling at our optimistic belief that we’d be able to make it to the station in time.

After a thoroughly uncoordinated shuffle after a taxi (honestly, trying to spring gazelle-like after a moving vehicle with a fifty pounds strapped to your back and a large bag dangling from your front is complicated), we made it, and got on the bus.

23 hours later.

Get off the bus.

Day Two.

Move into hostel room, taking in the views and avoiding smelling your own scent.  A shower at this point is recommended.

Do not be alarmed if two young American men barge into your room, demanding to use your bathtub to wash their feet.  They are generally harmless and offer good advice for activities.

This is then a good time to Explore the City.  This is a bit tricky.

First, you must leave the hostel room.  Depending on how motivated your crew is, this in and of itself can pose a challenge, as it is upon leaving that the most pressing concerns erupt (bathroom usage, hair brushing, launching nuclear attacks on foreign countries). 

Once Out and About, it is imperative that you not once consult a map.  The point of this exercise is to enjoy the city, which you cannot do if concerned about small issues such as accidently walking into a lake.

At this point, we also adopted a stray dog.  This activity is entirely optional, but I personally highly recommend it.  Keeps the stray humans away, and dogs are excellent company.

Upon returning to your hostel, be kind to the receptionist.  Ours was Damien, and we became great friends, though I have reason to believe he doubted my sanity.  Especially after I spent half an hour in a futile attempt to get him to quit his job to ride horses with me.

I’m still convinced it almost worked.

Day Three.

If your travels take you to Bariloche, as mine did, hike the Cerro Campaniero.  It’s an “easy” hike.

Only forty-five minutes!

VERTICALLY.

When it comes to an afternoon activity, why not go riding through Patagonia on horseback? 

A strange old man comes and picks you up from your hostel in an unmarked taxi, then wordlessly takes you to a jolly woman who throws you up on a horse and off you go.  Riding ability is never taken into account, which is convenient for those who have never ridden before but would still like to gallop through the mountainside.

Day Four.

To celebrate my fourth day, I snuck into Chile illegally.

This was not my fault.

Went white water rafting with Argentines and a Dutch couple.  Luckily, the Dutch didn’t speak Spanish, so everything was going to be in both languages.  When the guide first got in the van, he asked me if I spoke Spanish.  “Mas o menos,” I replied.  More or less.

Fortunately for me, the Spanish-speaking world always takes this to mean not at all.  I can then bumble around uselessly with my own little language.

This did mean, however, that the rest of the raft was forced to speak English, which they did haltingly, greatly amused by their own errors.

At lunchtime, I joined in on one of their conversations.

They gaped.

And I was in.

As far as Chile goes, floated down a river, then climbed a rather steep hill in a wetsuit to arrive across the border.  I was an illegal immigrant, even if only for a moment!

Life goal accomplished.

After eating everyone’s leftovers (didn’t pay for lunch – why pay for food when you can pay for ADVENTURE?), went riding (again, can’t help myself).  This time, spent a full ten minutes working on convincing the tour guide that I was not going to fall off.

This was my own fault, really.  Got too confident in my Spanish ability and suddenly was convinced that I was capable of making jokes.

Note to future travelers: despite everything your high school Spanish teachers told you, you do not speak Spanish.  You will never speak Spanish.  Accept this, and act accordingly.

Days Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and evermore.

Keep on adventuring.  I opted for further riding, repelling down waterfalls, and wandering through a hippie town. 

Now, I am back in Buenos Aires, fervently missing Bariloche and my newfound friends.

But school is keeping me busy. 

Especially because everyone in my class is Mexican.

As in, their parents are from Mexico.

They speak Spanish in Mexico.

They do not speak Spanish in St. Louis, Missouri.

I see problems in my future.

A Quick Update, to Assure You that I Live.

Hello, World of Blogging.

My apologies for my brief hiatus.  Have been suffering from a rather severe case of Incredible Laziness as well as Self Pity, due to the severity of my burn. 

As previously stated, it has greatly inhibited my ability to move, which would be perfectly acceptable did this not also mean that I am, at the present moment, also incapable of dancing.

I should clarify.  I am not a particularly talented dancer.  This is the polite way of explaining that my movements are reminiscent of a back up dancer for a 1990’s boy band.

What I lack in grace, I make up for in enthusiasm.

I hurl myself around the room, fist pumping and leaping into the air.  Overwhelmed by my natural talent, I often attempt more complex moves.

This is yet another Bad Idea.

Struck by genius, I blissfully begin to arrange my feet in what I am convinced is a most artistic manner.  Allowing myself to be carried by my perceived beat of the music (which typically has absolutely no basis in the true beat), I swirl around, bursting with pure Dance Energy.

This often ends with me crashing joyously into solid objects (furniture, pets, the occasional small child).

It is one of my most treasured activities, and my inability to fully participate in it is most devastating.  To make up for my stillness, I have been showing my continued appreciation for songs by more ferocious head nodding and increased singing volume.

My vocal capabilities make me look like a ballerina.

Not much else to report here - was nearly accosted by an angry transvestite, took a final exam today, have skin peeling in all sorts of attractive manners…  All quite typical, really.