Looking for the light

city girl

City girl not afraid of new paths.

No smoking

Smoke-free zone, because my sinuses hate smokey situations.

Artist meets artist, and one is not amused

So yeah, I was waiting for my laundry, minding my own business, drawing a masterpiece on my iPad, when this guy walked up and asked if I was interested in listening to his Hip Hop CD (he or a friend is an “upcoming artist” apparently and he was distributing their music). I wasn't interested, especially after I saw the cover image, displaying a big-booty woman on all fours wearing a thong (ugh – if you've seen mainstream hip hop videos, you know what kind of images I'm talking about).

Well, the guy stuck around and he was a nosy one.

“So what are you doing? You're doing homework or something?” he asked.

“Just playing on my iPad.”

He peeked. He peeked! Rude!

“You're an artist or something?”

“Ha ha,” I laughed. Haha “No, I'm just killing time.”

“Let me see, that looks pretty good!”

Gosh, no. He was just hitting on me (come on, I'm a veteran). He went on to ask if I didn't believe in myself (haha), if I had no support system, and then thought I was a schoolgirl who was maybe just trying to find herself.

“What are you going to school for?”

“I already graduated.”

“Really? What did you study?”

“Spanish,” I said. Then added, “With concentration in International Studies” after I saw the look on his face, a look of disbelief.

I kinda got offended by that look, to be honest. I went through seven years of college — seven! I guess that when people know that your native language is Spanish or Italian or French, they wonder why the hell you studied your native language for all those years. But they don't know if, 1) maybe you simply love the language; or if 2) maybe there's a reason why you chose certain career. In my case both reasons apply. (Reason that I will be explaining in this book: Customer Service Rep: The Job From Hell That Helped Me Turn My Life Around.)

It was an interesting convo.


A (hateful) poem for Father’s Day

Did you know that initially, in the early 1920s when Father's Day was inaugurated, it didn't have much success in becoming a legit celebration to honor fatherhood? I'm not surprised. 🙂

There are a lot of awesome dads out there, but there are really terrible ones, too. So for those, a poem:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

You're the worst father ever

So, fuck you!