tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33465808036783322852023-11-16T06:24:59.819-06:00Wide-eyed and world-wearyChronicling my various mishaps in Mexico, en inglés y español.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-88945240644122890352009-12-15T00:54:00.002-06:002009-12-15T00:57:00.181-06:00An almost final farewell?I'm not in Mexico anymore. So it seems silly to continue with this blog. In the upcoming weeks, I might have a post or two of reflections or whinging about the things I miss (and don't miss), but for the most part, I think it's time to move on.<br /><br />So here's my new blog, <a href="http://entirely-unoriginal.blogspot.com/">Peep Show</a>, because I am entirely unoriginal, as I state in the URL. Change your links or add to your follow list; whatever suits your fancy. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-26643544570949657882009-12-12T19:14:00.002-06:002009-12-12T19:20:53.052-06:00The more I see, the less I knowIt's cold and raining here in Los Angeles.<br /><br />Let's go back, south of the border, where it's 85˚ F and the avocados and strawberries are a dime a dozen.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-32272660856827190012009-12-06T03:08:00.005-06:002009-12-06T03:22:13.660-06:00Between the idea and the reality<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM2R-zS_BxXdXi17E3bztwRzBMMtaHkeEOdIQbvjNTEiMStGBcc5FNqWiUbgF__zQVbS9DlfhLZGHN-1zE5Xrk-QT315YsohX-S3NNBh10sxblBWLcfQK2o1WEu7j1qHnxXCylMfLcoQ/s1600-h/plane1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM2R-zS_BxXdXi17E3bztwRzBMMtaHkeEOdIQbvjNTEiMStGBcc5FNqWiUbgF__zQVbS9DlfhLZGHN-1zE5Xrk-QT315YsohX-S3NNBh10sxblBWLcfQK2o1WEu7j1qHnxXCylMfLcoQ/s400/plane1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412050498218969058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Taking off over Oaxaca</span><br /></div><br />This is the way <s>the world</s> my trip to México ends: not with a bang but a whimper. I was just sitting there in the airport, listening to my iPod. No melodramatic crying. Maybe there was a little tearing up when I said goodbye to my host mum, but relatively uneventful. Even last night, which was incredibly fun, still sort of let me down (mostly because I have an overactive imagination and I was to come to pass does not ever come to pass).<br /><br />And now, back in Los Angeles, sitting in my room, everything feels so familiar. But I don't want it to.<br /><br />I want to go back to México.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqpKvPs1V6MVA0u-3NG1_Z4_1PRA52r_WpKS4PS8K-3IzN_4_PnaduVmj7tP3YIn5erkuITQuSQgdckvHfbz17MNsASU09e1Bp1UWYvH-UTevUASN5lMIbVQayKrxtPjMLwmFCwrKA_I/s1600-h/plane2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqpKvPs1V6MVA0u-3NG1_Z4_1PRA52r_WpKS4PS8K-3IzN_4_PnaduVmj7tP3YIn5erkuITQuSQgdckvHfbz17MNsASU09e1Bp1UWYvH-UTevUASN5lMIbVQayKrxtPjMLwmFCwrKA_I/s400/plane2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412050717009203250" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Landing in Mexico City<br /></span></div>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-85349657645881466082009-12-05T10:56:00.003-06:002009-12-05T11:05:05.950-06:00BaggageI'm all packed, but it was a painful process. I'm pretty sure I'm over the weight limit, and I'm leaving a ton of shit behind.<br /><br />Last night was our last night out, and while we did not stay up to watch the sun rise, we did manage not to all start sobbing. The sobbing happened this morning, just befor 7 a.m., when we saw Melissa and Catherine off the airport. I'm leaving at a quarter to three. I don't even want to think if there will be some sort of floodgate opening at that point.<br /><br />It just feels like I'm losing a little part of me. Which sounds stupid, but it's the truth.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-11928647387682150132009-12-03T19:29:00.004-06:002009-12-03T19:43:56.307-06:00One thing I won't missI was waiting for Sara in the deportivo yesterday when, as usual, some guy thinks he can make my day by trying to chat me up. This time it was a fat, middle-aged postman.<br /><br />I saw him come in on his bike and stop about fifty feet from me, starring. I could just see the gears turning in his head, deciding how to approach me. He bikes over and stops dead in front of me and asks for the time. I tell him it’s ten past four. He stays right where he is, unsure as to what to do next. Apparently my friendly but detached tone and eyes looking everywhere but at him aren’t enough of a hint, and he puts his bicycle off to the side and sits down next to me and proceeds to ask me fifteen minutes worth of awkward questions, punctuated by even more awkward silences, but even my obvious disinterest doesn't deter him. Even after Sara arrives and we start to walk to Chedraui, he actually follows us on his bike. Talk about really not getting the hint.<br /><br />Look, I understand that he was just trying to be nice. I'm sure his intentions weren't exactly pure, but I know he didn't mean anything offensive by trying to chat with <span style="font-style: italic;">una güera bonita</span>. But that doesn't mean I have to talk back if I don't want to, and when someone can't take a hint, that's annoying. <span style="font-style: italic;">Estoy esperando para una amiga</span> means I came here with a purpose that did not include talking to you, and since I am clearly not engrossed in our conversation, you should be able to infer that I'm just not interested and leave with some dignity.<br /><br />But I guess that's just not what they do here. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? I certainly won't miss it though.<br /><br /><br /><br />In other more positive deportivo news, I went to watch the Northern Englishman play football today. Not only did no one hit on me (yay!), but we chatted for about an hour after the game, and then he walked me home. I'm just so in love with his the way his pronounces his Os and Us. Oh, Leeds' accents. Le sigh.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-61678411784421593012009-12-03T01:20:00.000-06:002009-12-03T01:31:25.346-06:00I made a pie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwk1Aabm9vYVJEqG3o5Pw72Gfu4nAlmqW0x9ilkhmcOFk5E-bAfV8J3pwG6ZnH8cQ9jDfpWOMxSFiQp9QCEjWvgVsW-GInGGK87C3jzoSmBmhB1JeDHvH94eONA0gH1nCLqnn2HWCGf8/s1600-h/pie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwk1Aabm9vYVJEqG3o5Pw72Gfu4nAlmqW0x9ilkhmcOFk5E-bAfV8J3pwG6ZnH8cQ9jDfpWOMxSFiQp9QCEjWvgVsW-GInGGK87C3jzoSmBmhB1JeDHvH94eONA0gH1nCLqnn2HWCGf8/s400/pie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410909201465492498" border="0" /></a><br />Chocolate peanut butter cream cheese pie. For desert tomorrow.<br /><br />Yum!Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-73360583656388591582009-12-01T12:48:00.005-06:002009-12-01T12:54:55.705-06:00Double standards come doubly standardObviously, Mexico is a very different place from the United States. And even after three months, the amount of double standards imposed on relationships is still jarring.<br /><br />Mexican guys are incredibly jealous.* Once a girl has a boyfriend, she better not even think about looking at another guy, because her boyfriend will get jealous. Guys here have that macho sense of pride, and they simply can’t (or are conditioned to not be able to) take any indication that their girlfriends might be noticing something other than them.<br /><br />But Mexican guys are also two-timing assholes.*<br /><br />Seriously, while a girl in a relationship can’t step a toe out of line, Mexican boys will flirt with anyone (especially white girls) even if they’re already engaged (something I experienced on Saturday). But if you tell them you’re not interested because they have a girlfriend (which I have done**), they still think there’s nothing wrong with their behavior. A guy who was trying to convince me to… well, probably just fuck him (who had a girlfriend in Puebla**) said, “We’re young. We should be living in the moment!” Yeah, that is not sound moral reasoning for cheating on your girlfriend. <span style="font-style: italic;">I’m still not interested</span>.<br /><br />But guys here in Mexico can get away with this, and they do get away with it.<br /><br />Probably the best example of this was this girl Monica that started talking to Melissa and me one night while we were walking around near Santo Domingo. When Melissa told her she had a boyfriend back in the states, the girl asked, “And he doesn’t cheat on you, even though you’re in Mexico?”<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No, he doesn’t</span>, Melissa responded, <span style="font-style: italic;">and not just because I would kill him</span>. Because being in a relationship, theoretically, means a tacit agreement to respect your partner, and that means not cheating on them.<br /><br />But maybe that's just my silly, American perspective.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />*Obviously there are exceptions. There always are. So for every generalization I make here, just take that as a given, because stating it every time I write something is stupid.<br />**His first hint should've been when I saw him again and asked pointedly, "How's your girlfriend doing?", but he kept trying nonetheless.</span>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-17109840157978209672009-11-30T12:09:00.004-06:002009-11-30T14:04:51.740-06:00The imminent end<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzeXRHw3ByYKuhyphenhyphenjQuva_XtRz8S3KtgkG7zUsStYeQNmYMZxxj35kDncaIhn4oqy-3vjkeknV-McgNZhghhDLDkkTHmlKfwy2n8-aKu7Ijil7mCGzIz-Bfav37dMJfUjEZ8XvajxpvlY/s1600/awkward.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzeXRHw3ByYKuhyphenhyphenjQuva_XtRz8S3KtgkG7zUsStYeQNmYMZxxj35kDncaIhn4oqy-3vjkeknV-McgNZhghhDLDkkTHmlKfwy2n8-aKu7Ijil7mCGzIz-Bfav37dMJfUjEZ8XvajxpvlY/s400/awkward.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409989029374218610" border="0" /></a><br />So I leave Mexico on Saturday.<br /><br />I want to go home and see my friends and family, but I don't want to leave. This place, even with all it's flaws, is so wonderful and fucking awesome and I feel at home here. It feels like so long ago that I arrived, that the five of us went on our trip to Monte Alban and took the most awkward photo on the face of the planet (above), not touching each other or anything, and then the next group photo (a whole forty-five minutes later) with our arms round each other, looking as friendly as can be. There are five copies on that super-awkward photo, one on each of our cameras.<br /><br />Going on trips to foreign countries with a large group, I've done before. And you feel really close, but they only last 10 days, or 20 days, and then you send messages on Facebook occasionally but essentially forget about them. But you realize how superficial that is when you have a three-month long experience to compare it to. I think it's impossible to share a trip like this one with four other girls and not actually remain friends.<br /><br />It's strange to think about the life I'll be going back to; how quickly it will seem normal again. How even if I wanted to recapture this trip, I never could, not even by coming back here.<br /><br />What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBgqOz-TS2rGIU5Kc-ihH5j9ZaLExs5S_0_7L39KRzCY3kA42VXrmz-XP_jpKmujJuglbM3egrL1pOuyNgvZJJ2Ie4cr8nwyRENQtTiqAM5uUBocIVtQgdu8rho_9kKjlcgVS2GH7UyA/s1600/lessawkward.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBgqOz-TS2rGIU5Kc-ihH5j9ZaLExs5S_0_7L39KRzCY3kA42VXrmz-XP_jpKmujJuglbM3egrL1pOuyNgvZJJ2Ie4cr8nwyRENQtTiqAM5uUBocIVtQgdu8rho_9kKjlcgVS2GH7UyA/s400/lessawkward.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409989860388323234" border="0" /></a>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-140142667703393922009-11-29T13:38:00.002-06:002009-11-29T13:46:08.361-06:00Last night she said, "Baby, I feel so down."Getting free Mezcal is natch, y'all.<br /><br />And yelling the words to "Last Night" in between songs to get the band to play the Strokes? Drunken joy.<br /><br />And pictures of me smiling with a lime rind for teeth? Well, that's just class with a capital K.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-41045551953732248652009-11-27T15:15:00.007-06:002009-11-27T20:53:51.435-06:00Mexican Thanksgiving<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5fzdpMmtKe2Cgobx7_nmnU1-MBfcAqXYRGkZLOfFLyLw9AQRzAYljV5K4qdfqjQGUHe3J5s2uvWD0XCIBLlD7Ana8ZjrPEjZMFW0d-MzOMBxLqjNA4CwPelHqDFF-gzXiBO6Y9yF_XI/s1600/thanks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5fzdpMmtKe2Cgobx7_nmnU1-MBfcAqXYRGkZLOfFLyLw9AQRzAYljV5K4qdfqjQGUHe3J5s2uvWD0XCIBLlD7Ana8ZjrPEjZMFW0d-MzOMBxLqjNA4CwPelHqDFF-gzXiBO6Y9yF_XI/s400/thanks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408980545936115218" border="0" /></a>They don't have Thanksgiving here. Obviously. But we did Thanksgiving anyway. Or at least, we tried.<br /><br />I never did find cranberries (fresh or frozen) for my cranberry sauce, so I bought to-go mashed potatoes from Chedraui, which were actually delicious.<br /><br />Ashley couldn't find regular cornmeal, so she had to buy blue corn tortilla flour. It was too fine and the consistency of the cornbread for the stuff was off. By the time we ate, she was a bit tipsy and kept calling her stuffing "the blue shit" and apologising for ruining Thanksgiving with it. And there ain't nothing funnier than a pissed Southern girl doing the Stanky Leg and going on about her blue stuffing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixo6SHwjPxf4FfDC4CjUVyGYdZ5PLWDXPbFLJyANtwY8dbfMBl7KFhXFQOwMav69TCtI2Bc9xlFj9tf7qORjHE9MORO91rWkRYWzaeTh6IY9GsZ5UlmiJVArZS6XxWD_Q2PaBUTAOMjcE/s1600/thanks2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixo6SHwjPxf4FfDC4CjUVyGYdZ5PLWDXPbFLJyANtwY8dbfMBl7KFhXFQOwMav69TCtI2Bc9xlFj9tf7qORjHE9MORO91rWkRYWzaeTh6IY9GsZ5UlmiJVArZS6XxWD_Q2PaBUTAOMjcE/s400/thanks2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408981526038317346" border="0" /></a>But the turkey she made was delish, and that's the most important part.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOUZOVlBKNGo2B1BJ2fe-ducobpWAc276Bl220WDaza9w3QMMJwKxD-aFAnhwF7q8khKZwwW-gEnKKgAMUP7uvEGTZC51pH-JT7FDmL6HJlqsvUpM8Pi_2x9TSoqOeWsQF9sThK6N-xA/s1600/thanks3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOUZOVlBKNGo2B1BJ2fe-ducobpWAc276Bl220WDaza9w3QMMJwKxD-aFAnhwF7q8khKZwwW-gEnKKgAMUP7uvEGTZC51pH-JT7FDmL6HJlqsvUpM8Pi_2x9TSoqOeWsQF9sThK6N-xA/s400/thanks3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408981918399989698" border="0" /></a>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-21506786966791173052009-11-24T13:52:00.002-06:002009-11-24T14:02:43.802-06:00Mentira no, tíralo, pásalo písaloI never listened to reggaeton back in the states. Not that I have any particular prejudice against it; no, I got over feeling superior to any type of music (except Christmas music) a long time ago. But I just didn't listen to it, or pay it any attention.<br /><br />But, y'all, I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> reggaeton now. And also possibly gangsta' rap? (That one is all Catherine's fault.)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/grzONhpQCJA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/grzONhpQCJA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/E2tMV96xULk&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/E2tMV96xULk&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />Is it sad that this is probably the song I would consider most definitive of my experience in Mexico? Because they play it freakin' <span style="font-style: italic;">everywhere</span>.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dn28nlMOYfg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dn28nlMOYfg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IQspTWQZEgM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IQspTWQZEgM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Is this song technically reggaeton? I'm not sure. But it's really amazing.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/d_kjdCYC_o0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/d_kjdCYC_o0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Okay, this is just Spanish pop music. But I'm addicted.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-44184328686865074562009-11-21T13:18:00.000-06:002009-11-21T13:18:29.984-06:00When time stands stillSomething Ashley said over the weekend, when discussing how unusual beach weather is for us in November: "It feels like time is standing still here. Like I'll get back to Tennessee and it'll be August 23."<br /><br />It's strange how true that is. My whole time here has felt like a huge vacation, even with the few days I had actual coursework. Maybe it's because half the courses won't actually count for anything, or because the ones that do are really easy. But everything is so carefree and easygoing, and I don't feel like I'm doing any work.<br /><br />And it's not just the relaxing state of mind here. Everything is so different, yet I've settled into my routine and this city like anything else. It doesn't feel foreign, but the fact that I know it is only adds to its unreality. This is not my real life; therefore, my real life must be on pause. I will go back, as I have before with every other vacation, and not much will have happened in my absence.<br /><br />Of course, my second longest vacation was only three weeks. When I got back, it was still summer, and the things that had happened didn't seem very important. It was still summer, the sun would still set late, my friends and I would still stay out until 3 a.m. every night. Life picked up pretty much where it had let off.<br /><br />Now, when I go back, it will be winter (though that might not mean much in LA) and all my friends will still be in school. They will have spent an entire semester without me, and maybe they missed my presence, but more than likely they adjusted long ago and forgot to even notice.<br /><br />I think the reason time seems to be standing still, even more so than the unchanging (okay, barely changing) weather and surreality of it all, is the fact that we, as humans, are inherently selfish and unable to comprehend most things bigger than ourselves. And our worlds, my world, revolve around us. What happens when we can't see it, aren't there it experience it, well, it ceases to exist. We know that's not really true, but it's how <s>we</s> I perceive things anyway. My normal life and everything it entails are not here, therefore I can't imagine how the things in my normal life are getting on without me.<br /><br />So that world is standing still.<br /><br />And it'll be waiting for me when I get back, right?Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-4219848316788675562009-11-19T20:44:00.003-06:002009-11-19T20:59:27.033-06:00Eating popcorn on a pianoJillian, Melissa, and I were walking to school this morning when Jillian suddenly exclaimed, "Guess what I did last night!"<br /><br />I thought it might be something saucy, as the other night we went lingerie shopping (at the Mexican equivalent of TJ Maxx's, no less) and were talking very loudly about her boyfriend and which teddy would make her boobs look bigger, etc., and we really hope no one in that store spoke English. So I thought it might be something like that.<br /><br />No, it wasn't.<br /><br />"I stayed up 'till 1 a.m. watching 'Hamster on a Piano'," she says.<br /><br />I just don't even know what to say.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/N9Vi1u0KMq0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/N9Vi1u0KMq0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object></div>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-72246984966371071892009-11-17T23:20:00.003-06:002009-11-17T23:27:09.741-06:00Like high school<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxGLMxrz2HG-ab26yFmuYTSBNMWqObskk5m4jhQDVjQ5t1p-Tt43Wz4r9pInArfWedicM-NqGTkMgKZ3qvztcLUPw0jCT5dICwR_L0F5lzsFeniel8ALfc05aMSu_lHqMuAib1rnOu4o/s1600/guapa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxGLMxrz2HG-ab26yFmuYTSBNMWqObskk5m4jhQDVjQ5t1p-Tt43Wz4r9pInArfWedicM-NqGTkMgKZ3qvztcLUPw0jCT5dICwR_L0F5lzsFeniel8ALfc05aMSu_lHqMuAib1rnOu4o/s400/guapa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405310611052807970" border="0" /></a><br />I can't help but feel just a <span style="font-style: italic;">little</span> bit giddy.<br /><br />This is from the sixteen-year-old, by the way. Who is now seventeen. Yeeeeeep.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-37644836081163069012009-11-16T17:24:00.011-06:002009-11-16T18:18:54.712-06:00No hay honor más grande que ser un charolastra<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdzlgoo7_vL5zIuD1YJJbqOBkw-ekJZFc5pCtuPuB9zFZuJ-JJtca5Xskmy1v2YXp18-s-ZA9mfOMbghiuOuD7mYg8UICeat25_n_XA8k7tUBAVY-4yYdvGXLM5QVd7m5iLD8h5IjmvI/s1600/huatulco3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdzlgoo7_vL5zIuD1YJJbqOBkw-ekJZFc5pCtuPuB9zFZuJ-JJtca5Xskmy1v2YXp18-s-ZA9mfOMbghiuOuD7mYg8UICeat25_n_XA8k7tUBAVY-4yYdvGXLM5QVd7m5iLD8h5IjmvI/s400/huatulco3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404855358964139122" border="0" /></a><br />Huatulco is much, much better than Puerto Escondido. There are a lot more beaches, especially tiny bays that are only accessible by boat and are therefore much less crowded. We went on a boat ride (I'm on a boat!), went snorkeling, held puffer fish, ate a fish that Ashley caught for lunch, went to a ridiculously lame club that charged a ridiculous cover of 100 pesos and was so not worth it, and flirted with a cute Northern Englishman (okay, that last one was just me).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nrBtKB2SPoekrKTkeJkrLgf834PMPsStmD_J61keYA6RFqRHYy0tmDRTp3-ghxPxEM2GmBN7g7OiMxTWQ5n4I0FKc4ek29x245QasWcbEuBWYZz9JEET-PmW3rUpBea6ldjZYWPSnFo/s1600/huatulco2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nrBtKB2SPoekrKTkeJkrLgf834PMPsStmD_J61keYA6RFqRHYy0tmDRTp3-ghxPxEM2GmBN7g7OiMxTWQ5n4I0FKc4ek29x245QasWcbEuBWYZz9JEET-PmW3rUpBea6ldjZYWPSnFo/s400/huatulco2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404854449772656866" border="0" /></a><br />And look! It's the beach from <span style="font-style: italic;">Y Tu Mamá Tamb</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ién</span>! Our visit to which actually led to an argument about whether or not one of the characters fucked the other character's mom, because Justine was adamant that this is what happened, because that's the title of the movie. But that was just a joke he made. I think. If anyone knows the answer, please do tell. This is a matter of some importance that needs to be resolved, for the good of mankind!<br /><br />We had the day off school today for 20 de noviembre, which is Friday. (I know, it makes perfect sense. It's just, like, logic.) So I've sat around all day, not really doing anything, and now I must get back to the real world and finish the two short stories I've been putting off all weekend.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-73595178536187274912009-11-12T21:22:00.022-06:002009-11-16T16:33:33.166-06:00Something not related to how sick I amI went to the doctor yesterday; it turns out I have an intestinal infection. Yay! That's always super fun. (It's never super fun.) So the past four days have been wholly uninteresting, with me mostly sitting in my room, clutching first my head (it was really bad the first two days), then my stomach, moaning as the evil bacteria and my immune system had a battle to the death. Which is still going on by the way, but I think the bacteria are losing too many men and can hardly call for re-enforcements from inside my intestines, so they are attacking less frequently, relying on the element of surprise. But my immune system is like, WHAT. WE HAVE ANTI-BIOTICS NOW. SUCK ON THAT. It's like unleashing the A-bomb. (No, it's not.)<br /><br />Why am I humanising my illness? I'm so weird.<br /><br />Anyway. Some stuff about last week that is actually interesting and doesn't involve my digestive tract:<br /><br />1) The Optometry Clinic!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYchciRxw0a8EvE2Ej0FSvy5s-xj-8MKTS9G0G7DGC0VbGUN1PcmTAUEGZlHO1Zw1ZUiKrsFr02ko_5FZrvMXSqIHrmpBLwqtHIMofjRt6SuONvxo3El-donCebXxQg1UN1aoFsISqew/s1600-h/vosh2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYchciRxw0a8EvE2Ej0FSvy5s-xj-8MKTS9G0G7DGC0VbGUN1PcmTAUEGZlHO1Zw1ZUiKrsFr02ko_5FZrvMXSqIHrmpBLwqtHIMofjRt6SuONvxo3El-donCebXxQg1UN1aoFsISqew/s400/vosh2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403430401358761602" border="0" /></a>Isn't this little old lady adorable? I swear, she kept changing outfits and coming in every 15 minutes. (She obviously did not do this.) But a lot of the old people tend to look alike. Well, there are types. And it's like, DUDE, YOU WERE HERE YESTERDAY. But they weren't.<br /><br />And this cutie!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNywnizlXo8okoMagPeHPZWlD736VvAumcbeJcHika6Vf4vSV7kAPAfvvMv9HW7JC1cPP_RD17E6-Ilwe5sXlPslhCYUo5lQSjhv8Dg5xvwA1Kaij3h6tjzhsaDLQE2H6JiwgI95BL3w/s1600-h/vosh1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNywnizlXo8okoMagPeHPZWlD736VvAumcbeJcHika6Vf4vSV7kAPAfvvMv9HW7JC1cPP_RD17E6-Ilwe5sXlPslhCYUo5lQSjhv8Dg5xvwA1Kaij3h6tjzhsaDLQE2H6JiwgI95BL3w/s400/vosh1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403429901073400450" border="0" /></a><br />Aw!<br /><br />It was a really great experience. Glasses don't really seem like such an expensive deal, but for most people here, it's either get glasses or eat. Guess which one usually wins out.<br /><br /><br />2) Chiapas!<br /><br />As I said before, Chiapas was great, even if there were a lot of problems with our pants. First, on Friday, they got really wet in the rain and our hotel was being a bitch about letting us dry them, because we hadn't washed them first? Whatever. We ended up waiting for two hours and paying 10 pesos to put them in the dryer for ten minutes. But then they were dry and toasty, so that was nice.<br /><br />Then, on Saturday, we went horseback riding, which was awful because a) cheap saddles are uncomfortable and bruise your inner thighs and b) my horse was retarded and kept falling into pitholes and my pants were COVERED in dirt. But other than the Epic Pants Fiasco, we had a lot of fun.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUmRQ916_gZ0PbxtxIBT1r2jRty5wDqA1rrlKkvyv66an_QBrAXlIeenCUiFceTBa-6b_GmyXBslQ-d8kiD6yN41o9Dl3XuCPB2kDTtPFnBsAuDHP4dmKymwj2dgRFViPPhoTyKEIxyg/s1600-h/chiapas1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUmRQ916_gZ0PbxtxIBT1r2jRty5wDqA1rrlKkvyv66an_QBrAXlIeenCUiFceTBa-6b_GmyXBslQ-d8kiD6yN41o9Dl3XuCPB2kDTtPFnBsAuDHP4dmKymwj2dgRFViPPhoTyKEIxyg/s400/chiapas1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403435445579190738" border="0" /></a>Horsey!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWYXNZ6JLCOzkPj4MIundky7X3hEFTgKA7lDCLwmxLhtgbLxQjTnj6xzEw01_NoHFN0xuZmpjjMsEAK72Qtjri_0vX5O3nN0uqab35IXovoA_x4-rR8VuboUJX2UMlq3faZeFvCPNLJk/s1600-h/chiapas3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWYXNZ6JLCOzkPj4MIundky7X3hEFTgKA7lDCLwmxLhtgbLxQjTnj6xzEw01_NoHFN0xuZmpjjMsEAK72Qtjri_0vX5O3nN0uqab35IXovoA_x4-rR8VuboUJX2UMlq3faZeFvCPNLJk/s400/chiapas3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403435841836737346" border="0" /></a><br />A typical street in San Cristobal de las Casas. It's a very cute little town, even though the centro is super European-looking. Well, Mediterranean-looking.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEii21mk9W0bmuDzIlM-CVNIfOjeuv2HlqG7JLgozvdFEargNsy9q7uU2lqaXSACsBCZJ25y1cgagG0I_-Om2IUG_lvUfylYBgI86m2CYlXHuoficl4MMQKvE8I3FROrNIGwizJ3ioISE/s1600-h/chiapas4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEii21mk9W0bmuDzIlM-CVNIfOjeuv2HlqG7JLgozvdFEargNsy9q7uU2lqaXSACsBCZJ25y1cgagG0I_-Om2IUG_lvUfylYBgI86m2CYlXHuoficl4MMQKvE8I3FROrNIGwizJ3ioISE/s400/chiapas4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403436058705041938" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a4xNe-fPVgrUGyyhB-4CoOYELYTCWDzpotXBdG8e1Kfu0MkwFDyOT77NXcje3Y-7UMnxeVnRGRzDQWdHo1BBwkZo8VnVAy0DAWg7CKAN8FBUv0rEWvHtHPZc9CXTqMUJ_8tCQMJvjzk/s1600-h/chiapas5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a4xNe-fPVgrUGyyhB-4CoOYELYTCWDzpotXBdG8e1Kfu0MkwFDyOT77NXcje3Y-7UMnxeVnRGRzDQWdHo1BBwkZo8VnVAy0DAWg7CKAN8FBUv0rEWvHtHPZc9CXTqMUJ_8tCQMJvjzk/s400/chiapas5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403436583289910402" border="0" /></a>We hiked all the way up to that church.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnlQFj-qUZv2ZWtxq_uDwp03Bzr52SmYEY3gpp4v0m5d32nomAViCQ8xyDOcZwB1NjkIW168tlO9WFUfHEx-n_8iaJO5-6FHHWGaoNTG2MtwnUzI3c2C1DJQsHfDLdE05ynHSZwQbqUk/s1600-h/chiapas6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnlQFj-qUZv2ZWtxq_uDwp03Bzr52SmYEY3gpp4v0m5d32nomAViCQ8xyDOcZwB1NjkIW168tlO9WFUfHEx-n_8iaJO5-6FHHWGaoNTG2MtwnUzI3c2C1DJQsHfDLdE05ynHSZwQbqUk/s400/chiapas6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403436867685399218" border="0" /></a>And all the way up these stairs. At the top of which there was another church. Naturally.<br /></div></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIC2T4V9szLHgDi90oGDxsOAN5qW7eof4TzALko0Mpw0gh3TIY8nWY4UHJy-HCUnIRGJqRKe0sgFnHubOU72FEMgsmoBCSbsmsEa6gjBTS5gwG1vAw0HuUm98ZAAtKMvb-xwQ_noSKR8/s1600-h/chiapas2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIC2T4V9szLHgDi90oGDxsOAN5qW7eof4TzALko0Mpw0gh3TIY8nWY4UHJy-HCUnIRGJqRKe0sgFnHubOU72FEMgsmoBCSbsmsEa6gjBTS5gwG1vAw0HuUm98ZAAtKMvb-xwQ_noSKR8/s400/chiapas2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403435201861603154" border="0" /></a><br />Jill stepped on a candle in the church in San Juan Chamula (pictured), a tiny town about half an hour out of San Cristobal, where they have no pews but instead candles and pine needles everywhere whilst they perform 'exorcisms' with Pepsi from the 80s (they believe you can expel bad spirits in burps). You're not allowed to take pictures inside the church. They have a tendency to smash cameras.<br /><br /><br />And then there was the jungle in el Cañón de Sumidero!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4sQWgWWPRrB4TDiEbtvMi1OGZbxzQSAN1HOohLw7x3rb6DWRPyesEPX2NnFX1o8gE69unHLyv0G0pl7jIoH224jPBWazeK7sg73NVA8wIX_zzgk6UOb_UIMukCW2xVg5W2dndGXDUwQ/s1600-h/chiapas7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4sQWgWWPRrB4TDiEbtvMi1OGZbxzQSAN1HOohLw7x3rb6DWRPyesEPX2NnFX1o8gE69unHLyv0G0pl7jIoH224jPBWazeK7sg73NVA8wIX_zzgk6UOb_UIMukCW2xVg5W2dndGXDUwQ/s400/chiapas7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403437247712650658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtrQJ9KWXqa8fV-7OX8l4nrJvteEXZr3D7jwvcMbEHeU2plI_gAne0FJa_t3fAXnGz-boUY-Da-B26EpxLUDL-uXLQpqRDrSmESw6wBVw0-lBmCMuxNoFBivZh_K6FV2sUW5moetVocY/s1600-h/chiapas8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtrQJ9KWXqa8fV-7OX8l4nrJvteEXZr3D7jwvcMbEHeU2plI_gAne0FJa_t3fAXnGz-boUY-Da-B26EpxLUDL-uXLQpqRDrSmESw6wBVw0-lBmCMuxNoFBivZh_K6FV2sUW5moetVocY/s400/chiapas8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403437578371933186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRvytdWDFwwZ_wRRr0blYjvG5GGeWs7coQ4nsXaxGHNUFJ-dGSemIIV-puefZ5VRheA2Sb6bw0HczRluUhyrD-pDecD10Z4I274ZRlCiyvyjIsyKznTE524rwHba8lLMIgBjvlzIeMgE/s1600-h/chiapas9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRvytdWDFwwZ_wRRr0blYjvG5GGeWs7coQ4nsXaxGHNUFJ-dGSemIIV-puefZ5VRheA2Sb6bw0HczRluUhyrD-pDecD10Z4I274ZRlCiyvyjIsyKznTE524rwHba8lLMIgBjvlzIeMgE/s400/chiapas9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403438153233777234" border="0" /></a>An actual crocodile, in the wild!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR5fyIOZ4iTZaxh8ainmyQ-SwhyphenhyphenpiA9_PTPLlYIN29SVzGmWHTKvY0m7lj6o1zIBaGalV8R1GgcpGudamWfKKCzrM-EGrplxhbviSG0MehDzGhdU9sQLouuAh-VohXUFwj5eQItyk-0A/s1600-h/chiapas10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR5fyIOZ4iTZaxh8ainmyQ-SwhyphenhyphenpiA9_PTPLlYIN29SVzGmWHTKvY0m7lj6o1zIBaGalV8R1GgcpGudamWfKKCzrM-EGrplxhbviSG0MehDzGhdU9sQLouuAh-VohXUFwj5eQItyk-0A/s400/chiapas10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403438716472736370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSrHLhHbIhd6GJJe6CNelYA_POIXZSbiciJUwGKHXL0KSloYp1lkjiSG4mh4vXQjERWspngMl7CLEUYK-8zRwYH4RfQDQyn30e9JTj1eKY4jnxMtr0zMKJZ0laz8j_l92oFTQ3tU6PQbM/s1600-h/chiapas11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSrHLhHbIhd6GJJe6CNelYA_POIXZSbiciJUwGKHXL0KSloYp1lkjiSG4mh4vXQjERWspngMl7CLEUYK-8zRwYH4RfQDQyn30e9JTj1eKY4jnxMtr0zMKJZ0laz8j_l92oFTQ3tU6PQbM/s400/chiapas11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403439122133616050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietfReCVroVFrQPq2WT1pE3wO7K-UNVK7-JgjU84xd3ocqccAqUemRxuBrKI4MMhceabvHYDxi2khT9iwM85oz7vJpqn32JXcWbw39LxsVilj0oiJadwtndATS01XMKeene_OGLmfl72Y/s1600-h/chiapas12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietfReCVroVFrQPq2WT1pE3wO7K-UNVK7-JgjU84xd3ocqccAqUemRxuBrKI4MMhceabvHYDxi2khT9iwM85oz7vJpqn32JXcWbw39LxsVilj0oiJadwtndATS01XMKeene_OGLmfl72Y/s400/chiapas12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403440335377217650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><s>Lions and tigers and bears</s> Jaguars and toucans and parrots, oh my!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And now I'm off to Huatulco for the weekend. I know, brilliant idea to go to the beach when I'm sick. Whatever. Some relaxation (in the shade, as the doctor told me to avoid the sun) will be nice.<br /></div></div>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-15311614456324628112009-11-11T09:09:00.002-06:002009-11-11T09:18:42.825-06:00I hope I don't have swine fluChiapas was great, and I would've done a nice, long post about it much, sooner, but I've been (and still am) very sick. I have a tension headache that is in its third day, so I pretty much want to kill myself. Seriously, I walk up and down the stairs so slowly that my family mocks me. I AM PITIFUL.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-25811595830742439052009-11-05T20:28:00.003-06:002009-11-05T20:29:37.120-06:00NearsightedI spent the past three days translating for a free optometry clinic in Zimatlán. And I would post all about it, but I have to leave for Chiapas in two minutes.<br /><br />Although it turns out I am very slightly nearsighted.<br /><br />Catch y'all on the flip side.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-86739725869745293412009-11-03T23:41:00.003-06:002009-11-03T23:55:24.335-06:00Deep-fried fun<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkEhrvO5UwquD_9WQKT6IuygXG3PmeSBW5ASDRXp8bNjtpf85m5hYWoywlN5R3ccV5XNmiUykpeVizJgMP8Jq66RQoiMel_xevK54iY6gpA3PQIjXWkim_3fKQBgD3ZmTqaTrIk4NIi8/s1600-h/carnie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkEhrvO5UwquD_9WQKT6IuygXG3PmeSBW5ASDRXp8bNjtpf85m5hYWoywlN5R3ccV5XNmiUykpeVizJgMP8Jq66RQoiMel_xevK54iY6gpA3PQIjXWkim_3fKQBgD3ZmTqaTrIk4NIi8/s400/carnie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400122105326640722" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jill and I went to the fair outside the Panteón General last night. I just have to say that Mexican carnivals are 394395734857 times better than American ones, because they let you stay on the rides much longer and they jump on to the moving platform to shake the car and spin you round.<br /><br />It would be an OSHA nightmare. But it's <span style="font-style: italic;">awesome</span>.<br /><br />Plus if you want a <s>milkshake</s> sugar milk-water to go, they put it in a plastic bag which I find <span style="font-style: italic;">hee-larious</span>.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-25097203426767172502009-11-02T23:35:00.003-06:002009-11-02T23:45:36.725-06:00No one on the corner has swagger like usThis weekend has been pretty freakin' amazing, and I promise I will post pictures <s>soon</s> someday. But for now I have just a few tidbits.<br /><br /><br />Last night, at one point, we (Catherine, her friend Tara, and I) were in a bar in the seediest part of Oaxaca. We were going to leave soon, but I was already quite fed up with the place. This guy comes up to me with a bottle of something neon green and asks if I want a shot.<br /><br />"No thanks," I say.<br /><br />"Come on, it's only water."<br /><br />"No mames,*" I said, because, <span style="font-style: italic;">Fucking seriously?</span><br /><br />"Okay," he says, "it's water with lime."<br /><br />"No mames," I repeat, and then turn away.<br /><br />Half an hour later, we <span style="font-style: italic;">finally</span> left that bar to meet up with Jill, Carlos, and Dulce. We walked in to the band playing "Last Night" and it made me so happy, I completely forgot to care about that stupid bar. And we all sang along, really loudly and obnoxiously, because that's what the Strokes do to us white girls.<br /><br /><br />Then after that bar, around 3 a.m., on my way home with Carlos, Jill, and Dulce, Jill and I started singing "Paper Planes" in our attempts to be gangsta'. Dulce and Carlos found this very funny, even though I don't think they understand the lyrics (they don't speak English). But I'm sure thug stares translated perfectly.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Don't bullshit</span>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-77879037183732659612009-11-01T16:20:00.005-06:002009-11-01T17:22:45.901-06:00I ain't your gueraLast night I was at the Panteón General, waiting for my host sister, when some random, middle-aged guy saw me, yelled, "Guera!", tried to put his arm around me, and indicated to someone in his party to take a photo.<br /><br />I was like,<span style="font-style: italic;"> Um, no, I am not a display in a museum.</span><br /><br />Bitch, I ain't your white girl.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-16896556834799173202009-10-31T13:32:00.008-06:002009-10-31T13:43:19.037-06:00Sugar & spice<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40042256@N03/4061744046/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2491/4061744046_e87f8e61c4.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 365px; height: 275px;" alt="" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40042256@N03/4061744046/">Sugar & spice</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/40042256@N03/">sappycoldplaywhore</a>.</span></div></div><br /><br />Día de los Muertos festivities kicked off yesterday. We all went to Ashley's apartment to build an altar, which turned out awesomely. For right now, you'll have to make due with only a picture of one of the sugar skulls (you can't eat them until November 2, when the holiday is over, otherwise <span style="font-style: italic;">los muertos</span> will come and paint your face at night), but hopefully I'll upload many more more pictures. Because Oaxaca goes <span style="font-style: italic;">crazy</span> for Muertos. We already went and saw a <span style="font-style: italic;">danza de los muertos</span> last night at the Casa de Cultura, and the holiday isn't technically until November 1.<br /><br />And I know I've posted this already, but because it's Muertos and it's so fantastic, I'm just gonna go ahead and do it again.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="265" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aM6sP61zNx4&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aM6sP61zNx4&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="265" width="320"></embed></object></div>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-33605515537095790892009-10-31T02:35:00.003-06:002009-10-31T02:44:52.053-06:00Shit"Me gusta ver a ti," me dijo.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh dear</span>, I think but don't say, <span style="font-style: italic;">you're sixteen. You're sixteen. You're sixteen.</span><br /><br />But damn, you're fucking cute.<br /><br /><br /><br />When I got home, I opened the door to find Daca asleep on the stairs. My entrance woke up him and he seemed really fucking terrified for a minute, so I asked him what he was doing, you know, sleeping on the stairs. He didn't really have an answer, other than, 'I just sat down there for a sec' and denied being drunk. But the loud stumbling up the stairs and running into walls begged to differ.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-64590532519217419022009-10-29T15:03:00.005-06:002009-10-29T15:48:48.500-06:00Fish of the dayBetween writing papers about Mexican economics (in Spanish), going to the gym five days a week and ballet class two, finding time to go out and absorb as much 'culture' as possible, and flirting with cute (possibly underage) Mexican boys, I have sort of neglected blogging. I apologise. I know I have a hundreds, possibly thousands, of people reading this blog, constantly checking for updates only to be disappointed when they are short and sparse.* I'm sorry. I really am.<br /><br />It's just that when life is really exciting, or at least closer to exciting than it usually is, I become impatient with writing about it and instead just want to <span style="font-style: italic;">live</span> it. Which is, I know, a <span style="font-style: italic;">crazy</span> notion, and you must be thinking, <span style="font-style: italic;">Damn, that girl is original. Carpe diem!</span><br /><br />But even though I want to live in the moment, I would also like to remember the moment. So I am going to try and be better. Also, <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/node">NaNoWriMo</a> starts in two and half days, so hopefully I'll be writing for a good portion of every day and it'll just flow over into my blog. Or I'll be so sick of writing that I'll write even less. Either way.<br /><br />And finally, the most amusing chocolate milk you will ever see:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAsDh-tfB5ZZWF_ABHvaGuduFXPExfGnNvYy5wLPNYK7KAyjPfj6NoCElc9EDhAPIH3CyEVrr84GI78TA4WZ53b2qO0vDlLlyONfl1rZxA7s7yFTDclCryGqd587e8WlOVLzf9Wk3_74/s1600-h/negrito1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAsDh-tfB5ZZWF_ABHvaGuduFXPExfGnNvYy5wLPNYK7KAyjPfj6NoCElc9EDhAPIH3CyEVrr84GI78TA4WZ53b2qO0vDlLlyONfl1rZxA7s7yFTDclCryGqd587e8WlOVLzf9Wk3_74/s400/negrito1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398141609626296274" border="0" /></a><br />Remember, it's only racism when white people do it!<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br />*I don't not have hundreds, much less thousands, of followers. I have four. And they are not checking constantly for updates.</span>Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3346580803678332285.post-33566387360813903272009-10-28T15:51:00.003-06:002009-10-28T15:56:45.287-06:00What happens in México"Fermin just texted me, 'te portes bien'," Catherine said at the beginning of class one Friday. "What does that mean?"<br /><br />"It means 'behave yourself'," I told her. "Good advice for you."<br /><br />"Te portes bien? No, no, no. Eres joven; debes portarte mal," said our teacher, Ana Maria.<br /><br /><br />Well, if our teacher says so, we should listen to her.Ariellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03917477879997344933noreply@blogger.com1