Wild Guessing or Reading Minds?

I love people who go all "do you know that actor from that movie?" on you. They never know the name of the movie, song or actor/actress they wanna talk about - yet they INSIST on it. And we're supposed to guess who/what they're talking about.

Two recent instances I find noteworthy:

My boyfriend [talking about an actress I didn't know]: She was in that TV show!

Me: What TV show?
Bf.: The one with that actor!

Me [slightly puzzled]: What actor?
Bf. [annoyed that I didn't get it]: The one you like!

Me: ...which one? I like many.
Bf. [genuinely pissed that I didn't get it at once]: Man! The one who was Robin in the movie!
Me [finally understanding, and fighting the urge of answering Chris O'Donnel just to see his reaction]: Joseph Gordon-Levitt?
Bf.: Yeah! He was in that TV show!
Me: "Third Rock From the Sun"?
Bf.: Yeah, exactly! So, in the show...
Me: Sorry honey, I'm no longer interested.

I should've said Chris O'Donnel, just for the kicks. He would've flipped.

Second instance: me and my friends talking about music and singers we consider tacky.

My Friend: And there's also that other guy!

Me: What guy?

Friend: That singer who's sooo tacky!

Me: Y...eeeeah... who?

Friend: He sang that song! From that movie!

Me [thinking "well, that's specific"]: What movie?!

Friend [narrowing it down brilliantly]: That one with Johnny Depp!

Me: Ohhh, ok. Good thing Johnny Depp has only been in ONE movie. 

Friend: You jerk.

Me: Don't tell me the movie was also directed by Tim Burton. Cause that'd be too specific.
Friend: No, it wasn't, amazingly enough...

Me [paused for a moment]: Oh, You mean Bryan Adams. Yeah, he's tacky as fuck.

Friend: YES! Bryan Adams, thank you!
Everybody pauses and looks at me with that "How on EARTH did you guess that?!"

Me [totally reading their minds]: I'm that awesome. Sorry.

I need to use my goood memory and mind-reading skills for more productive stuff in the future. Maybe ruling the world. Who's with me?!

Being Mugged V

My faithful readers may well remember my “Being Mugged” cycle of stories (I, II, III and my brother's turn). Daring tales of a swashbuckling English teacher in Rio de Janeiro, with a devil-may-care attitude, who would be damned if she'd let any mugger take anything from her. And yes, that's how I usually think of myself.

It couldn't possibly take too long before it happened again, right? After all, I'm a danger magnet!

It was a beautiful Saturday morning; the sun was bright, the birds were singing and I was going to work. Life was full of promises.

But every promise can go awry, and that Saturday was no exception to Murphy's Law: as I turned around a corner a guy bumped into me, pressed a knife against my stomach and demanded my purse, with no one around to see it.

(On my dying bed, when I see my life flash before my eyes, all I'll see will be guys demanding my purse.)

I immediately said “no!”, and as he tried to jerk the purse away from me I jerked it back, in a very dangerous thug of war, one might say. He pulled the plug on our little game trying to stick the knife into me. Quick as a cat I swerved, but that moment was all he needed to grab my purse and walk away. Yeah, he WALKED away.

Would pretty little me let him WALK away with my purse? I strode after him without a second thought. It didn't take the mugger much time to realize I was going after him, and he broke into a run right away. I mean, I may not be much of a threat, I'm pretty tiny (I'm 1,58cm or 5'3'' tall, and weigh 48 kg or 105lb), but I wasn't going down without a fight! He ran, and I ran after him. And I swear that dude wasn't normal. When he saw I was chasing him, he threw his knife away. Seriously, he just tossed in on the ground and kept on running. What the flying f**?! I ran even more, I wouldn't let a complete ball-less moron take my purse.

But of course, since I'm as graceful as a platypus and as good at running as a peacock, the inevitable happened: I fell. Hard. One of my shoes went flying across the street, and when I stood back up my hands were bleeding, and my pants had two huge holes out of which my knees, covered in blood and pain, could see the world. A weaker being might've given up then – not me! I continued my chase in my newest identity: Lady Limps-a-lot. Believe it or not, I kept on chasing him limping on both legs. After I'd picked up my flying shoe, of course.

Now the tiny little limping girl was not a threat, and the mugger simply walked on. He had a thousand heads' start over me, and I could see him becoming a teeny point in the distance, with a burgundy blur on his back – my purse. He got further and further away.

I'm not ashamed to tell you that at that point, though I did not stop walking after him, I did start slowing down. I was far from home (I'd chased him for a long while), my knees hurt like hell and he was getting away with stealing my stuff. The world was a horrible place to live in, and my head was hurting because of the fall. As I prepared myself to finally quit that foolish chase and shake my fists towards Heaven, a strong tall man was jogging by; when he saw me, he looked at the guy disappearing in the distance, then back at me again, like in an Old Spice commercial. He stopped.

Jogging Man: Did that guy mug you?

Shaky Me: Yes...

Jogging Man: Does he have any kind of weapon?

Shaky Me: No... he did, but he threw it away...

Jogging Man: He threw it away?!

Shaky Me: Yeah, he had a knife, but he threw it away while running...

Jogging Man: Ok, I'm going after him. Go home, don't stay here, you're hurt!

And Jogging Man, with no further ado, sprinted after the mugger.

A little befuddled, I watched him sprint for a while, then decided to take his advice. I arrived home and screamed for my husband (the keys were in my purse, of course, and the door bell was out of order). Hubby wore a question mark on his face as he opened the gate and that was when I finally burst into tears.

After I'd explained everything between sobs and tears, and he'd given me some water, he started taking care of my battle wounds. I called my work, explaining why I wouldn't be able to go that day (not only did I have to go to the police station, but I also could not go anywhere with both knees swelling up to the size of a basketball each). When I was done, the telephone rang: my father. With flowers in his voice:

My Happy Dad: Good morning my beloved daughter! How are you?!

Angry Me: Awful! I got mugged!

My Happy Dad: Really? Well, worry not!

Angrier Me: “Worry not”?! What the...

My Happy Dad: Worry not, because the guy that went after the mugger actually got him, beat him up, got your purse and found my number in your agenda as “emergency contact”! He's got all your stuff back for you!

No Longer Angry Me: … How... *burst into tears again*

The story: Amazing Jogging Man finally reached him (I was not surprised: Jogging Man was huge and, well, a jogging man! The mugger was much smaller and not at all athletic), gave him a mighty beating as if he were Chris Brown and the mugger were Rihanna, took off his clothes, threw them away and warned him to never go back to that neighborhood ever again. And left him there, bare naked for other people to lynch him (because at that point there was a mob watching, holding forks and torches).

We talked some more, I thanked him a gazillion times and went home, for my unexpected day off from work.

To this day, people keep telling me that I was crazy to chase the mugger; well, my answer to that is: hadn't I chased him, Jogging Man wouldn't have bumped into me and thus saved me. You know what they say: “Faint hearts never won fair ladies” (“fair ladies” meaning “their purse back”) and “Nothing ventured, nothing gained”.

Also, we now refer to my savior as The Jogging Avenger.

To be fair, my Jogging Avenger looks nothing like him. But Chris Evans is ALWAYS an eye candy, am I right girls?!

Preambling

*knocks*

*pokes her head through the door*

...Hello? Anybody there?

5 months of no writing; I feel rusty.

A friend of mine once told me that true artists are at their best when miserable; once their misfortunes reach an end and they're happy again, like Jane Austen heroines, Inspiration eludes them. Could it be true?

I realize I'm flattering myself, implying that I'm a “true artist”. Were I more realistic, I'd just admit I'm not this generation's Kundera or Salinger or Wilde – I'm not even the next Helen Fielding. I'm just an average girl (woman?) with Internet access at home.

Still, if I don't flatter myself, who will?

And I like to think my writing better than Stephenie Meyer's.

Moving on: maybe my friend's a cynic, I don't know. But I do know that it does make an awful lot of sense, from my point of view. And perhaps it doesn't have to apply solely to true artists; perhaps the same goes for average people with Internet access.

Well, I'm happy. Life has turned around in the most unexpected ways since March, and I didn't see it coming – not even when it was less than a foot away.

Not that I was unhappy before, far from it, my life was already pretty good. I just wasn't this happy.

And in being this happy, I, sorry to say, forgot all about this blog.

That is: until a chance remark by my great friend M.H. made me think; that remark, along with one of his own posts on his blog, and a comment by my other great friend Rick provided me with writing material.

Maybe I'd hit a writer's block because I was happy; maybe I'd hit a writer's block but didn't care about it cause I was happy. Maybe I was happy because I'd hit a writer's block. How many more combinations of “I'd hit a writer's block” and “I was happy” are there? Can I say “I'd hit a writer's block” and “I was happy” three times fast?

...no, I can't; in my defense, English is not my mother language.

The word we're all looking for now is: anyway.

Anyway, I now know what I want to say here, and I shall soon say it. Not right now, though, cause this preamble is far too long already.

But I've found my will to ramble about life again – whilst being happy, which I had not thought possible.

Alas! I may not be a true artist after all!

*shrugs and closes the door*

Answering 8 Questions: Episode II

I feel that naming this post "Episode II" is a bad omen. I mean, we're all aware that Star Wars: Episode II was epic. Epicly shitty.

So anyway, I tagged both Bella and Lupe, and I got tagged back. As I said, there are always different questions to be answered, so let's go! (But I shan't be tagging anyone this time.)

First, Bella's:

1. What movies would you recommend watching around Xmas?
An extremely old one: Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July. I must admit: it's not a good movie. It just... really reminds me of Xmas. I'd see it every year between 89 and 94... it tastes like Xmas. If you know what I mean.

2. Suggest me a good book....a comedy!
David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day - awesome! But I'm stating the obvious, it's David Sedaris.

3. What are your plans for Xmas & New Year?
Family. Which is a big deal, considering I don't see them all year long. And for 1 month, I get to lie down on the sofa with my feet up, and not do a single thing except read and wait for the meals. Boy, that's the life.

4. Resolutions for the coming year.
Travel, learn another language and start my doctorate.

5. What gifts are you giving your loved ones for this Xmas?
A book for my dad, sandals for my grandma, a blouse for my aunt, the last Harry Potter book in Portuguese for my 12-year-old cousin, Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book in English for my 16-year-old cousin, same thing for one of my best friends, one of the Percy Jackson books for another friend, chocolate for another, and... can't say the last one, cause she reads the blog! =P

6. What's your wish list for Santa?
Books, books, books.

7. Which is your fav Christmas carol?
The only one I actually know: "Holly Night". I can even play it on the piano!

8. Post a pic of yours(if you don't mind!), or your Christmas tree, church, sweets...anything but it should be something related to your real life:) 

This one was taken in 2007, right after we'd finished decorating the tree, and goes to show just how much I love Christmas! =P (Kids, don't try this at home: hugging a Christmas tree looks better than it actually feels.)

And this was the very same Christmas, but during the party itself; I was at my then-bofriend's house - and  due to some weird coincidence, both of us AND his brother were wearing red. We couldn't have looked any more Christmas-y! (I think, btw, that this is the first time you guys can actually see my face.)

And now Lupe's questions!

1. Suggest me a good book..(kept this one b/c I am trying to find something new to read)
Check.

2. What is your favorite song right now?
"Tonight, tonight", by The Smashing Pumpkins. Epicly awesome.

3. How and Who do you usually spent Christmas with?
With family - see previous #3!

4. How big or small is your family? (siblings)
Oh, just me and my dad.

5. Apart from English, do you speak another language? (if not, what language would you like to learn?)
I also speak Japanese and a little German. I wanna continue studying German and learn French and Italian - possibly Russian as well.

6.  What is your favorite past-time?
Reading and writing.

7. Is there anything special you hope to get for Christmas?
Peace. That's all I want after such a tiring year.

8. What is your favorite Christmas Cartoon? (For instace, I like Charlie Brown).
Disney's Mickey's Christmas Carol. So cute! And it made me wanna read Dickens!

Answering 8 Questions

The lovely ssdawna tagged me last month, and though I've answered some tags like these in the past, it's always fun to do it again! First because the questions vary; second because, even if the questions were the same, it doesn't follow I'd answer them the exact same way I did, say, 6 months ago. After all, we're never the same person from yesterday, right? 

I quote Plato: You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.  

AND Pocahontas, of course: You can't step in the same river twice; the water is always changing, always flowing.

(I have the feeling that quoting Plato makes me sound way more intelligent than quoting Pocahontas. Oh well.)

Anyway, I digress. Point is: here are my answers.

1. What book would you recommend we read ASAP?
Oh gods, there are just so many... I'll list a few: To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee), The Catcher in the Rye (J. D. Salinger), 1984 (George Orwell), Demian (Hermann Hesse), One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Ken Kesey), Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury). I recommend these because they make you think. I also recomment The Three Musketeers because it's my favorite book of all time! And I recommend any Jane Austen at any time of the day - I'm an incorrigible romantic - as well as any Charles Dickens.

2. When is your favorite time of day on a typical Wednesday?
Bed time. My Wednesdays are more tiring than any other day of the week.

3. How do you feel about getting/being married?
I think it must be awesome, provided you marry the right person. Looking forward to it (though I have nobody at the moment)!

4. Who knows more of your secrets than anyone else?
My friends Nicolas and Mariana.

5. Where do you go to unwind?
I go to my bedroom and grab a book. I'm nobody without a book. =P

6. Why do you get up every morning?
Sometimes I wake up simply because I've got work. Sometimes, because I'm tired of being in bed (that only happens on Sundays). Sometimes because I remember I have dreams, ambitions and passions, and I won't accomplish anything if I don't get up. But mostly, I get up every day in the hope that I'll find something worth getting up for out there.

7. What are your plans for Thanksgiving (or November 25th if you don't celebrate)?

(This question was obviously asked before Thanksgiving, and I answered it back then, though I'm only publishing it now. But it still stands.)
Well, we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here in Brazil, so I guess it's gonna be a day just like any other. It's gonna be a Thursday, so I'll get up early, teach from 7 to 10am, go back home, have lunch, read and/or write, then go back to work at 5pm and teach till 9pm.
OK, that's boring.

(And that's EXACTLY what I did. The very definition of boring, huh?)

8. Whose face would you like to spit in tomorrow if you could without any bad consequences? :]
Hehe. Nice. Weeeeell... I'd spit on many people's faces! A co-worker of mine who's simply despicable and sneaky; another co-worker who's SO shallow and futile it makes me angry; my friend's Asian girlfriend - she's a bitch (pardon my French).
But then again, I usually just ignore those people's existence, so why would I spit on their faces anyway?...
Oh! I'd spit on all the drug dealers'faces. Bastards. Go wreak havoc in Hell.

And now I tag:

beanie

MeiBelle

Lupe

Bella

Nashe^

m.ulyssea

angel

fatima

I tag some of them because I'd like to know more about them; others because I already know and like them, and would like to see their answers to my questions. Which are:

1. What movies would you recommend watching around Xmas? It's a nostalgic, sentimental time of the year, after all! 

2. And speaking of which, what are your plans for the holidays - both Xmas and New Year's Eve?

3.  How do you feel about Xmas? Are you actually celebrating the birth of Christ, or are you just in it for the food and presents? =P

4. Enough of Xmas. What do you think about right before sleeping, with your head lying on the pillow?

5. And what's your first thought when you wake up?

6. If you killed somebody, where would you bury the body? =P

7.What song do you avoid listening to, and why? (If I'm not prying, of course)

8. Is there any song that inspires you to be a better person? To dare, go places, do things? Go the distance? (Mine is "Go the Distance", from the Disney movie Hercules, LOL! I always feel like I can do ANYTHING when I listen to it!)

Bursting into song

"I hate it."
I looked at him, utterly shocked. "You... WHAT?"
"I hate movies where people burst into song, can't stand them."
"What's wrong with you?"
My friend M.H. is crazy, pft. I LOVE musicals. Can't get enough of them. And today, after I got back home from work, I decided to watch one of my fave movies ever: The Sound of Music.

It was the first musical I ever watched - well, not counting Disney classics. My parents loved to try and make me love the same movies they did - sometimes it worked, at other times not so much. But one fine night dad came home with The Sound of Music for me to watch, and I was immediately fascinated by all those people singing right and left. Not to mention the story's pretty enticing in itself, and they got some great dialogs, very witty. And I remember wanting to be like Liesl, Captain Von Trapp's eldest daughter, when I grew up.
Needless to say, I look NOTHING like a 16-year-old Austrian Girl from the 30's - with my being Brazilian and all, with native Brazilians as grandparents.
Point is: I love those singing Austrians, I really really do. And the speed at which the Von Trapp children learn how to sing never ceases to amaze me. I mean, seriously? They go up to Maria and say: "we don't know any songs, we don't even know how to sing"; then she sings the magic "Do-Re-Mi" song, and all of a sudden, they're a singing phenomenon?! Dude!!
And Rolfe, the telegram boy - could he be ANY gayer?! Nothing against it, far from it, but Liesl should've realized that guy was really not into it. The Nazi thing was just an excuse to get out of it. There's the girl, throwing herself at him, wanting to kiss him... and he pushes her aside and goes "Your life, little girl, is an empty stage...". C'mon Liesl, wake up and smell the flowers.
I love all the songs, even though the whole thing is extremely farfetched. Really: Maria and the Captain finally admit their love for each other, they kiss - it's most likely Maria's first kiss ever, and what does she do? Does she take the time to enjoy it? Nooooo, she bursts into song about her wicked childhood. I'm like "Sister, zip it! Really not the time!"

I caught myself wondering whether she sings in bed too. You know, while AT IT. I wouldn't be surprised! That must be such a turn off for the poor Cap.

But that's the thing about musicals: the burst-into-song thing rarely makes any kind of sense. I mean, no one in real life - at least no one I know - is capable of coming up with wonderful songs out of the blue, not even people who deal with music in some way or another for a living. And when the characters start DANCING together in a perfect coreography?! My eyes sparkle and all! I mean, take Grease for instance.
"What did you do over the summer?" Cue song about summer love - and in no time they're all dancing on the benches.
"Let's pimp this ride!" Cue song about the Grease Lightning, and John Travolta dancing around said car.
"I turned into a jock for you!" "And I turned into some kind of slut for you!" Cue "You're the one that I want", and they all start dancing to it.

I dare anyone to say Singing in the Rain is a bad movie. Whenever I'm really happy, I look up at the sky in the hope I'll see some drops of rain, so that I'll be able to sing and frolic in it! And whenever someones mentions anything about diction, I just wanna sing "Moses Supposes".

Do these things happen in real life? No, they do not! And that's the beauty of it! Wanna see reality? Tune to CNN then. Rio de Janeiro was all caught up in a kind of civil war last week, and things got real tense around here. We have our daily share of reality everyday - there's no harm in seeing people singing and dancing about, I don't know, getting someone else a glass of water! If everybody burst into song and danced more often, the world would be such a better place to live in. According to Fraulein Maria, all you gotta do is know the notes: "When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything!"

Taking Sweet, Sweet Revenge - Part II

Mrs. Magdalen and her husband were retired, and lived in a really nice house, with a really nice income. Nevertheless, perhaps just to remain a productive member of society, the evil lady used to make potato chips to sell. She used to make them chips in a tiny room on the second floor; from my balcony, I could see her sometimes, through her open window. The only thing separating our houses was a wall, on top of which they'd put some barbed wire.

My house - and the party wall with the barbed wire.

One day, I saw them going out in their car. That meant: visiting their children and grandchildren. And that meant: out all day.
I got 2 boys for the job: T., aka Chuck, (the first boy to have ever wooed me and taken me out on a date) and J., whom I had known all my life. I had a love/hate relationship with him.
And both boys were always up to any kind of mischief.
J. stood guard outside. Chuck and I walked on the parapet of the balcony, then went over to the party wall; the barbed wire was not a problem; then, he grabbed the window sill and pulled himself into the room. I followed his example (he helped me, for I was considerably weaker). We looked around.
There were piles and piles of potatoes, and several big boxes filled with bags of potato chips, ready for sale. A lot of newspapers - she used to dry the chips in those - and a machine, that I assumed had a vital role in the making of the aforementioned snack. I find myself nowadays utterly incapable of describing said machine - I just remember thinking it resembled my mom's sewing machine enormously.

Huh. Perhaps it WAS a sewing machine, now that I think of it. But what would it be doing in the Potato Room?!
I shall never be able to understand Mrs. Magdalen's Evil Ways.

Chuck dismantled some parts of the machine and hid them around, while I scattered kilos and kilos of potatoes all over the stairs - they rolled pretty nicely, thudding all the way down. We tore all the newspapers into little pieces, throwing them all around and out the window.
Finally, the potato chips. After some quick debate, we settled on taking them all with us.
We called J., and told him to go back to my balcony. Then, we spent at least half an hour just handing ALL the bags of chips over to him.
Chuck and I got out of the House of Evil the same way we'd gotten in. From the balcony, we could see hundreds of potatoes that had rolled their way into the yard. We took the booty to my bedroom, and split it three ways.
A while later, we went to the living room and watched a couple of movies, while eating an awful lot of chips.
We were still there when we heard Mrs. Magdalen's car pulling into the garage. In no time she rang our bell. I answered the door, polite as all hell:
"Oh, hi Mrs. Magdalen, how are you?"
"Oh child, I'm a mess! Could I talk to your mother?"
"Sure, hold on a sec! Moooooooom!"
***
My mom: "Oh, hi Mrs. Magdalen, how are you?". (I'm very much like my mother.)
Mrs. Magdalen: "My house! It's a mess! Somebody was in there!"
My mom: "What do you mean? Did they steal anything?"
Mrs. Magdalen: "No, I don't think so! Have you seen anyone around here today? One of those awful kids, maybe?"
My mom: "I'm so sorry, I haven't! Let me ask R. Honey," she turned to me, still on the sofa with J. and Chuck "have you guys seen anyone entering Mrs. Magdalen's?"
I shook my head. "We were upstairs, sorry..."
We resumed our movie - none of us laughed or even smiled for even a second. We were the perfect image of innocence. Eventually, she went back home, and we heard a good deal of sweeping. I also noticed she didn't sell a lot of potato chips for a couple of weeks.
And it never occurred to her to suspect R., the kid next door. I just happened to be the most well-behaved kid in the goodamn neighborhood. Who wished everyone a good morning and a good evening, said "please" and "thank you" and inquired after their family's well-being. The one with her nose stuck in a book at all times. The mere idea of THAT kid doing something like that was ridiculous.

I spent the entire following month eating chips at school. And then, it took me a year to eat any kind of chips again. At least I saved up lunch money, and bought the new Backstreet Boys CD with my savings, plus many second-hand Agatha Christie books. Double victory! *thumbs up*

I moved to another city at the end of that year, and never saw her again - even though I still go back there every now and then, to see the friends I left behind. They tell me she's terribly sick, possibly dying. My reaction? Honestly?? I shrugged. We all did. I don't revel in her current condition, but I don't care either.

As for my revenge... it was childish and petty. Measly. I did not get Rolf back, nor Victor Hugo. She'd lost no one dear to her (well, what was I to do, feed lead to her grandchildren?!).
Nonetheless, I'd done SOMETHING. That was all I could ask for.

                                Rolf and I.

Taking Sweet, Sweet Revenge - Part I

I was going through some old pics the other day, and bumped into an album full of me and Rolf, my old Labrador. I couldn't stop staring at all those images: I felt nostalgic (the beer I was having after a long stressful day possibly helped).
I got Rolf when I was 6, and he was the size of my hand. By the time I was 7, he was the size of a pony.
Not that I've ever seen a pony. My parents wouldn't give me one; according to them, it was expensive and we lived nowhere near a farm. Pft. Lame excuses.
He grew up really fast, and I couldn't play with him anymore - not without getting hurt. Like all Labradors, he was as goofy as he was huge, and completely unaware of how strong he was.
When I was 12 we'd established a routine: when I left for school, at noon, he would come running from the back of the house and jump all over me - guess it was his way of saying goodbye! And his way of saying hello, too, for he greeted me the exact same way when I arrived at 6pm.
One day, I was leaving in a hurry - mom had taken longer than usual making lunch, and so I was slightly late. In order not to miss the bus, I ran - but in the back of my mind, the feeling of something missing. What, I could not pinpoint.
I got back home at the usual time, took a shower, and went up to my bedroom to read and wait for dinner - as usual. Then, much to my astonishment, my mom comes in, sits in my chair and stares at me with red eyes. I waited.
I have to say: mom was pretty dramatic. She used to make endless storms in teeny tiny puddles; so I simply assumed she had come for another "much ado about nothing" session.
She hadn't, though.
"Rolf died this morning."
I stared at her, speechless.
She went on: she'd found him that morning, and didn't wanna say anything to me before school. As soon as I was gone, she called the vet, and he took Rolf away.
I realised, then, what had been missing that morning. And also why it had taken her so long to make me lunch.
I don't recall having cried so much in any other point of my childhood.
As I've had the opportunity to mention in another post, my dad rented "Dr. Dolittle" that night, in an attempt to make me forget Rolf. The only thing he accomplished with that was a double trauma.
The vet told us Rolf had died due to lead poisoning. He'd eaten it.
And we all instantly knew who'd done it: Mrs. Magdalen. The evil lady next door.
(P.S.: in Brazil, we refer to other people by their first names, and not their last names. Hence, Mrs. Magdalen.)
She hated all kinds of pets, and had already killed my friend's dog, and blinded that same friend's turtle. She was pure evil, and I swore she'd pay for that. Some day.
Yes, I was a dramatic teenager.

Fast forward 3 years. I had this gorgeous Balinese cat named Victor Hugo (me and my dad are Literature nerds), and he had the most beautiful blue eyes in cat history. He was also very poised and disdainful, like all cats. But I loved him, and always let him sleep in my bed, despite my high allergy to cat fur!

Suddenly, he disappeared for many a day, and I cried again.
One fine morning, I was in our terrace, from where I could see Mrs. Magdalen's roof; and what do you think I saw?
Yep, that's right. Victor Hugo's little body, clearly inanimate, and surrounded by raw meat. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was in that meat. And there was only one person who could've put the meat there.
My friend - the one who'd had her dog killed the same way as mine and her turtle blinded - told me her two cats had also met their fate on Mrs. Magdalen's roof.

I knew, then, the time had come for me to avenge Rolf and all his kindred.

I was 15, and thus did my life of misdemeanours start.

Ok, maybe I'm still a little overdramatic.

(To be continued...)

The House of Evil

Being 25 Years Old

Huh. Funny you should mention me - I was just thinking about you the other day!
I woke up on Thursday, and it was that day we both look forward to the entire year; we were no longer 24, but 25. And I instantly knew that whatever was coming was gonna be great.
I thought of you as I left my house. I thought of you because, on my way to work, there was this beautiful sunrise, with these golden clouds tearing an outrageously blue sky, and casting golden shadows on the ocean. And (for the first time in a while) I thought to myself how breathtakingly gorgeous Rio can be. And I remembered you - you, who used to say that you'd never want to live in Rio; you, who hated big towns.
I know you don't like being told that (even nowadays, you still kind of don't, unfortunately), but you were wrong.
This may sound like crazy talk to you, but you actually enjoy living in a big city now; you enjoy the feeling of walking amidst the crowd, and yet, being alone with your thoughts. And just like a cheap profile on a dating website, you enjoy long walks on the beach and feeling small when you stand beside the ocean.
Don't get me wrong: you still love your hometown, and you hope to raise your chidren there. Just... not yet.
And speaking of children, I'm sorry: you're not getting married at 25. You seem to be quite far from it, actually! But it matters not, trust me. I know that's what every adult says, but I do know better.
By the age of 25 you'll have done things you never thought you would - good things and bad things. But all of them added something to you, and you'll find you can be a pretty fast learner, when you set your mind to it.  You'll know things you never thought you would. However, you won't have gone to Greece at 18. But you will go someday, I'll make sure of that.
And I'm sorry sweetie, but you'll no longer have a mother when you get to my age. But your dad's still here, and he loves you above everything else. Just like he's always done; it doesn't really matter to him whether you get Math or not.
That school you're still slightly scared of, that's where you're gonna have some of the best time of your life! A piece of advice? Go to the library. I know, you're enormously afraid of talking to strangers, specially adults, they intimidate you. Well... cut it out. That library's gonna be one of your best friends, and your world will get much bigger in there. I know you want to. Don't be afraid; besides, the librarian Gisele is quite the nice lady!
Don't you worry about your friend M. She'll remain your best friend for the years to come. She'll continue being the best friend one could ever hope for. In fact, she's just left your place, after having spent this Sunday afternoon with you, over pizza and movies.
And I really do wish you'd ignore that Carol girl. Yes, she's already got boobs at 11, but in a few years she'll be dieting maniacally to be as thin as you. Also, you're gonna speak English reasonably well in a near future; you'll even make a living out of it. By the way, have I mentioned that, yes, you ARE a teacher?
More advice for you: being intelligent is important, you're right; but being kind is essential, don't you forget that. And try to work on that bad temper of yours, will ya? Those things don't work out magically by themselves just because you're an adult. Gotta work for it.
Go to school now, stop neglecting your Math homework (yes, I know, it sucks) and rest assured that everything's gonna be alright - just not the way you thought it would.
I'll be waiting for you here.

Sunday Rambling

There were so many things that crossed my mind this week, and I resolved quite a few times: "Ok, now that's what I shall post on!". Unfortunately, the moment always faded away, and I didn't feel like writing about that anymore - sometimes I even forgot what I'd decided to write about.

So instead, I'm trying a miscellaneous today. Shall we?

***

This week I went to a store to have some texts I needed printed. I was wearing a cleavage.

The guy gave me a huge discount, and instead of paying R$48, I paid R$22. 

No one ever gives me discounts when I'm wearing overalls, my Kurt Cobain-y flannel shirt or my baggy pants. Huh.

I should rethink my dressing code.

***

Does anyone here remember, perhaps, the Matthew Shepard's funeral incident in 98? Well, just a reminder: the 21-year-old student was tortured and beaten up to death due to his being gay. Then, the hideous Westboro Baptist Church showed up in order to picket at his funeral,  saying the boy was burning in Hell, and carrying signs that said "God Hates Fags". Smooth. 

These guys are known for protesting against gay people, Jews (they went as far as saying Jews are the real Nazis. Nice.), any other religion, Chinese, black people, American soldiers, amongst many other things.

They're basically Mel Gibson.

I think I read somewhere that KKK has denied any kind of connection with them. Not sure if it's true, but if it is... that's rock bottom for ya.

Well, didn't I read this week they'll be picketing in front of San Diego Comic Con this year! They already have signs saying "God Hates Nerds". Apparently, us nerds worship comic book characters as if they were idols. Ha! 

Have you guys ever heard of a more non-threatening people than nerds?? A fountain pen could probably do, single-handedly, way more harm than five scores of us together, seriously. All you gotta do is wave a Darth Vader action figure in front of us. Mint condition, still in the box.

Besides, I do not worship comic book characters as if they were gods. Pff, I know they don't exist, hello! 

I worship Neil Gaiman. His existence's already been proved beyond doubt, I believe.

***

Speaking of Darth Vader: here's a list that goes to show how badly most of us nerds are in dire need of a social life, and how much we dearly dearly love Star Wars.

We should totally get a life. Or laid.

***

Who here's into soccer?

One of Brazil's biggest soccer teams is Flamengo - which I hate, btw, for me and my entire family support Flamengo's historical adversary, Fluminense. A much much classier team, that has seen better times, I must confess.

Aaaaanyway, the country's been in an uproar this past month over Flamengo's goalie, Bruno: his ex-lover Eliza, mother of his youngest child (and ugly as all hell), misteriously disappeared along with her child, and the police were looking into it. The girl had demanded a DNA test, in order to prove Bruno was indeed the child's father.

Bruno made a statement to some papers (brown press, I should add) saying the girl was no saint, and that they'd met during an orgy. Hey, don't judge him! According to him, every footballer has orgies galore!

The baby was eventually found, but still no sign of Eliza.

Suddenly, they discovered why: she'd been chopped into pieces and fed to Bruno's dogs. Rotwaillers, if I'm not mistaken. Classy. Bruno and his accomplices have been arrested for the murder.

Now he worries that this might affect his chances of playing for Brazil in the 2014 World Cup.

A guy who sees the big picture, no doubt.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/10565346

http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/worldcup/2010-07-07-bruno-souza-arrest-warrant_N.htm

Such a scandal has never occurred to any Fluminense player. Just saying.

Have a nice Sunday folks!

Fishing, Bleeding and Forgetting

My brother called me tonight, ordering me to go out with him and his friends for a beer, invitation I happily accepted.

We were on the very corner of my street, at a famous bar there is around here, sitting on a low wall and drinking. Right next to us, there was this guy fishing. Which is really common, fishing is really popular in this neighborhood.

Every fish the guy happened to catch we'd celebrate - not noisily, though, cause that would've been annoying. Discreetly.

Suddenly, he caught this huge horrible blowfish.

For those who do not know, the blowfish is highly poisonous, and therefore not edible. In order to eat it, you gotta cut it in a veeeeery specific way, with a special technique, and all.

We wondered whether the guy would take the blowfish home - if he had, we'd have been afraid for him: he didn't look like he had the special techinique to cut particularly poisonous fish! 

But the guy showed right away he had no interest in taking it home, and so proceeded to try and take the hook off the fish's mouth. My friends got back to talking, but I just couldn't take my eyes off the fish - it just struggled so much!

There's this line in Nirvana's song Something in the Way that goes: "It's okay to eat fish, cause they don't have any feelings."

I beg your pardon? Kurt had obviously never seen what I witnessed tonight. The pain the blowfish was in was so freaking obvious I almost cried.

Eventually, the guy managed to take the hook off, and threw the fish back in the sea - and I breathed at last.

But not for long. The struggle had left its mark on the wall: a huge puddle of blood.

Well, when I say "huge", I use the term loosely; but the puddle was more than half the fish's size. Relatively speaking, it was huge - can you imagine a puddle of your own blood that's more than half of your size? That's a lot!

And for the rest of the night, I couldn't look at anything else.
It was violently red, and impossibly thick, and it just stayed there, reminding me vaguely of chocolate fudge.

My brother was giving his usual speech about politics, and I stared at the blood; one of his friends played the guitar - beautifully, I should say - and I stared at the blood. We talked about the World Cup, while I stared at the blood the entire time. I just couldn't take my eyes off of it.

I've always had problems with blood - not mine, though. I can break or scrape any part of my body, bleed through my nose, and be fine with it. I have no problems with looking at my own blood. (Well, I AM a woman after all! If I had problems with bleeding, I'd be in for some serious therapy).

Other people's blood, however, oh, that's a whole other story! And that includes fish's blood.

The fisher guy was fine; my brother and his friends were fine; why was I the only one who cared?

I finally got upset that I was the only one who gave a damn. But I still couldn't stop thinking about the fish.

The blood will be quickly washed away with the next rain. And no one will see that someone suffered there, no one will be able to tell.

I hate the fact that everything can be easily washed away. Even suffering. As if pain were that easy to erase from one's memory.

It's silly, really, but I guess I just... sympathized with the blowfish.

Getting a Ride

You ever had one of those days when everything, absolutely everything, simply works out wonderfully?

I had one this week - it started up unexpectedly well, and it went on on that exact same note - I finished it up watching The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, on which I just have to write later.

I should tell you, from the get-go, that I am utterly incapable of getting anywhere on time. I'm always late for stuff. That's how the Universe works, and who am I to go against it?
I have a class to teach at 7 o'freaking clock in the morning, and I gotta leave home at 6:35, tops, in order to take the 6:40 bus. If I miss it, I'll be irrevocably late for work. And that day, I left home at 6:38. Oh, the drama!... I ran.
Little problem: I have very small feet, and some of the shoes I buy are sometimes a little too large for me. And as Murphy's Laws are sovereign in Life, both of my shoes decided to come off while I was running.

I stopped, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, went back and got my shoes. When I looked again, I could see the bus leaving in the distance. "Fuck." An understatement. As I resumed my walk, I was the very picture of despair. And then, to my great surprise, I hear a car honking right next to me: it's a taxi. The cabby, a very nice young man, signalizes for me to come closer and says "C'mon, I'll give you a ride! We'll catch that bus for ya!".
I'd like to say I declined the offer, or that I at least hesitated; that would've been, I guess, the smart thing to do, it's what our mothers tell us to do. Sorry to say, I did neither: I immediately took him up on his offer, and got in the car.
Why? Many reasons, I guess. One, I was desperate; two, his taxi actually belonged to a taxi company, so that made me feel safe - don't ask me why.
But I'm lying.
I didn't feel safe at all - for it never occurred to me to be afraid, which is the main reason why I got in the car.
People who have been reading my blog for a while might've noticed I'm an atheist. Not the kind that goes around bashing religion as a whole, mind. I simply... have no personal creeds, when it comes to religion. So instead, I just try to be good on my own.
And while I don't believe in any Sacred Book (though I don't disbelieve them, either), I do believe in people. All the way.
Because doubting is simply too easy - it's instinctive, it comes with the territory of being human. Believing, now that's a much harder task. So I always give people a chance. Yeah, I'm in for some let downs every now and then, so what? I think that people are completely capable of random acts of kindness.
Guess I'm a 21st century Blanche DuBois, huh? I've always relied on the kindness of strangers.
My BFF got lost once, when she was living in England. Not only did she lose the money for the bus fare, but she also had no idea what bus to take. So this random woman helped her, giving her information and money.
Okay, I'm guessing that the bus fare wasn't that expensive, but still.
Her mother says it was a guardian angel. I say it was a human being, showing us once again that there's a good side to us all - all we gotta do is give ourselves a chance.
Besides, the bus fare can't have been that expensive, c'mon!
Bottom line is: this cabby came out of nowhere and gave me a ride; he sped up and, taking a shortcut, was able to actually arrive at the other bus stop before the bus itself. And as I was trying to find my breath to thank him once again, he smiled and said: "Hey, no big deal, I'm going that way anyway! Besides, you looked so hopeless out there, I had to do something."
Knight-in-shining-armor-complex much? Guess the white horses of yore have converted themselves into yellow cabs! Doesn't matter, awfully nice of him anyway.
I mean, the guy lives off of charging people to get a ride in his car - but he went out of his way to give me a free one. Yeah, okay, he went out of his way only metaphorically, for he had to go that way - it's kind of a one-way out neighborhood. Still, he didn't have to give me that ride. Because of him, I managed to arrive on time.
One might argue that I'm a reasonably good-looking girl, and that I was wearing a skirt that day, and very nice stockings. One might wonder whether he would've given me a ride had I been ugly and with a poor fashion sense.
But I like to think he would've.
This is, I guess, as close to a creed as any. 

Taking a Vacation

I need a vacation from blogging... Too many blogs to read at the same time - and then looking at the screen, with no ideas... this is a horrible feeling.

So, vacations! That's what life's all about anyway: giving yourself time off. I need a month of not writing posts, not reading posts, not going to blogging communities and certainly NOT moderating comments. So while I'm away, everyone's free to comment whatever strikes their fancy.

I'll be back when the dust settles. In a better mood! And with a post worth reading! =)

Dedicating: To A Pengwee!

First of all: Happy Easter everyone! Hope the bells from Rome have brought you a whole lotta chocolate! I got some from my students and family, so you're reading one happy gal's blog!

Now: this post is dedicated to this adorable pengwee I've met during my roamings in this blogging world. A pengwee I've come to like very very much (how could one not?!), and to whom I wish nothing but the best - and nothing this pengwee does not deserve.

Beware, though: it's a blurry pengwee, so I hope it's always careful, otherwise...

... it might trip, you know!








Besides being blurry, it's also a little psycho (I know someone who says so anyway)!

It matters not: it's still cute as all hell. 







 Soon, it'll be like this:

And then like this!

I just really hope it never gets like this:

Cus you know what?

Even if they do not exist in Rio de Janeiro.

Reviewing A Review

Roaming through IMDB, my BFF stumbled into this wonderful film review - she was looking for Tim Burton movies, and unfortunately, this is what she found! Or... fortunately?! I mean, we couldn't have gone on with our lives not knowing about this. The movie itself is worthy of attention - but the review... it was written by "animaging", from The United States - whom, I'm guessing, was in the habit of skipping a whooole lotta English classes!.He lacks grammar, spelling, punctuation and... story-telling skills in general. But he's a very obliging person: he explains why the scenes are funny or the actors "work so well together". He explains everything - except for the movie itself. And his parenthesis, which he uses loosely. Hence, I saw it as my duty to bring this to my faithful 19 readers. I realize it's a huge post, but I didn't see what more I could write off, really. I stuck only to the essential - believe you me! So read this if you've got some good 20 minutes to spare. But you won't regret it: this movie involves surfers, cat fight (I mean, between women. Not real cats, you know), misterious Businessmen, a GURU, zombies and a flying head. Yeah. A flying head. A famous flying head. (Cue drum roll).

animaging, a tip: when a foreigner criticizes your English - you, who seems to be American... man, that's just rock bottom for ya. 

On to the review of the movie Luau.

(animaging's review are in bold and italic, with my comments right below.) 

What makes a "cult classic" is that to the average public nobody would know the actors in this movie!
Really? That's what makes a "cult classic"??

But, what the public doesn't know is that these actors do know each other and it plays out well here. Bob, beach comer, (Mike Gabriel), you made this film a hit you were well cast and really great! Especially, (Sue Kroyer) bouncing around during the titles, some really old, 60's worn film out of focus stuff.
Well I'm guessing, by the name LUAU, that it all takes place on a beach - hence, I assume all the characters are beach comers, not only Bob. But hey, I might be out on a limb here, of course! And why's Sue Kroyer's name in parenthesis?! And why was she "bouncing around during the titles"?? How disturbing... 

Really the main story point hovers on the beach GURU guy "Kahuna", (Phil Young), who at the Luau Party becomes dis drought [sic] over the same "Luau" parties all the time and wants to make a big change for himself. "Man! It's just one big gigantic brain fry!" Kahuna,(Phil) proclaims. He now declares that he will be known as "Vladamir [sic] Moon face Junior"! It is an epiphany for him!
As I read this sentence, I could hear a thousand English teachers cringing all over the world... first of all, as one reads on, one realizes that this Kahuna guy is so not the main story point... In fact, the whole story seems pointless... and animaging also fails to explain why Kahuna is a GURU. And... why he decides to be called "Vladamir Moon face Junior". (I think, I THINK, he was going for Vladimir, but never mind that, so many things to mention, this one is a lesser evil...). Talk about random, hu? Well, since there's a "junior" in the end of the name, the only possible logical conclusion is that this is his father's name as well.  Not that logical conclusions apply here. Icing on the cake: that's his epiphany. Virgina Woolf is certainly shedding a proud tear somewhere...

Watching My Brother Get Mugged...

(With this one, I officially end the "Mugging Stories Cycle"...)

Apparently, my good luck does not extend itself to those around me... but the danger magnet that I seem to be continues working nonetheless...

2008. My brother I. had gone downtown to see his father, and I met him there afterwards; we were headed for this huge bookstore we like. But a problem soon arose: he rarely goes downtown, and didn't remember where the bookstore was; I, on the other hand, am always downtown, but have been cursed - like most of my gender - with the utmost lack of sense of direction.

Hence, there we were, completely lost and trying not to look it. But I gotta do justice to my brother: he always looks cool - blazé, really. As if he had not a care in the entire world.
It was high noon, the main avenue was positively crawling with people, and we stoped at a corner to try and come up with a plan. As Julia Roberts would say: big mistake. Huge.
Now: my brother is tall and handsome, but almost as skinny as myself; his glasses only enhance his extremely non-threatening vibe; top it off with my being short, skinny and looking a little dumb, and we were as far from being an intimidating pair as possible.
An enormous guy, much bigger than the two of us together, got really close to us before we'd even noticed and said to I., in this really low voice:
"You're gonna act like you know me and shake my hand." And out loud:
"Hey man, 'sup?!"
I stared, dumbfounded; I., however, thinks quicker than I do. He shook the hand the mugger had offered him, warmly:
"Hey man, long time no see!"
"I know! Hey, cool watch!"
The watch my brother's father had brought him from Italy.
Low voice again: "Now you're gonna take it off your arm and give it to me."
My brother did not hesitate, and not losing his "oh, I'm so glad we ran into each other!" look for a second, he took off the watch and gave it to the mugger, coolly:
"Nice, huh? Take a look!"
"Yeah, lemme see..."
The mugger examined the watch very naturally, with an indifferent appreciative look; all around us, people passing by, unaware. Then, putting the watch in his own pocket, said in his low voice:
"Now hug me and say goodbye."
I., hugging him: "Listen man, we gotta go now - but hey, call me alright? We gotta hang out sometime!"
The mugger then assured him he would, smiled at me, as one might smile at a friend's little sister whom they don't actually know very well, and left. Walking in the calmest of paces.

When we finally lost sight of the guy, my brother turned to me, looking extremely amused, and asked:
"What the hell just happened here?"
I ventured a smile, a little amused myself.
"Well... he took your Italian watch, that's what happened!"
He smiled back, put his arm around me and said casually, while we walked away:
"Well, it's just a watch. Besides sis, he didn't take it; he earned it! Fuck, that was awesome! Hats off to him, he can have my watch alright!"

(Not) Being Mugged III

Third time around: 2009

This time I think it was much more stupid than anything else... but like I always say: no pain, no gain. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And all the other clichés of the sort.
Well, I was right across from my work at night, waiting for the bus after a long long day of endless teaching. The bus stop is right in front of this huge supermarket, which was still open and crowded at 10pm. The bus stop itself was full of people, but I remained a little far from them - like, 3 meters away. Holding my backpack, looking tired and listening to music in my iPod (safely in my pocket).

This guy, a little bit taller than me, stood right in front of me looking pissed, and said something to me. Since I was listening to music, I only saw his jaw moving up and down; not that it mattered, I knew perfectly well the message he was trying to convey, by the look on his face! Unmistakable, really.
Nonetheless, I pretended not to get what he wanted, and not to be worried about it. It was real fast thinking, and I've always prided myself on having quick reflexes (I'm just not sure they're the right ones all the time...). Looking nonchalant, I took off the headphones, looked at him cooly and asked:
"I beg your pardon?"
"Gimme your mobile."
What IS UP with these people and my mobile anyway?! Let it go!
I had a better cell phone then; it still didn't have bluetooth nor camera, but it was cuter, and it didn't fall apart every time you held it.
I wondered why he wanted my cell phone, since I was clearly in the possession of some kind of mp3 player. But then it hit me: he obviously thought I had one of those fancy mobiles, that play music, take pics, make coffee and fry hamburgers. He thought I was listening to music on my mobile. The minute I handed him my really not-at-all-fancy cell, he'd realize I had something else that played music, and would demand it too.
He could even take my humble cell - but NOT my iPod nano!
I looked at him: not much taller than me, really thin and shirtless. And he either had no gun or he wasn't happy to see me. He was obviously trying to rob me using only the intimidation factor: "Yeah, okay, she's a skinny tiny little girl, all alone and looking meek. I'll intimidate her and get her money or whatever!".
Buddy, sorry to break it to you, but I really think I could take you!
The guy was like 5 cm taller than me! I'm a 5'1''; if I were intimidated by taller people, I'd never leave home. Besides, my quick reckless thinking told me there was nothing that this undersized man could do to me right next to a whole bunch of people and an open crowded supermarket.
All of that crossed my mind in a sec. So I immediately turned to him:

"Sure. Where's your gun?"
He had not seen that one coming.
"What?"
"Where. Is. Your gun?"
He looked even more pissed. But his quick thinking told him the same thing mine had: people all around. And also: "She's got a point, you know. You have NO gun."
He stared at me, and I stared back - hey, I'm great at this game. I'm never the first one to look away.

He gave up after 5 seconds, and walked away, still glancing back at me sometimes.
Big-eyed, I got closer to the other people at the bus stop - almost sitting on their laps, really, while my quick thinking yelled at me: "You're so goddamn stupid, what the hell's your problem?!"
"Hey!" I answered "YOU told me to do that!"
It sighed. "We need some serious help. We gotta get over this Rin Tin Tin complex."

Agreed.

Looking For A Book (Whilst Being Outrageously Adorable)

This was me yesterday, before I finally stumbled into my copy of Dumas' The Vicomte of Bragelonne.
Except for the fact that not even I can look that ridiculously cute.

(from http://icanhascheezburger.com/)

Now that's my kinda cat!
Pics like that make me feel like Elmira, from Tiny Toons...
Have a nice weeked y'all! (Why am I being Texan?...)