I EFFIN HATE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

...and love it at the same time. First off, let's all wait for the can of sardines to be fully packed. All seats occupied PLUS around 10 people standing, holding on from those sweaty, greasy little attempts at anorexic stripper poles. Once full, the bus lazily starts rolling. This is a temporary excruciatingly slow speed, soon it is time for the driver to dare others, preferably cabs, to see who makes it first to the traffic light. Whenever a curve appears, the whole bus tilts to a side, making me feel it will fall on the side, windows crashing and blood spilling, the traffic laws be damned.

The chit chat inside is interesting at times, mostly gossip about people and places that the rest of the users don't know. The criminal pages of the newspaper too "Can you believe this? Where is this going to end?" how that news anchor that today appears to be so elegantly dressed started out speaking terribly, curling her back, seemingly trying to hide inside her jacket from the camera, like an awkward turtle. The same song keeps playing, the five minute long cumbia the driver just adores.

Half of the trip is very nice, a woman in her mid fourties hugs her bag next to me, her thigh just a couple of inches away from mine, both sharing a harmless, cozy warmth. Some people start coming down, the environment improves significantly, some seats are now free, except that huge box the girl reading a book has sitting next to her. A woman asks her to move the box, so she can sit. Book girl refuses, visibly offended. Right across, two people offer to squeeze themselves to the sides, so the woman can sit. Book girl doesn't find out, she is, again, paying close attention to her literature piece.

As the red light stops the traffic of our lane, a man asks permission to the driver to come up without paying. He soon starts reciting what must be an already memorized speech "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, I am here not to intimidate, not to mug, not to harm, not to steal, I have done so in the past and payed my debt to society with five years and two months of prison, I now find myself unemployed, so I am not intimidating, I am not menacing, I am begging you please gift me a couple of coins so I can buy candy and sell it for a profit. I am clean now and only wish to make an honest living. God bless you, miss. Thank you, sir. If any of you have friends or family members who suffer from alcoholism or drug addiction, please aid them, as they will lead themselves to a dark hole, to crime, to despair, to prison or a dirty rehab house, which is hell on earth. For the love of god, help them. God bless you all" he comes down after collecting the coins right after the next traffic light.

Soon, the woman in her fourties exits the bus, and Fatso McIdon'tknowwhatpersonalspaceis sits next to me, pressing his adipose extremities against mine every time the bus takes a curve or accelerates, which is often. His temperature is getting on my nerves, as the sun decides to aid him, they both soon make me sweat. I press myself against the window to avoid any contact, in exchange finding the glass and metal a lot more hot. And a lot less disgusting to touch. Fortunately, the bus is half empty, and before I ask Fatso to let me stand so I can sit elsewhere, he leaves the bus and my life forever.

Speed bumps make the bosoms of all female passengers jump to the ceiling, or at least to try. Then there is a healthy sideways shake, it is almost a choreography, it is almost as if the bus wanted to make sure those are real flesh and fat lumps, nothing else.

The bus is nearly empty, a man comes in to be transported no more than two streets, must be terribly lazy, or get very tired very fast. Next to come down is a girl with a limp. One of her legs is thinner, shorter and curved in a way that makes most other passengers cringe. She takes a lot more time than others to climb down the steps, making some drivers behind start yelling and honking their horns. The driver, either used to this girl or simply more efficient at empathy than the drivers, soon invites them to stick a phallus up their rectums. I smile, the girl does too, limping away.

Finally I announce I am going to leave the bus to head home, of course, two streets before, of course, the driver stops two streets ahead. Thank god I am not there anymore.

Taking shape

The Egyptian jewelry is the first thing she notices. The crown particularly. As well as a heavy necklace and some bracelets. "Say" says Gabriellina "Those are pretty! And I bet heavy, could I take them off your hands as a favor so you don't have to carry them home?" "Good try, but I prefer money to nothing" replies the girl. Gabriellina decides to start a little chat, it derives to "Gaga" "What?" the saleswoman is perplex and blinks "Gaga is the sound most babies make when they try to talk" "Oh, you have kids?" the woman is interested. "Not right now, but maybe some day! And I would love to have an heirloom, you know? Some inheritance to give them" "Alright, I see. Name your firstborn after me, Imam, and take the crown" "and necklace and bracelets?" "Sure, sure" then she thinks to herself "They were rubbish brought by the waves anyways"

The crown fits perfectly! Now what she needs is a dress, so she goes to the appropriate people.

*What kind of dress to pick?
*To get it, make a friend, see if they'll give it to you?
*Steal?
*Do them a favor?
*Get a job, hippy?

Merchandise

The women curse and growl under their breaths, the homeless demon is just a speck of gray lost in the horizon now. Gabriellina doesn't let the mood sink, smiles and asks what is for sale. One of the women knows the speech and smiling, says: "Necklaces and rings! Finest Silk and Cotton Dresses! Armor to keep you safe and fashionable! Weapons for the lady on the go! Purses and bags and stuff!"

Two women sell jewels: One of the sparkly stone kind, the other pure polished metals, that range from delicate thin accessories to heavy Egyptian royalty like decorations. Three sell clothes: One sells cotton dresses for heavy duty home makers, the other sells swimsuits, long, short and skimpy, the last sells fine silks fit for a duchess. Queens wear way more fabric than that. The girl who sells armor has a nice style: her armor accentuates the curves and has tiny sharp spikes in key places. The tall, muscular smith had the cutest blades, engraved with floral patterns. Finally the girls who sold purses had mostly just... purses, though also big bags "You never know what you might need to conceal or dispose of" she winked.

It is, in deed, a rich collection of all the aforementioned merchandise. Many of them catches our heroine's attention, and she is ready to try them on, until one of the women stops her. "Do you have money?" "Why... no, I do not" All she has is her fish jewelry, but that is not going to go, it is too valuable, sentimentally speaking. And it is also just fish leftovers. She looks at the women and thinks "I need to convince them to give me all this for free"

*What to pick and how to get it?
*Make friends, promises?

Digging

"I'm Gabriellina, but you can call me awesome~" she blinks adorably "Now, who of you has a pair of steel gauntlets"

One of the vendors raises her hand "I can give you them for FREE if you let me slap the guy" The hobo seems offended and says "Oh yes she makes armor, but look at her! So thin! It mustn't be that good. I mean, you would be flattering her saying she has an A cup" The vendor yells "HOW DARE YOU?!" but the hobo continues "That one has a lovely singing voice but her thighs are full of purple veins, and that one over there, she has a cute face, but her voice breaks windows, not in a good way. It's like listening to a drunk donkey whining"


The vendor hands Gabriellina a pair of steel gauntlets "Slap him hard" Gabriellina digs out the devil form the sand, managing to stay clean and pretty. The hobo immediately runs to avoid the angry stares of the women, who chase him to no avail. They tell Gabriellina how offended they are, so after promising she'll bring justice, our heroine dresses up and goes to chase the devil homeless guy.

*Should she follow the devil?
*Or should she stay and befriend the vendors?

Market

There is a group of women surrounding something in the sand. Our heroine gets close enough to see. The women are burying a hobo up to the neck, in the sand.



"HELLO~!" says our girl "I have new jewelry! One of a kind and custom made!" She twirls to show off and strikes a pose. The hobo whistles "Stunning" That makes our heroine giggle and strike another pose, smiling wide. "Could you -ahem- help?" says the man. Our girl clears her throat. "Beautiful jewelry... could you help me?" "What is wrong?"

A woman answers: "This man was peeking under our skirts, pretending his tail had a mind of its own, he also lifted them"

"Help me out of here, I'll getcha the best dresses ever" says the hobo.

Dresses! Our girl looks at the group: they have blankets extended on the sand with different products. "Do you have nice things? Pretty things to make me prettier?"

They all sell different things: accessories, dresses, shoes, pants, skirts and even armor. One of them asks her for her name.

*What vendors to choose and what to ask them for?
*What is her name?
*Will she help the hobo?

Soup

She lets her pet eat the fish. It's her beloved pet and companion, she would never think to hurt it. Not while there were other options for food anyways. She collects the bones, fins and head, cleans the pelican drool and puts them in a pot with water, salt and some seaweeds. She drinks the soup and burps. "How unladylike, hee hee" she thinks.

To feel more like a lady she decides to dry the remaining fins and bones and make jewelry:

She honestly thinks she looks stunning... such a shame there is nobody there to witness her amazingness... maybe she should go out and find someone! She locks the door to her hut: a completely useless act -not only does she not have any valuables in her hut, the windows have no glasses nor curtains. Anyways, she goes out and walks along the shoreline until she sees some people.

Who to talk to, a man or a woman? All at once?

How to address them? Friendly? Valiantly? Flauntingly?

Keep going

So, we have a woman who lives in the beach and is hungry.

She knows only the beach, her small hut and the sea. She ran out of coconuts two days ago, she broke her net so she has no fish and she has been making sand cakes, though she doesn't quite like the taste of them, but she thinks they are pretty so she makes them and piles them up. Her pet pelican has caught fresh fish today, though. Any other given day, this woman would not really mind, and let her pelican eat, but today she has an empty stomach and envies the pelican. What to do?

*Wrestle the bird for some fish?
*Just take the leftovers? (head, bones and fins, joy of joys)
*Eat roasted pelican filled with fish bits?
*Any other options?

This is gonna get interactive

Little experiment, whoever follows (hi only follower :D) here it is:

You have a little avatar before you. It is not quite a representation of yourself. It has its own looks and mind and dare I say? Its own world and life. What it lacks, though, is the ability to choose. But (if you haven't seen it coming) You may lend it yours. Right now it has some choices to make:

*What to be, male or female?
*Where to be, jungle or beach?
*How to be? Tall, dark, skinny, pale, full, empty?

You post in the comments and tomorrow we will see what happens to this -for now- blob.

Letters during insanity

The letters in green font are from my friend Lucia, the ones in blue are from me. Lucia here plays "Catalina" a scientist character she made, I play "The Doctor" also known as "Father" a decidedly mad scientist character of my creation. Here it is, enjoy:

"Dear asshole

How goes curing my lupus?

-Catalina"

      

"Dear savage:

That is classified information

The Doctor"

"Dear Dr.;

I'm kind of in a tricky situation. I'm going to die soon. So far, no luck on my end. I'm still borrowing several books from you and Odessa. Won't be able to send them back for a bit longer. Give me a hand here?

-Catalina"

"Dear child:

I have a vast collection of hands at your disposal, embalmed, pickled and some even bronzed. You can come by my laboratory any day and pick the one that suits your needs the best.

The Doctor"

"Dear The Doctor;

While I'm sure your collection of hands far exceeds anything I could ever hope to achieve, I'd sort of like to live. Can we make a deal?

-Catalina"

"Dear kid:

I never said the price for borrowing one of my hands was your life. Excuse me if I gave such an impression.

The Doctor"

"Dear Doctor;

I would never want to impinge on your hospitality, or anyone's for that matter. That's why I would be very, very grateful if you would share your cure with me, for my own personal benefit. I would like to not move back into my own father's house to die. You and Niels are the only ones I can turn to now.

-Your humble student"

"Dear creature:

If you wanted the cure for lupus you could have started by stating such. I can give you some information about it the day you come by and pick the extremity you so fervently desire.

The Doctor"

You are a funny thing

Aren't you? Days of idyllic feelings of "just right, just good" brought by a couple of words, then three new words bring it all down, you see your solid castle as it is: a structure of cards easily destroyed. You try not to think it is and you tell yourself the cards are blocks of concrete and change your mood to cold indifference when you are very far from that. You know you turn to acid and will do some damage, and you don't care now. You know the name of your emotions and you fear to even think about them and you know that makes them jump higher. You tear up and scold yourself for your petty motives, the absolutely petty reasons it all comes from. You hate the uneasiness it brings, most of all. You fight it in ways you know are not going to help. You want to change your immediate past, you know you can't, you refuse to let go, you boast in your own negativity. You are hopeless, clueless, sad and you tell all this to yourself, you write it down for yourself, you call yourself "you" in an attempt to exorcise your feelings, and you know how useless it is. But you do it anyway, you funny little thing.

Culinary sexism

According to wikipedia, the burritos are called that way because their inventor had so many requests he had to buy a donkey to transport them (donkey means burro). Cute story, but there is another version around: when "gringos" ordered special tacos without ingredients that would pierce their intestines, local taco makers used beans, meat, cheese, some times vegetables or rice, and told each other "The food for those burritos (little donkeys, ignorant people) is ready"

***

"Gringa" is a dish composed of tortillas, "pastor" meat (or any other kind of chopped meat, lately) topped with cheese, salsa is given optionally and it is best enjoyed with beer. The story is this time confirmed, around the 60s two American students living in Mexico City due to budget issues had to often eat tacos at "el Fogoncito" and they asked for cheese in their tacos rather than salsa to preserve the integrity of their innards. Many locals started to order "what the gringas are having" and soon the concoction found its place on the menu, under the name of  "Gringa"

***

So why the benevolence of the latter and the ill intentions of the first taqueros? respect for the women and hatred for the men? No, racism for both, only in the second case, coated with sugar. Because undoubtedly the taqueros at El Fogoncito wanted to bang the gringas. Not the dish, I must say.