On foreign accents

Friday evening, my best friend and me are having dinner at a Denny's in Kingman, AZ.  As we get up to leave, the American couple sitting in the booth behind us, ask me: "Buenos Aires?" I answered: "No", then pointing to my friend, add: "But she is."  Then, they ask: "Where are you from?" I said: "Honduras".  To which they finish with: "How do you have that South American accent?"

Last Saturday, another friend went with me to a Festival on campus. As we were enjoying an Austrian lunch, a senior couple sits at the other end of the large table to have their own meal.  In the midst of my mixed (Spanish-English) conversation with my friend, I decided to be friendly, and asked the couple what they were eating.  After a while, we know that he is a Vietnam war veteran, and that they enjoy and know a lot about Turkish food.  He then says: "I heard you both speaking Spanish. Where are you from? (Then looking directly at me) Argentina?"  I laughed hard and corrected him, because he is like the 100th person this year to think I have an Argentinian accent.

What can I say? Accents really stick to me, which I guess is good, when trying to learn and speak new languages.  Maybe I should add Argentinian Castilian to my list.

Confessing how geeky I really was/am

When I was a teenager, I was a faithful reader of the Spanish version of Seventeen. It probably cost me half my allowance, but I bought every issue for a few years.  I sent the magazine a brief profile that they featured a few months later in their pen-pal section. And so it was that I got about 50 letters from girls all over the world (even one from an ex-Russian country). Some of those letters were in English and, because I had written in my profile that I collected currency from over the world, I got some weird-looking bills in the mail.  I answered most of those letters, got a few pictures, sent a few myself, and continued writing with a few of those girls for at least a few more months.  Then my laziness got the best of me, and communication drastically ended.  I wish I hadn't; maybe I'd have a friend on the other side of the Berlin wall.

Debunking myths about women

I'm not the observant type. But even I have noticed some untruth in a couple of general conceptions about us ladies.

First of all, women do not take longer than men to get ready.  I have two brothers, and I was always the first out the door on Sundays before Church.  Men are even more obsessed with hair than women are, judging by the amount of product they put on before leaving their house.  I mean, I forget to brush my hair most days, but since my hair always has that despeinada look, most people cannot tell.  How much longer would it take men if they had to wear makeup, wear pantyhose, or had long hair?  Seriously, guys, how long does it take to put on a tie? Or to find the best socks to match those black slacks? Note: the rule does apply to a Friday night out.  It takes us forever to figure out which outfit disguises best our imperfections, and don't get me started on accesories.

Second and last, men love gossip as much as, if not more, than women. I don't mean to sound discriminatory in any way, but Mexican women may be the only ones to who this formula applies. And what is the deal with novelas? Seriously, have you not anything better to do with your time? I mean, read a little something, take a walk around the neighborhood to shed off the fat you just had for dinner.  Sorry this just turned into a hate post, novelas have that effect on me.

Keep posted on a future post about debunking Latin myths :)

Have you ever driven in the rain/snow without windshield wipers?

I have. Crazy weekend in Utah it was.

Today, Sunday, April 10th, I want to elaborate a bit more.  As we were driving to Cedar Hills from SLC on Saturday evening, it started pouring. Suddenly, the left wiper breaks, and we're in the middle of the highway.  We get off, and into Ikea's parking lot (we went inside the store and bought some cholocate, we owed it to the store ;) and found out there was an Auto Zone not far from there, but we had to get on the highway again.  At one point, we stopped at a red light, and my driver friend decided he could wipe the windshield with a tissue while we waited. So he courageously took his left arm out the window, and cleared a whole square inch from the very bottom, which was of course, useless. Still, he felt he had been succesful, until the light turned green again.  Then, a stroke of genius hit me (yeah, those happen to me sometimes), and since the right wiper still worked, I kept giving him directions, until we finally got to the Auto Zone.

Through all of this near-death ordeal, our other friend was sleeping peacefully in the back.