Went to the casting again today. They lost the pictures already taken and called us back. They wanted Cubans and Americans. I wore my big hair and dangling pendants in order to look as stereotypical Cuban as possible. The agency director told me: "You look gringa." Go figure, in my wildest dreams I never ever see myself as remotely Caucasian, the closest to north I get is Italian. People's perceptions are crazy.

Coporate has decided to change job titles once again, only this time it doesn't look good on my resume. I am now a supervisor instead of a manager, someone who doesn't know better would believe I have been demoted. In a failing attempt to soothe, an official information packet says nothing else has changed, we will continue with the same salary (of course, the law wouldn't allow a decrease, don't think Big Brother has gone all charity conscious on me) and check this out: the same responsibilities. So what the fuck is in a name: new people get it up their asses with all these managerial responsibilities for a supervisor's wage. Us old timers get to be for all purposes backtracked in our professional careers. Big Brother: I hope you never ever get laid again and your dick rots off.
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My house is pretty, though quite barren. I have a telephone and a stand. Nothing else. Very Spartan, I think.

The city fair was the coolest I have ever been to (better even than some concerts I have paid to go to). Bands: Cuenta Regresiva (cover band B-), Los Goyos (reggae band B+, awesome looking bassist, nice to know I still have that bass fetish), Skapulario (ska band, personal friends, can't be objective here) and OH MY GOD, LA SECTA (A+++++, the Puerto Rican answer to good olde GNR). The singer even stage dived over me, I got to briefly touch his tummy (insert hysterical 15 year old scream). It was too much fun, the next day I had full fledged bronchitis. It figures.