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Quiz Time!

Weird glitch in the Matrix. I received a private message from a Puerto Rican forum I frequent. I chat a little with the guy and several things become apparent: we listen to the same type of music, we have the same political views, we live in the same town, study at the same university, study the same major, and actually must have crossed each other's path because we take classes at the same time in the same side of the Monzon building (where there are only two rooms). But we met online. Heh. *Insert Twilight Zone music here*

Winds of change

Hurricanes. They are following me around. Though I believe maybe I will be gone and back by the time this one hits land.

Chile. Pinochet lost his immunity. Yeah, that rules! Pay for what you did, saramambiche...

History

I needed to write a cultural article for the newspaper. I flipped through last week's edition and found news of a charity walk for the reconstruction of an Hacienda, that is being used now as a convent. I thought convent = nuns = open on Sunday. So I called them and they were glad to talk to me and have a chance to promote the walk. So I went to Guánica (Hi, L, why do you say that nothing fun happens in your town?)

Turns out it is a certified historic monument. Also, this convent was founded and later became the death place of Madre Dominga Guzmán, a potential Puerto Rican saint if the Catholic Church agrees. The "cochera" is where they used to keep the slave quarters. The nuns want to tear it down but the Cultural Institute told them they could not do it. They have to restore the original or leave it to crumble. I would love for them to restore it, but they don't want to spend more money on it. For the nuns, the most important part is the bedroom and main house, not a roofless brick building that has been standing for the past two hundred years and is one of a kind in the island. Oh, well, at least I saw it and had my camera. That's the kind of things I love about my job, I get to take pictures of the only standing fortified hacienda in Puerto Rico and sit inside Madre Dominga's bedroom, looking at all her things, kept just as she left them.

The oldest nun showed me around the place, apparently she was glad to have someone to talk nonstop to for three hours. As a bonus, she gave me guava/pineapple juice with cookies, that was also a highlight. We walked around, saw the cemetery, the Fatima sanctuary replica (there are only 2 in the world), talked about the wild chickens around us, the fattest wild dogs I have ever seen (maybe the wild chickens have something to do with this?). She was a little scared when I climbed on the crumbling brick window sill to take pictures, making me a little nervous and wary about an earthquake happening at that exact moment. We continued walking through this 3 acre property that smelled of country and old age until I heard a loud honk behind me. Startled, I saw a nun, younger than me, driving a little motor cart. She asked me if I worked for the newspaper. When I answered yes, she whipped out a church program, asked for a pen, and jotted down her cell phone number, e-mail address and website for the hacienda. She then proceeded to honk away to the convent's garage. So much for ruining the atmosphere...

Went to the Boston concert with guitar-geek co-worker. Fell asleep again, something is wrong with me, I am getting old.

I keep forgetting how unbearable trips can be with this guy, I actually screamed at the guy twice:

"Why the fuck do you tell me you have 35¢ exact change for the toll, then when I get to the toll you give me a dollar, answer me that, you fucker!"

"NO! I can't pay with a dollar, look for 35¢ NOW! "

"NO! I can't back out of the toll, you see that car behind me? He will probably shoot me, by now. Look for 35¢, damnit!"

Thankfully, he falls silent whenever the needle hits more than 70 mph.

Paranoia kicks into high mode this week. I am always certain somebody has stopped talking to me because of some imaginary evil I have caused them. This has been so since eighth grade when my first best friend stopped talking to me for a week. It turned out she was trying to make me stop swearing so much, but she didn't tell me. So, she sulked, I continued swearing and it never worked out because she didn't say it outright. After that, we were too busy trying to salvage the friendship, making us incredibly polite toward each other for the rest of our lives.

Gotten really lazy at work. Not just lazy, suicidally controlling of my time, reclaiming it for myself and balking at the notion that I must live any experience that I do not choose to. (That sounds like some kind of self serving psycho-babble, but I cannot phrase it any other way). For example, this week is Furniture Seller Week. This doesn't exactly rock my boat. So I silently boycott all interviews, research, non fiction writing having anything to do with furniture. Little problem is: I have until tomorrow to turn in the interviews, pictures and other minutia concerning my Furniture Seller Week articles. That means if I am lucky and no hitches arise, I will be cramming interviews, picture taking and writing for tomorrow morning, arriving two hours late to work. ARRRGHH! Kick me in my lazy ass, somebody... Thanks.


Ozzfest: I need you.

Can't believe it has been a week since the midst of Horrorfind. Time sure flies.

Ever since I got home I have found myself even more busy than before: my mother, I fear, is trying to make herself seriously ill on purpose. One of the cats bit her, her leg is infected and she has refused to seek medical help. I called the doctor before going to work on Thursday but she turned him away. I don't know how to handle her short of knocking her unconscious with a pipe and driving her to the hospital. She can be a bitch like that. She is also refusing to eat anything except pear halves. No rice, meat, bread, milk, junk food, nothing, just pear halves. She wants to make me feel guilty for last week, I know. She doesn't know I am leaving for Ozzfest in a week and a half. Ouch.

If I could find some time for myself last week, why can't I do the same when I am still around here? Every single waking moment doesn't belong to me anymore. Customers, work, mother, pets, they all demand my immediate attention. I can't even surf the net in peace. Shit.

Next stop: Ozzfest.

Going through post con funk, maybe full fledged post con depression. This one was a heavy hitter and it really wasn't my own doing this time, just a victim of circumstance. Guess I will just have to wait this out. I still yearn for what I will never have.

I have been searching up and down for actual driving directions to the airport. I have never ever gone there alone and usually I was too sleepy or having too much fun to be paying attention. There are absolutely no good directions to the airport: L, please, if you remember correctly (I am fully aware of that alien abduction syndrome we always get when we try to drive somewhere that doesn't involve a straight line), drop me a line about that. The returning to Mayaguez part is easy: I found this map to get out of the airport...It would have been great to find the reverse direction version. Note picture number 4: it says Bayamon, Caguas, Rio Piedras via Tunel de Minillas. The mainland USA equivalent would be (if you were exiting JFK airport ): Illinois, Maryland, New Jersey via Brooklyn Bridge. Only here you have just minutes (seconds) to correct any mistakes, or in my case, make any sense of what they are trying to tell me...