Beerdee + a small shell

It strikes me how some of the nicest things in life are not only for free, but they hit you in the arse when least expected; like a 2000mph piano would on a "Dead Like Me" character (that was a toilet, tho'. Wasn't it?)
It so happened that I got 2 know (a little better) yet another wonderfully-baffling gal right at the end of the TEFL thing. It always goes that way with me; feeling like I've seen it all and then BOOM, there it is and then PUFF it's long gone and lost forever. I'm an expert at finding and evaporating kindred spirits, it's kinda like my THANG, yo!.

Anyway, this is my attempt of putting into incoherent words another slice of that cheesecake of what absolutely did not happen then and there, a little more or less than a month ago. Back to Ban Phe it is!

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So I was bouncing from wire to wire like I usually do on Sunday evenings...
That's a lie. It was the first time I did that wire-dancing thing. I'm never allowed out of my cage unless... nothing! 'coz I'm never allowed out at all. But this time the Gods smiled at me, for the old lady fell asleep in her old rocking chair for quite a long time... and started creaking. And so my cheeks blushed hot red for the excitement revolving 'round an opportunity I had dreamed about for as long as I've been a critter, (which I'm not, coz I'm just a tiny yellow little freakin' canary). Nevertheless: I COULD FINALLY ESCAPE!.
So I sucked all the air I had in my little feathery chest and I "plupped!" my way out of 'em golden bars. And there I was: free to soar like those other birds I usually watch from my window.
Fuckers.

Anyway, I bounced away on the wires as if playing the cello with my very orangy feet, celebrating my victorious-machiavellic getaway with euphoric little pricklings of the rubber that covers those electric strings of death; or so I've learned thanks to the endless afternoon sessions of watching the Discovery Channel with the "prune":
-And that's why I never let you out, my dear! You'd die on those wires, like a roasted chicken!-
I hate that idiotic TV room, I'd much rather have a white wall to stare at for the rest of my days. Well not really. I'd prefer to live on an awesomely bushy canopy, from a bird's-foot trefoil. That'd be pretty damn sweet!

As I whistled away from branch to branch, surfing board to surfing board, and bald headedness to bald headedness, I tried eating strips of clouds but failed (at least they don't taste like those seeds I'm forced to chew up on. I mean; would it kill to have some cashew nuts or banana muffin crumbs once in a while? Gosh!). BUT THEN I caught a glimpse of something that struck me as odd.
A flickering light peeped, oh so invitingly, right out of a door slot on the left of a sign that read "Fern's Bar". A bar... wonder what that is. I don't even know how I was able to read that, being a bird and all... hmmm strange.

I approached, madly driven by the shiny intermittence of sporadic little twinkles... I go crazy for anything that rhymes with "light", and "bright" does! heeeeeee... (drools).
As I opened up my beak to swallow the fancy glimmering ray of whateverness, I was suddenly plunked (literally) by something that would certainly fit in the category of the unexpected. Certainly so.

SMACK!!!!!
-Oi! leave that thing alone! It's mine!- Some creature cried out to me, after having rudely hit my head with what I now realised was a very splintery chop stick.

-What the f...eather was that all about? I mean, there have got to be better ways of calling one's attention, you know- I said as I rubbed my forehead with one wing, and drew away any signs of teary leftovers on my face with the other.

-Crikey! I'm sorry, I did not realise a chop stick could be as deadly! Merked you dead good didn't I? You mardy.mardarse.mard. Thought you were going for my dinner- Was what I got for an answer.

-No! Ouch! Congrats, I guess- I replied, continuing the rubbing of the damaged area.

-Well, what a way to introduce oneself, I'd say, mighty fine! My name's &%$&#% by the way. What's yours?-
(&%$&#% is my textual translation of a sound that no human can interpret, known and understood only by flying beings).

As my eyes recovered focus I finally could see with whom I was sharing the strangest conversation: she was a deep blue and green coloured parrot with a burning red-orange beak. Quite stunning for a bird that's not necessarily a peacock.

- Well &%$&#%, it's nice and weird to meet you. I dunno my name, but She calls me Sandy. By "she" I mean the lady that has me for a pet trapped inside a golden cage. And feeds me shit at it- I listened to myself word out, resentfully.

-Feeds you shit? I eat anything I want. The owner (that man over there that looks kind of Russian) gives me anything going from a Veggie Kebab to a Strawberry-Hazelnut tart. I only need to look pretty standing here in my very own corner, and learn some human words from time to time. When I learn enough phrases I can go about teaching others like myself, maybe in other bars or in other beaches... depending on the weather-

Her eyes gleamed against the remnants of sunlight while she gave me this snippet version of her Bio. I was amused, but my head stung still, so I took ages in finding a suitable response.

-Well, lucky you! I just managed to get some air out of that house-arrest anti-home I've been living my whole life in and already I've experienced a near death encounter. With a chopstick! Gee it's been a ball, but I probably should get going in a few minutes anyways; my owner ought to wake up any minute now and she better find me there when that happens.- I said, and began to walk away.

-Wait! That's it? You're gonna return to your hell-hole life just like that? What about chance and destiny and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and being free? You're a disappointment to your species! Go on then, I don't give a darn. Ta ta!- She spat at me (not literally tho') with a sarcastic tone.

So that's how I found myself in the bellybutton of one of those crossroad-chic flick movie scenes where you have to decide whether or not you should be a chicken (HA!), and return home OR be a bad ass canary with enough free will on your yellow plumage to take a leap of faith into the unknown.
But then I noticed something strange on her feet; they were tied up with some sort of discreet yet perceivable string with little bells attached on each end.

-What's that for?- I asked, raising an eyebrow.

-Oh! Never mind that... it's just for precaution. I tend to fancy flying away every so often, and the owner does not like it. He says I should stay with him and learn drunken words to entertain the world.- Her expression darkened after explaining this to me.

I got closer, laid a wing on her shoulder and bit the string until it snapped. I tied what was left on my own leg, and stepped away with what was now a new tinkling bracelet.

-It's not gonna be like this forever, you know? Some of us need to figure out what kinds of chirps n' chants we'd like to sing to the moon before the night blanket falls and covers the Earth. We are but a blink of the sun, yet our eyelash battings will get to brush over a million sunrises and another million sunsets or so. I'm awful thankful for our little encounter. Perhaps we'll run into each other some other time, or perhaps not. Let us see with our eyes closed and our faces to the skies.-

I don't know how I got so fucking poetic out of the blue. But I took flight right away and left the parrot to her own turbulent thoughts... I think I heard her yell something like:
"Alis volat propiis!" But then again, she might have just burped a little.

I have a strong feeling we shall meet again.

The turquoise necklace, and a heavy hearted hedgehog

Anamnesis... I rode my bike today. Woke up in this random bed with a random person next to me (that I soon recognized to be Mayra, my animation class teammate), doodled my way into the shower, got some pants on and toothpaste in my mouth, spat, and drove away above the wistful shades of the familiar trees that decorate my daily pathway to Uni in Xochimilco, Mexico City.
The Postal Service lulled my direction as the tires enveloped the perimeter of the gray streets (Iphone was on and kicking), right there and then I plunged into the sea of memories that give meaning to the soundtrack of my life.

I was 6 years old and could not find my brother. There was only his purple hat to be seen lying motionless on top of a very peculiar heap of snow... then I heard his voice. Inside it.-------------------------------

Anyways, I pushed that bubble away as I passed over a bumpy part of the road, and landed on another thought; a slightly more recent one. I find it curious how these two, like the rest of my memories, have the same visual quality in my mind (HD) no matter how long it's been since they happened. I've a hard time remembering dates, names, faces or numbers (especially birthdays) but BOY can I remember SCENES, and savour them-songs and conversations like Grenouille did with smells.
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Lester was the most silent of the clan. He usually just sneaked (or "snuck" if you prefer) out of our highly uncomfortably-tensed conversations (regarding religious differences amongst Arabs and stupid Texans) just to smoke, and he did some more smoking after that, and then smoked way more as a dessert for the previous smokings.
It was as if he'd chosen to sublime himself away from reality and hence had managed to evaporate completely into a state of absolute peace. I was scared he'd spontaneously combust or some random shit. He looked as though he had chili peppers down his pants, but at the same time he was so chilled it drove me nuts. Jittery-calmed bastErd.

I knew right away there was something more to him underneath the cloud of fuming gases that surrounded his persona in place of a shadow. I was bound to meet the red dragon on his back.
I made him this story:
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And so I came to find this rather bucolic character that made me think of one of the stories dad used to read to me and my brother right after tucking us in our comfiest beddy-bed: "The Mock Turtle". This other creature was cute, and small, and had spiny/pointy things covering the whole of his body except for the belly and the face, and the paw-hands of course. And the feet!
I was looking for my shell underneath the old oak tree and had found this hedgehog staring at his feet instead. I asked him:

-Hi there! What's the matter? If you fix your eyes that hard upon whatever, then you're bound to grow some roots outta them! Joe told me so- I said, trying to look as though I knew exactly what I meant by that.

-Oh, hello. Well it so happens that I've forgotten the... hmm I've forgotten again. I think I'm going to sit here for a while and burn little twigs. The smell eases my mind- Answered he, with a slightly melancholic tone to it.

I was confused, but I decided to push the chit-chat a little further to see what else I could find about this amusing being I'd just chanced upon. Hedgehogs can be as cuddly as they can be piercing, depending on how much rice with eggs they've eaten that day, so I've been told. This one looked pretty full.

-So, what's your name?- I muttered, again.

-I don't remember. You see, I drank this tree's milk an old owl gave me so that I could erase all my memories.- He took a long time to think each word before saying the whole thing out loud. But I was very interested at that point.

-Right. So, how can you remember you ever did that?- I asked, rubbing my chin as grownups do when thinking real hard.

-I wrote a note to myself on my feet with Indian ink. See?-

I read the note on his feet; it explained what he had just said. So I believed him. And the letters were pretty.

-Yikes! Well... I get it. But I cannot imagine what it would be like to forget everything! I love remembering... like that one time I was supposed to fill a WHOLE basket with strawberries we were picking from the backyard so that mum could make jelly. But me and Joe ate every single one before we'd made it back to the cottage. I took the blame and was grounded and wasn't allowed to eat sweets for a week.- I said, proud of my brief anecdote.

-That's quite a nasty memory! Wouldn't you rather not have it at all?- Replied the hedgehog, pushing the dirt with a burnt stick.

-Dunno, maybe you're right! But how am I supposed to learn from my mistakes if I do not remember them?- I added, promptly.

-That's a good question, but I cannot seem to provide you with the right answer for it.- He said as he looked away.

-Maybe I can help you remember.- I suggested, smiling.

-No! Then it would all have been pointless... HERE little one.- He stood up and handed me a notebook made out of green leaves and adobe. -I grant you the permission to read through my written memories. But you have to promise not to tell me anything about it after you finish, I'm never to go through the contents of those pages ever again. Swear you won't tell.-

I swore with my hand on my heart and meant it truly. I then read the pages carefully, and after closing the notebook I felt like the saddest girl in the world.
I soon realized I was crying without wanting to, but I sneezed and turned to clean my face discreetly with the red tissue Gran gave me when I left home.

I didn't know what to do or say or not do or not say, so I did nothing for a while. We just sat there, looking at the fallen pieces of bark the oak tree had scattered after changing skins. We listened to each others' recycling of air.
Then the hedgehog lit up another twig, and I watched him puff it slowly. I broke the silence with another question.

-And what do you do nowadays to feel good?- I said, and waited for an answer.

-Well, I've been taking good care of this little dandelion ever since it grew out from the ground.- He showed me the flower.- That was before I lost my memory. He whispers new things from time to time, you know? And I listen... He told me once that I had fallen in love with a beautiful cloud but she was blown away to China. That's where, my dandelion tells me, all clouds are sent by the winds whenever they are covetted by earthly creatures like myself. I will forget about this anyway.- He stopped.

-Well, clouds do tend to change spots all the time, sometimes without even wanting to. Guess it's way better to love something that shares the same ground as you do. Don't you agree?- I said, not really thinking about what I was saying but most likely just feeling it out.

-Right, like my dandelion.- The hedgehog softly replied.

-Like that, yes.- I added, glad to know we were coming to an agreement.

-Maybe someday, when he's old enough I can blow his seeds so they can fly and chase clouds like I supposedly once did. Maybe he can finally learn how to catch one, maybe even a star!- He said as a spoken sigh.

-Yeah, maybe he will.-

I took off right after the sun went down to sleep because it was too late for a little girl like me to be wandering off without supervision.
From that day on, every time I come across one of those spiky-soft flowers I think of how valuable it is to keep track of the all the different kinds of individuals you randomly meet. Most have stories like these; the ones that make your insides want to grow out of your body like branches of an oak tree.

Sometimes I too want to catch a cloud of my own.

For Lina (and Amir)

There once was a Lioness who had everything she could ever dream of. She drank cloud tasting gum drops, slept on golden sheets sowed by precious little elves from the mountains, and could get any type of alcoholic beverage at the snap of her fingers... she even had her own island near Fiji, and her own shopping mall.
Oh! the parties she had. Oh! the endless fun in the land of the plentiful.

Little did she know, for she was to meet a kaleidoscopic dragonfly that came from a far away place known as the British Isles (why not?); she hesitated for exactly two seconds, but then decided to chase after it, senselessly drawn by the pretty pretty colours on its wings... They were soooo very pretty indeed.

So the Lioness and the dragonfly jumped over ponds of marshmallow lillies and ran thru forests of cherry pies and jelly beans holding hands (well paw and wing, sort of, you know); not caring about anything but the togertherness of the idea of being together (???). They were in a state of pure joy and joyness, even better than going to candy mountain with Charlie the Unicorn.

However! one day she discovered they had walked for so long she did not recognize any of her surroundings anymore... Her mother had told her never to cross the yellow sign that said "Lioness, do not cross this yellow sign". She had crossed it, obviously. Blinded by the pure excitement of chasing a brightly brittle bug that she had now come to love, and she was loved back as well.
But then she looked around and sneered distastefully at the dirty looking scenery... she was miles away from home, and this new place looked like it could use some Windex. But then again she also wanted to live with this dragonfly and bask in the sunlight for every single day from that moment on. She was free for the first time in her life, and would not give that feeling away for all the mountain elves in the world (there aren't many nowadays, you know).

She was puzzled indeed... What was she to do?

Then, all of a sudden this huge Elephant appeared out of the blue (and yellow), and shared a bucket full of a strange smelling liquor with her. They used different straws of course.
The elephant came from a jungle that interestingly enough was adjacent to her own kingdom. So they babbled away drinking and crying like old Texan friends on rocking chairs out on the porch. Soon the Lioness learned of the elephant's misfortunes; he too was a king who had lost his way searching for better and better tasting grass... when he raised his head to look at the Sun he realized he was utterly and totally lost. He wept for his two children back home, who were named basically the same but in different wording.

They drank heaps and heaps of buckets that they refilled with their own tears and ocean water and booze until their bellies were so full they could not look at each other in the face any longer.
That's when the Lioness had an epiphany...

I don't remember the rest of the story, but I know the Lioness lived happily ever after, and got married, and had children that spoke better Spanish than she did. And she looked beautiful because she was truly happy, all thanks to her persevering sense of truth. Oh! and also because of some Mexican squirrel she met on the way that convinced her to try harder and keep on smiling no matter the pickle... that as well.

THE END

A silver fish for an anchored necklace

THE END.

Here I am, decomposing and restructuring chaotic feelings that "vulture" mercilessly round and round my confused little scalp... it's as if the whole trip was dreamt and nothing more; it's Asia no more.
I've two friends in the hospital, a huge animation project due next week and a sudden feel for french vanilla tea (since I can't seem to muster enough sleep I've had to come up with an alternative to coffee), that and cheese.

Oh! and all of a sudden I realize I'm way more hyperactive whenever speaking English than I am in any other language. I pity those who can't speak "Mexican" then: they get the most pungent side of me. Jumpy Xalli.

Funny, when I look at the postcards I bought at the very shabby looking shop in Koh Samet (where the lady was quite nasty indeed) I suddenly become swallowed by a torrent of flashbacks that pixelate(sic) the 4 walls of this studio into a somewhat befuddled composition of greens and yellows. And so I'm driven back to the old Thai pueblo:

"See you at 7 downstairs in the guesthouse"
This is how our good friend Amir bade us farewell every single day at 5 o'clock, right after wrapping up our heavy load of Lesson Planning endless sheets and sheets and shit-that-was-long. The burden of being a teacher trainee; rookie textual scourging! shpaaaa!
Weary and longing for shorts we all nodded, mentally absent, and emitted a brief "hhuuuaaauuhhh" to him in reply... Chewbacca-like, and not necessarily meaning we would actually go and succumb to his request. But most times we did take the 15 minute trudge under the unforgiving Thai sun towards the TAWANINN after class. We did it just for kicks and knowing we would be welcomed by a smiling Egyptian with a huge heart (and a keen Thai stalker woman who chucked rocks at his window, and left hieroglyphic love notes in his room; very much like a Shakespearean scene directed by Tarantino). He always opened up the door wearing his PJ's looking as if he'd been sleeping for a straight century and dreaming of magic carpets (hahaha not really).

We just sat there on his balcony, siping away our tiredness out of a stolen red bucket filled with a dodgy and marvelous tasting whiskey/rum and average coke. Oh, the 10 baht bottles of Redbull!

But on that last Thursday we spent together there was something different in the taste of the pavement, in the smell of the motionless trees stuck on the earth, in the fluency dictated by each of our corporal movements... Everything was so beautiful it killed me! But I wasn't going to show it, no sir, not tonight; and so I squeezed every single second belonging to that fruitful evening and did not sleep for a single bit. I thought that if I stretched time by being awake I would manage to freeze the vivacity of the actual sequence of events that came to happen as purely as possible; Distilling them into perpetually fresh memories for and from the wallpaper of my conscience. I'm an artist and I'm crazy and this is what I remember:

Our last lesson turned out to be just right in spite of the unexpected impediments; no one fucked up (not real bad anyways) with the structural process, even though the heat was intense! And we appeared more like melting icicles than very professional English teachers. But the high school Thai kids were supportive, and giggled at Lina's disastrous attempts of drawing a map of China; the result resembled what we thought out to be a monkey tumor!!! So the three of us (JJ, Rebecca and myself) were suppressing euphoric explosions of laughter at the back of the room. Hilarious. At least she did not sketch a giant beach ball and tried to persuade the students it was "THE WORLD".

We wore our pink patrol uniforms (the King's T shirt with a bright and pupil-killing version of a pink color), so we looked cutely retarded I suppose. And we kicked ass! We so did kick it that our supervisor for the session (Rebecca) doodled away with passion and admiration all over our report sheets... out of pure love for our work, that AND boredom. Oh, behold the young and the restless!
I don't think JJ's ever hated the warmer as much as that day (he came first and had to cope through both our apparently never-ending introductions), but we all survived the day. And so we boarded our glorious ship (Tao's minibus) along with the other three trainees (Lester, Hollie, and Amir) towards our home-for-the-month: the grayest TEFL building of 'em all.

Back in the classroom Dave (the BAWSE) told us to finish filling up our manuals and deliver them at 2 o' clock in the afternoon... after that we were FREE like soaring butterflies on a November skyline. DRINKING TIME!

And so my waking found its end, only to be found amongst the dirtiest selves, my friend...

Wake up, smell the coffee (or lack thereof), grab some appropriate pants and walk out into the gloomy corridor... slide down the same staircase that welcomes you every single day with a promise of nothingness and a smell of reddy orange to it.

Stride along the staff offices and wave a sleepy hi to the people behind the screens (kinda reminding you of that Orwell scene... but you swiftly blow the bubble-thought away).

Go out the door, careful not to lay a single step on the threshold (keeps up the spirits... literally speaking) and add an extra layer to your barefoot soles... solely stabilizing the lower part of your body-canvas that drags along the very bottom of your soul.
Get 'em flipflops on (those blue rubber bastards that bear tiny bits of your footy personality, they are in fact falling apart day by day).

Now you're out on the street, take a few more steps and turn 30 degrees to the right to give a subtle nod to the guard. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Say goodbye to the TEFL school building: three stories to an old novelistic compound of degrading grays and corinthian columnata (random architecture indeed, for a place like this).
Geckos slither from corner to corner and chase after bugs with an ethereal, inconspicuous air, melting away into the scenery as you move along. Mimesis... biology drives you nuts.

The ground has changed alright, sandy-wet little rocks erode into smaller and smaller pieces as you hear the crushing sounds that your shoes emit whenever applying a downward force upon them (do they complain whatsoever? fancy them having dreams of shrinking, I do sometimes).

You're humming that ol' song that's been superglued to your brain since last Saturday, but you don't mind. It's become the soundtrack of your life here in the land of the unforgiving (or was it unforgetting?) elephant people: Thailand.

"She wants to know, does everyone feel this way... when it rains in Asia..."

The ocean faces your left side as you turn to your right, freeing yourself from the spacially-psychological-sandwiching of various laundry shops, small restaurants and motorbike-renting spots on both sides of the narrow highway taking you to godknowswhere if you dare exploring more than what's legal (whatever that means).

You dodge several maniacal motorbike-drivers (these being 7-8 year olds or in better cases old women petting their dogs and not watching the road! casually). Your hear the doppler fading of the goose-like honking the locals tend to give to any foreign looking pedestrian, as you stare into the unusual writings of the several signs that decorate some of the adjacent shops. You have absolutely no idea of what those strange symbols mean, perhaps they say something like "foreign people suck". Guess you'll have to learn Thai to find out next chapter.

The palm trees oscillate from side to side as if dancing to the singing of the tidal waves, the same ones that incessantly brush the shoreline's long hair... You suddenly feel like running, so you grab hold of your headphones, place each ear piece on the corresponding orifice and begin to quicken your pace.

You feel the air thrust itself against the freckles on your face, as if trying to rub them off the very skin they've been drawn in (but they're fastened strong enough). A dog barks and howls as you pass by, but you pay no attention (even though the creep has already got on all 4's in a menacing gesture). You run past and clear the sweat off your forehead.

There goes the looney man with a bad arm that often enough pretends he is being crushed by one of those boats lying on one side of the road... He waves at you, and so does the sea at the other end... Waving away you proceed.

You enter the woody opening opposite to the shoreline that invites you in with a sign that says "forest trial" (literally so) and so a trial it is; treading through that trail of course.

Your feet gather up heat while the trees stare at your shady silhouette, never again to be seen on that exact moment in time.
The song that encloses the illuminated the setting is by the Friendly Fires (strangely adhoc) and your mood is lifted up a single notch; the perfect measure for a power jog around the huge block.

The sun waves goodbye as well, peacefully drowning into the horizon and giving way to the darkness that adds that extra mellow feel-flavour to the wrappings of each and every single day.


And this was supposed to be just an average walkabout. It never fucking is...

Ban Phe...

How to describe the place?
It is as difficult as it could be easy... depending on the weather... but anyhow, this is my version:
Ban Phe is like Acapulco, as in the PUEBLO, but submerged in a mixture of noodle soup, heaven blasting sunsets, stray dogs, and of course: a touch of whiskey looking liquor.

This place is like a wonderland of drowning shadows and everlasting blazes of light. One could burn it down or stretch it up until turning it into a completely different thing that paradoxically ends up being exactly what is started out to be. That's the way it is meant to charm you as well as puzzle your crack up. One cannot escape the place's ever evolving nature... it's insane and addictive.

Fortunately for me, a little pueblo-mexican who happens to own a cow named Cecilia (not really), it is never a hard time to cope with a spontaneous lapse of the seriously slow passing of time throughout the space continuum: meaning I don't get bored easily, and this specific geographical spot has got me visually tangled, intertwined and twisted along with its vocal chords, decomposing along with its gastric juices until further notice (or the end of the TEFL course). And I love it.

The mighty Asian sea on one side of the road, and on the other a Big Friendly Giant of greens and browns that covers up wonders that not only elephants dream of... garbage and gold altogether in a single plastic bucket of Sangsom rum.

And so the gateway to Koh Samet opens its jaws to the world of the Ban; the apparently sane slice of reality in which we choose to merge as if being part of fractalic wallpaper patterns.

It was then, that and here that I opened up my eyes.

CHAPTER 3: Ban Phe, Thailand

January 1st, Don Mueang National Airport, Bangkok Thailand.

That had done it! No more airplanes for this young lady! I was up to my nostrils of having to move my arse up 7 planes a day to get from one place to another. Thankfully, I had no other choice but to take a bus from Bangkok to Ban Phe for the simplest of reasons: there was no actual airport in Ban Phe! cheers. So it was land traveling time... bring it on!

I took another one of those eccentrically-electric pink cabs (this time asking for the freakin' meter-thing, not to get ripped off or anything) and the nice and chubby Thai driver (who spoke fluent English, by the way) took me all the way to the big bus station in Ekamai.

He drove like a maniac throughout all the possible shortcuts a city like Bangkok had to offer, but I didn't mind. Quite on the other hand: I actually enjoyed the speedy sightseeing of a place that somewhat reminded me of a noodle-museum (I know, random reference) my family and I once visited in downtown Tokyo... what I mean is that nowadays civilized Thailand probably resembles what Japan used to look like 50 years AGO. That's how it goes.

I got out the 4-wheeled gay machine, paid accordingly to what the numbers suggested on the green screen, next to the GPS and approached the info desk. I bought an expensive ticket to Ban Phe (thanks to a Japanese looking girl who translated the whole convo) and looked for the bus on aisle 30-something and a half.

I hopped on the bus, and put my huge backpack on the seat right next to me so that I'd improvise a nice and deformed pillow. And so the last of the first of all journeys began...
It was like a slideshow of shadowed scenes moving pacingly from the right to the left side of my window pane as I stared, peacefully motionless and comforted by the conscious feeling that reminded me that I was alright, I was alright afterall.

LITTLE DID I KNOW

After a series of wobbly hours I found myself in the midst of a SILENT bus... which meant it had already come to a total stop and also happened to be COMPLETELY EMPTY: utterly and totally vacant of earthly life (including the driver).
I suddenly panicked as the Jaws soundtrack began to crawl its way up from the back of my mind... but then something happened: the driver came back!
I ran towards this man and cried to him something like "are we in Ban Phe, mister?" "Where the hell is this place?!!!".
He freaked out a little (as he probably didn't expect to see any human remainders left inside the huge vehicle), but then laughed that kind of laugh every one does when they see me in a pickle.
"Yes, this Ban Phe hehe", "bus station"
I showed him the written address I was supposed to arrive at but he did not seem to recognize the place at all, not even the references... shite on a turtle!
So I said thanks and turned around to look for someone else I could interrogate thoroughly no matter the level of English of the person: I was ready to do or act out whatever I needed to get other Asian folk to "understand the words that are coming out of my mouth" like Jackie Chan once said in Rush Hour II.

I was in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Jesus' bellybutton, and I was scared shitless.

Then suddenly a young lady approached my Texas-chainsaw-massacre personal scene and offered some help: she took me to the nearest 7/11 (those things seem to roam about in every single corner of this country). There she asked for the address I'd given her and she got an answer!!
We got into her white little car along with her boyfriend and some other dudess, and ho! after 5 minutes of driving through no man's land in southern Thailand I found myself in front of the "SIAM ENGLISH INTERNATIONAL TEFL SCHOOL". Holy baloney! it did exist after all!

The guard was nice enough to point out my name out from a piece of paper he had lying around (random) and he gave me a key to one of the rooms. I took off my shoes and got inside, thanking the nice lady from a distance with a good old thumbs-up signal... she'd saved my life (again, someone always does).

WTF WTF! WTF!!!!!!

As I opened the door... one of the scariest moments of my life began to materialize in front of me: the room was hideous, awful, horrible... depressingly unwelcoming. The accomodation included a not so-friendly looking cockroach crawling across a little puddle that went all the way from the bathroom to the balcony door, and a closet full of spiderwebs as a side dish to the visual horrorshow buffet.

"What the hell did you just sign up for, little Xalli?"

I was so tired I just chased the animals out of the room with a stick, put my humongous bag on the bed and fell asleep almost automatically, as a means of mental defense mechanism, I suppose.

The next day I woke up to find a desolated floor that kind of reminded me of "The Shining" hotel (for you to get a picture of the situation). So I went downstairs and politely complained about the room to the staff dudes (I got changed to the second floor, where the room was smaller but WAY CLEANER and with fair enough functioning of the rest-room facilities).
After that I entered the room where my first TEFL course class had already started: I was looking at a group of people that looked as different as can get, but I did not have the chance of analyzing them properly due to the fact that the teacher was addressing my persona, underlining the fact that I was the last trainee to have entered the class... thankfully on time. Anyhow the light spot was on me, the Mexican, as usual.

We had a nice little session of meeting and greeting and so forth blah blah's and I found out I'd just met guys from Egypt, Jordan, USA, UK and the Philippines (to add up to the spice of nationalities, why not?). It was awesome!

To be continued...

CHAPTER 2: Seoul Airpot (Incheon)-Phuket Island

I woke up two hours later just to find this very exotic looking Korean flight attendant: she asked me what kind of meal I'd like to have, it was either a chicken omelette (typical) or a Korean dish. I chose the Korean one, because the lady at my left gave me the "ooo you better choose the Korean dish" kinda look: being a little person and all I can get easily intimidated by Korean old ladies, so I gave in.

Incheon airport is one of the most amazing places you can land in, I thought I was kind of dreaming when I got there, and in a way I still was (freakin' time zone changes jetlagging my arse off). So I stared at the vast tofu/ginseng shops with pure amazement. I guess that's why people kept looking at me as if I had come from another country, I mean, planet.

I slept a bit and wandered off as my senses allowed, either zombie walking through the enormous gates or just dozing away into light naps at the free wi-fi internet cafe. I dreamt of Korean elves and sugar canes, it was freakin' Yoko Ono-fluxus shit.

Anyways, we boarded the plane a thousand hours later just as I started to consciously digest the size of the whole thing: I was on my way to Bangkok (I kinda hate that name, gives me the giggles when breaking apart the word). REAL STUFF, AYE?

I will skip the flight part, which isn't that interesting really so let us diverge into the stream of facts that followed my arrival:

I got there, arms, legs, sarcasm and all and I picked up my bag at the spot I was supposed to (it's either that or I picked someone else's bag that had the exact same things I packed back home... yaw reckon) and I got into a cab, a PINK CAB.
The driver didn't speak very good english (what are the odds?) so I had a hard time pointing at the map of the hostel my dad so caringly downloaded for me (awww) AND THE MAN STILL DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO GO! so he smiled one of those goofy "I've no clue what you're getting at but I'm taking your money anyway" sort of smiles and drove on into the darkness of the big and bright city that's named after I don't know what. Bang cock.

Just then he called one of his mates and stopped the car so that I could get into his mates' cab instead (why not?) because his "frwwend" so happened to be going somewhere where my hostel was... riiight.
I got suspicious and lifted my left eyebrow just a little (the powerful one), but I carried on.
The other driver was much nicer and spoke better "eangleijhh". AND better YET! he turned on the music and JASON MRAZ was on (I know, pathetic) so I sang along "butterfly" in my head the rest of the way to the place I was to stay... for the night (rhymin' alrighto).

I arrived, payed the dude (humming Jason still lalala) and stepped into the hostel that was named "I don't remember how" or something like that.

GOOD NIGHT BANGKOK

Next day I woke up to the annoying stings of silent ninja mosquito bites and took three showers in a row (the heat was intense, man!). I greeted the owner and checked out.
Next thing I knew I was on my way to Phuket island (took a taxi and then a plane, obviously, I cannot teleport yet, but I still try hard every single time).

Hello-one of the most touristic sites in Thailand!!! yessir I'd like the mac n' cheese please!
So Phuket island is the gateway to a smaller and even more touristic island called Phi phi, which is where some dudes filmed the movie "the Beach" (followed by a sequel called "the... bitch") with Leo di Caprio (sigh sigh... NOT).

I got off the plane (again, I was getting used to that) and dragged my stuff as well as my self-esteem towards the nearest bus that would take me to Phuket town. I called my bro and HE PICKED UP!!! (as usually people do when their phones ring) I was soo hyped to hear his voice :):):) (I'm such a gay-tard, I know).

So I arrived at this Seven-Eleven sort of building (it WAS actually a 7/11) and saw this strangely familiar looking Thai boy that turned out to be my brother hahahaha. Guess the climate does get to you after a while... I hugged the bugger and then followed him into my soon-to-be hotel for the night.

We talked a while about the same stuff we always do... it was as if nothing had happened since the last time I'd seen the bastard, but it so happened that this time we were half way round the world from our very own Juriquilla, Mexico. Casual.

I met his roomie Mike from Canada and his neighbours (they took the TEFL course there and had extra good opinions about it, which made me smile even when I wasn't supposed to) and they were all awesome human beings who cared about my bro and certainly looked after him. There was also this Irish guy who kept saying that I was supposed to have a moustache because I was mexican or some shite, so I laughed and cried a little on the inside as well. Boohoo cliches.

We went to the movies and had a couple of beers in-town and we talked about life and death and green curry. I had missed my brother so much, and I realized the size of it just then, teary eyed and the whole show. But I was glad to see him working hard and partying like an animal, like a kid his age is supposed to. Only that this dude was living in heaven, seriously... Phuket is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen, WITH ELEPHANTS all over the freakin' place.

The next day we went to have a real Thai breakfast at a local restaurant, and I said my goodbyes with a nostalgic feel to it. I felt at home with those guys for some reason... it's hard to explain, but they had become a family of random people from all over the world sharing their everyday lives just for the fun of it.

I got on the plane (shit, it never ends!!) that headed its way towards Bang, the huge cock city and began to actually taste the beginning of my own little adventure. I was nearing the final destination of the trip: a very small town called Ban Phe, in the middle or rural Thailand. J-E-S-U-S DE V-E-R-A-C-R-U-Z.

CHAPTER 1: Just when I thought I got the hang of life's little treats...

This incredibly stupid story starts with a little girl: 22 years old on the outside, but still very little in height and in appearance as well, we might add.
She'd be happy to tell her own version so I'll run and go get her for you.

1,2,3, testing... here we come.

My name is Xalli and I'm known to my friends as the "lefward peasant" (of which I deny none, but would rather be called something else, like "beecharmer" or just "the freckly one"), but whatever.

I will be choosing to start my story like this:
Just as my tongue began to enjoy a very refreshing thread of water gushing from the fountain near the lavatories, beside the duty free counter, next to the seating zone by the gate numbered "123", it so happened that my head started rushing madly on the inside... like a bird rattling it's own cage made out of fish sticks... or something like that.

This of course, followed a series of events that no person in this universe would be brave enough to describe as "funny", at least not at the moment of their coming to be anyways.

UNFORSEEN FLASHBACK

I was happily saying my goodbyes to mom and dad, and my beloved (and very hairy) Daniel at the Benito Juarez airport in dear old home Mexico city. Just as I passed through the dividing gates, I caught a glimpse of the nostalgic turnarounds people take whenever leaving behind others they are fond of, particularly in airport entrances: only these were my own, so I sighed.
My parents, as patient as ever, had previously accompanied their highly disfunctional daughter (me) back home to PUEBLO QUERETARO in a very very hasty midnight return from the city. Reason? let us say that the 22 year old tiddler so happened to have forgotten her US VISA there. Why not? THIS, instead of carrying it along with her passport in order to manage responsibly through all traveling requirements airlines in LA give out to mortal people mounting their planes..

So we went back and got the damned thing. It's a 4 hour ride.

Next scene: I'm back at the airport, leaving behing a group of laughing flight attendants (my bad: I'd left all my stuff on the table for it to be rummaged away in a senseless lurk for home-made explosives, and then I walked on without picking any of it up... MATT DAMON).
So I got on the plane, redfaced, and in a blink of an eye I was getting off at the LAX (LA airport). Sweet! I'd made it so far!

Next stop: Seoul, Korea
Final destination: Bangkok, Thailand (I'm taking the TEFL course for the whole of January. That is, if I can make it to there without getting killed by wild things first).

I stood lifelessly behind an ocean of Korean heads waiting my turn to check in for the next flight (this of course, after being practically raped by the local autorities and their respective scanning machines, in search of those blessed home-made explosives inside my sneakers).
As I approached the desk, the lady in charge typed the whole Bible or such in the computer (she took ages!) just to tell me that my THAI VISA HAD EXPIRED 2 DAYS AGO!!!!

That couldn't be right, right? The scenery got all blurry on me as I checked it myself and discovered the awful truth... the VISA was useless.

I pissed my pants twice (mentally), then another time and finally got a hold of my emergency-puppy face, which totally moved the lady or something, because she immediately began her crazy-typing thing all over again as she told me: "oh lemme see, there must be something we can do, or you have to go back Mexico and get new visa"

I told her "it doesn't make sense... I gave the ticket to the dude in the embassy. Why on Earth would I need an expired VISA for the date my plane leaves??"

Nevertheless, it was my fault I had failed to check the date on time, and I knew it.
So I dropped my arms in a gesture of surrender to the ugliest of fates, assumed the position, called my dad and was ready to accept the plausible cancellation of my dreamy journey.
But ho! the counter lady spoke again: she told me to go to the Thai embassy in LA the next day and get a new visa while she changed all my flights to a day ahead. BRILLIANT.
She also gave me a discount ticket for a nearby hotel and said I could take the free shuttle there.
And so I did. I spent one turbulent night (not because of my stomach) thinking of the many ways I could, and would be turned down at the embassy...

Next day, I got up early and flew at the speed of a fart to the nearest Metro station, got on and followed directions on the map the dudes at LAX had given me in order to get to the embassy.
It was raining alright, lucky me! so I ran clumsily due to the enormous and red bagpacker-bagpack I carried on my back, splashing about like a maniac in London.

I took a cab from Hollywood Blvd and finally arrived on time thanks to the amicable russian driver leading the way. This counter-Thai-embassy-dude, however, was very kind indeed (not like the one in Mexico) and let out a spurred but discreet laugh as a response to my brief account of unfortunate events. And so this person made my MONTH by handing me a brand new Thai VISA (for this I had to get photographs and fill out forms and stuff before). I felt like Charly Bucket winning the very last Wonka Bar Golden Ticket...

I went out the building dancing like a retard hardly noticing the needly rain. Although I had no clue of where I was going and asked for directions every 2 blocks, I had a warm feeling in my gut that everything was not lost, not yet.

This is where I met the peruvian, I don't remember his name, but I cherish the little encounter we had: he mentally walked me through the rest of the way and wished me good luck, as he drove away to meet one of his driving students. His car, as I noticed from the outside, had a second set of clutch, brake and kickstart pedals for the co-pilot seat. That was weird and awesome.

On the way back to the Metro I met Joseph: an old libanese fellow who said he enjoyed libanese desserts, and that the "lady" on the far left of the alley was in fact a man...
I was careful not to give away too much info of my own, but got caught in a casual convo that ended up with a "take care, and stop being so negative. I know it's normal for you to change your mind all the time, being a libra and all, but always look on the bright side. So this is my stop". Got me thinking alright, I tell ya.

I found my way back to LAX and waited 12 long hours, to be exact, for my Seoul flight. I ate the most expensive Big Mac I've ever had (it had little gold and silver bits, and was made by Jesus himself I'd suppose, for that price) but was starving and did not care.

Finally I cut the line in search for the same lady that had treated me nicely the day before and got a swift response from the staff. Curiously enough, everybody knew my story and smiled at me as I finally got my very own ticket to Seoul by Korean Airlines!! Sweeeeet!

I waited another 5 hours or so, with my butt eroding away on a green bench until the huge clock hereafter decided to announce it was time to board the 00:10 flight I had so keenly passed from coveting to earning. At last!
The staff once again congratulated me on getting my new VISA and all as I strode on into the brightness of a gorgeous white 737 Boeing, the same that would, in a moment or two, blow me to the other side of the globe once again... Asia here we come.

Otra de mis estúpidas reseñas educativas... para Reggie

Me da mucha risa cómo las cosas se conectan en la vida real, quizá como en los sueños (para avisarte cosas), en arborescencia rizomática o simplemente como en el contenido playeras ajenas increíblemente divertidas; acabo de ver una de David and Goliath que dice "Santa is my sugar daddy"... casual. On that note, me dieron ganas de escribir, ¡Vaya! tuve que estar dos días seguidos en cama moqueándome la existencia con un regimiento de cajas de Kleenex para finalmente decidirme a hacer algo que solía disfrutar mucho. Así que aquí vamos randomness, hold fast.
Goliath Goliath...
Mi ipod está de buenas y a causa del mood melancólico me encuentro escuchando "Suddenly Everything has Changed" por The Postal Service (cover de los Flaming Lips), ergo me pongo toda quesosa ("cheesy") y pienso en qué uno se vuelve otra persona sin darse cuenta; camináis sobre una cinta de moebius y cuando menos lo esperáis ya estáis del otro lado sin tener nada qué poder hacer al respecto, es una perra eso de no tener nada qué hacer al respecto, es una perra indeed (oh! ¿reitero o redundo? volvemos al principio).

Sin embargo, no sobran las veces en las que como de puñetazo agigantado uno se da cuenta que los amigos siempre están ahí; como monitos de terracota que toman vida de vez en cuando para alivianarle a uno lo "apioso"(sic) que puede ser la vida; verde, lleno de agua y carente de mucho sabor.

Anywhoo, hace poco más de una semana tuve la oportunidad de recibir la no-menos-que-singular llamada a celular de una de mis personas favoritas del pueblo de los atardeceres citados por Borges: Reggie Ray (la persona, no el pueblo, porque el pueblo en referencia es Querétaro).

-Oh seeee Xal! tengo boletos para ver a los Black Eyed Peas este fin y TIENES que venir-
-Hmmmm suena muy tentador mi estimada, pero había prometido visitar a mis padres este fin... deja lo pienso dos segundos (tic-toc) ahora dos más... bueno entonces sí voy.-

Fue durante ese largo y dudoso debate diplomático que decidí permanecer en la ciudad de los percances otro fin y disfrutar de una ida gratis a ver a un grupo que me gusta y MUCHO aún cuando trato de esconderlo con velo de wannabe-artista, tengo un poco de fresa en el interior, como los gansitos (aunque no soy tan negra por fuera... RACISTÍSIMA!!!!).
Resbalé mi celular de vuelta al bolsillo de mi bata (estaba en el taller de cerámica, con las manos y las narices llenas de barro) y sonreí descaradamente ante el cambio estelar para el plan del día siguiente.

-¿No vas a venir a vernos por ir a ver a Fergie?- me preguntó mi padre, muy enterado de mis devenires sin tenerle yo que decir nada en lo previo, lo cual me sacó mucho de pedo -Vimos a Lucía hoy en casa de los Ocampo y nos contó que irán a un concierto mañana, qué padre que vayas a ver a Fergie-
Me fascinan las reacciones bipolares que pueden tener los padres ante ciertas situaciones... (mi abuelo es a Kylie Minogue como mi padre es a Fergie... como en los exámenes de lógica de la UNAM; ergo boys will be boys). Así fue como me enteré de que Lucía nos acompañaría a la travesía y eso rima.

A la mañana siguiente me puse a investigar de qué se trataba el concierto y me di cuenta que era nada más y nada menos que el festival Goliath (damn, eso suena mighty!) con unos 50 grupos randy entre los cuales destacaban Justice, Shiny Toy Guns, Crystal Castles, Thievery Corporation, Sussy 4, Jumbo, Pitbull, Calle 13 et al. El creador, un tal Pedro Moctezuma me sonó como alguien que se lleva sus caprichos un nivel orgíastico-nirvánico(sic), sin llamarse David necesariamente.
Justo en eso me llamó Rejas de nuevo para anunciar que tenía 3 boletos más qué regalar generosamente a mis amigos más cercanos. Como mi queridísimo novio es demasiado intelectualoide para esas banalidades me mandó por un tubo de jueguitos McDonald's y mi amiga Fridita jaló su celular por el WC (eso o se lo metió por el crack porque no me contestó la byotch) la lista de invitados aterrizó en Kim, Izas y más adelante... Andemo.

Llegamos al depa de la abuela de Regina (Rejas, reggie, todas son la misma) en Palmas tan puntuales como nos lo permitió la ciudad y nos introdujimos en el espacio que hacía 2 años que no contemplaba: el mismísimo recinto que nos había acogido tan hostil como amoroso esa vez que salimos lodosas hasta los calzones del concierto de los Red Hot Chili Peppers (pobres alfombras persas de la abuela, ouch). Desayunamos café con galletitas como todas unas señoras gordas de Polanco en Palmas y platicamos de cosas que las señoras gordas de Polanco en Palmas suelen platicar: tampons n boys. NOT.

Luego, después de ser advertidas por un amigo de la suiza Kim que "lo bueno" empezaría hasta las 7pm, decidimos caminar hasta el Subway más cercano (para hacer tiempo y comprar lunch). Habiendo llegado en tan sólo 8 minutos, decidimos aventurarnos en coche a un Subway más lejano, algo que circundara nuestro destino final y esta vez en coche.
Nos trepamos (¿qué pasó?) al buen Xadowfax y celestina la catrina nos guió el camino bailoteando con el aire acondicionado, mientras las locas de atrás descifraban el mapa que nos había tan cordialmente hecho y explicado (sin haberle entendido nada, por zurda y queretana) el tío de las hnas García-Lascurain.

Llegamos temprano y ahora sí luncheamos como gordas de Polanco en Santa Fe platicando de tampones y los bambinos adyacentes... buen lunch indeed.
Después de habernos acabado los últimos 3 panes del local viendo La Ley y El Orden en la pantalla plana, caminamos un poco más de bajada esta vez platicando sobre los datos culturales que pueden albergarse en tanto la química como la nutrición (oficios practicados por Izas y Lu). Mientras tanto Kim se iba tropezando con varios elementos del pavimento y Lucía le seguía el paso. Yo sólo pensaba "Blondes have more fun" y tarareaba Barbie Girl en mi cabeza. Con amor.

Finalmente compartimos una caja de chicles como buenas niñas scout sentadas en un montículo de pasto frente a la iglesia susodicha (según el mapa) jugando "En la calle-lle" y "caricaturas" sin chupe, en lo que esperábamos a Andemo y a su prima. Comentamos algunas ojetadas sobre los atuendos de las dudesses que bajaban en éxtasis y sin mucha ropa de una oleada de coches taxi, a pesar del frío trato que nos anunciaba el imperdonable pero muy bonito cielo.

Llegó Andemo después de un rato y nos infiltramos en la cola de entrada. Fuimos manoseados como lo es usual en estas cosas y entramos con un "squeeze the chicken" FLOP! para unirnos a la masa de jóvenes hormonales que rondaban por todo el parque. Yuck.

El itinerario que nos dieron las edecanes sensuales vestidas de policía no concordaba en lo más mínimo con lo que veíamos en los escenarios ni en tiempo ni en espacio (Einstein estaría muy defraudado o entretenido), por lo que decidimos esperar un poco más de lo esperado (duh!) en el escenario principal para ver si los Black-Eyed llegaban en horario inglés o en mexicano. Nos escurrimos cual lenguas húmedas entre la multitud de gente mala copa que nos gritaba cosas como "pinches chaparras, ni que fueran a ver de todos modos" o "Ntchka!!" para buscar un mejor lugar en el espacio de tierra (estábamos en el hasta atrás de los hasta atrásesesss) al ritmo de Calle 13 "Atrévetetete" me acordé mucho de Nan bailando jeje. Pero nos conformamos con alejarnos de la gente en el fondo, donde curiosamente se veía mejor que mero mero mero al frente diii.

Fue justo en ese momento cuando vimos a una "sister-friend" treparse como chango en celo a una de las dos torres-nextel que resguardaban las bocinas de la plebe (los no-VIP's). De inmediato la banda dejó de picarse los mocos y se unió en apoyo a la atrevida muchachita. No tardaron los de "seguridad" en tratar de matar la fiesta con "Bájese güerita, de favor, eso no es seguro" y cosas por el estilo. Sin embargo, la heroína del momento siguió con su plan que seguro le parecía lo mejor en el mundo en su borrachera (estaba hasta el dedo y se tambaleaba como magna-bandera por los tubos tetraédricos combinados a lo Buckminster Fuller) mientras que algunos gordos de seguridad intentaron treparse tras de ella fallando rotunda e hilarantemente.
Por desgracia ingrata alguno que otro en buena condición subió hasta arriba (ya habiendo conquistado el Everest nuestra G.I. Jane para ese entonces) y la bajó con gran esfuerzo (se les escapó 2 o 3 veces, incrementando los gritos de apoyo de su nuevo público).
Se la llevaron a quién.sabe.dónde (yo digo que la encerraron en un baño portátil y la rodaron por la colina, pero nadie me cree), pero nadie le niega que tuvo una salida de Rockstar; cubierta por cuerpos pseudo-policiacos alejándola hacia el horizonte inadvertido. Fueron vastas las grabaciones de celular con el rodaje entero de la escena majestuosa, chéquenle por ahí en youtube. Andemo estaba en éxtasis gritando "culeeeero, culeeeeero" y yo me le uní desde más lejos, para lograr un efecto Doppler dado a la psicodelia NOT.

Abrumados por la impaciencia decidimos ir por chelas a la barra lejana y después desertar momentáneamente para regresar luego, cuando de pronto empezó una voz diabólica diciendo cosas que no entendía... para luego estallar con el beat tan familiar que nos hace reconocer a los Black Eyed Peas en todo el mundo: "And the base keep runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and" WOOHOOO!!!!!!!!!
A partir de ese momento brincamos, gritamos, cantamos con Fergie, nos abrazamos con extraños a hicimos un montoncito de prendas en el centro de nuestro grupo de amigos danzantes al son de las canciones que nos acompañaron toda la prepa... "My humps", "Don't Phunk with My Heart", "Where is the Love" (ahí casi lloro, super busted), "Big Girls Don't Cry" (ahí sí perdí por nena, perdón Fergie!! jajaja), "Pump It" (pompi-LAURAAAA) y finalmente con broche de oro "I Got a Feeling".
Y no sólo eso; nos conmovieron y sacaron de pedo con interpretaciones de rolas como "No te metas con mi Cucu" y "Vamos a la Playa" jajaja, también tocaron fragmentos compilados de Otherside, Sweet Child of Mine, Smells like Teen Spirit... más random que eso no podíamos pedir.

Nos exprimieron como trapos de piso (jerga tu madre) y quedamos sin pila alguna para Pitbull y esas monkeys que le seguían horas después (gracias a la pésima organización, gracias Pedro MOC!). Equis. Vimos un poco de Shiny Toy Guns (a lo cual la gente gritaba Shiny y yo gritaba Xalli... jajaja) también de los Crystal y Thievery otro ratito, pero en realidad ya estábamos muertos.
Despedimos a la pequeña Kim con su amiga Bety y nos dirigimos al coche platicando de la vida.
Dormimos en el mismo sillón de forzosa intimidad (abollado por el centro, ¿verdad Lori?) con chamarras y cobijas improvisadas, pero sonrientes por la experiencia inolvidable de aquella noche en Santa Fe.

Al día siguiente nos despedimos de Lu y Regg con un abrazo de hermanas queretuanas y salimos Izas y yo de regreso al sur de la ciudad, a la surdad. Dejé a mi pequeña padawan en Metro CU y regresé a mi depa solitario a bañarme 7 veces seguidas porque apestaba como orangután de selva salvaje en Animal Planet. Y todo valió la pena, perdón padres, pero a veces prefiero ver a Black Eyed Peas que ir a casa... qué buena hija.

-Ya me contaron que te la pasaste muy bien, me alegra y me da envidia que hayas visto a Fergie-
Wtf? Mi padre se encontró con Lucía nuevamente (what are the odds? más bien creo que la mandaron como espía miniatura) y por lo tanto se enteró de mis desventuras sin yo poder hacer algo al respecto... menos mal que no fui yo la que se trepó en la torre y flasheo/mooneó a la multitud (jaja, eso no pasó).

WWOOOOWWWWW heck yess eso estuvo increíble!!! las amo :)