Second Block Edition: Tales from Miami Ad School Account Planning Bootcamp. Location: Minneapolis, MN.


piece of mind.

I'm getting itchy for new clothes. The clothes are a. one size fits all and b. overly expensive for their worth. I miss the Target clearance rack. sigh. I've been wearing the same clothes for about ten months now. It's getting repetitive. Mom sent some new shirts a while back, but it's just not the same.
I'm gonna miss this country. It's been so long since I've had to say goodbye to something without knowing when or if I'll see it again. It's a strange concept. I came home the other day and greeted my tiny closet of a room and I was overcome with that feeling. This is my home for the moment. I like it. I'm happy. But I know I can't stay. Maybe that's why I've been holding something back. Another part thinks the place is too exhausting and unappreciative of my greatness, I've gotten what I was looking for out of my time here, and now, it's time to return back home. Did I just write the beginning of a time traveling novel?

Next week I'm heading off to Uruguay for a few days. Just like all those regular ex-pats do to renew their visas and pretend like "they really just felt like getting away for a little while." We all know it's a lie, one day the Argentine government will catch on. Oh, who am I kidding, we all know the Argentine government doesn't give a crap about the foreigners living in this country. Every single job I've had here has openly been "under-the-table." This how people run effective businesses in Argentina. That and letting their employees come in at 10am.

My mental deadline for my MAS application is the week after next. I'm getting closer with ideas for this video. Don't worry, I work really well under pressure. I think.



what the wwhhhaaat?

I only have two more months in this wonderful Argentine journey.
That's really all my thoughts right now.
And this application, which I'm secretly beginning to call names.



Take the bus story and you read it. you read it!

I love starting my morning feeling like a cow in a holding pin. The metro in this city before 9:30am is a disaster. Un quilombo. But I was forced to ride on this rodeo of city transportation because my translation skills were needed before my regular arrival time. But I was greeted by someone else getting me, the intern, coffee. What the what?! I love this place.

So, for those of you whom are dedicated readers you may remember Tales from the Collectivo...also known as bus stories. Well, they're back. With the mother of all stories.
Meg and I decided to take the bus home on Saturday night with the trusty number 59. As luck would have it we caught one just as we arrived at the stop. Late-night riders were occupying all the seats, so Meg took her luck next to the number one hottie on the bus, while I hang out next to the handicap bars. Then. Out of no where pops in this dude to wedge himself into the small space between myself and the bus window. My nose smells him before my eyes can even grace his presence. Some cutie across from me darts his eyes at me, then Smelly Man, then back at me. You wish, dude. What can a girl do? I guess politely mumble to her best friend (still rubbing shoulders with Hottie Mchotterson) "Yeah, that´s just not going to happen," as she moves away from the smell.
Smelly Man does some tricks, like tries to light his cigarette backwards and drop & pick-up his lighter a million times. Meg and I are thoroughly dialoguing the events when we realize the bus has stopped and in storm six Argentine Policia to begin harassing Smelly Man. How they were able to get so close to him without wearing Purell, I don't know. There was about 5 minutes of authoritative yelling. some bitch slapping. woman police officer holding Smelly Man back. Smelly Man shouting "No tengo nada! No tengo nada!" Me squeezing Meg's hand with extreme excitement of events unfolding in front of our little American eyes.
The police officers finally drag Smelly Man off the bus and have their way...something not as excited I'm sure as they make it seem in those cop shows. But it was definitely material for TrueTV.

Oh, number 59.

St. Patty's Day was a bust, unfortunately. Being soaked before I even arrived at Meg's apartment was quite the downer. But don't worry we have the final installment in Thursday Night Dinner coming up. Lots of potential for hat wearing. If you know what I mean.

Also I purchased my tickets for Uruguay. I'm ready for my fourth South American country visit. It's a small one, but lots of potential. And there's a boat ride involved.

Application coming along like road construction in San Antonio. And speaking of home, I'll be there in about two months. No puedo creerlo!



You never fail.

Yesterday, I saw a man trying to hail a garbage truck, what I can only imagine he thought to be a bus. At least one hopes. Of course yelling at the garbage men for not being collectivo drivers is taking the situation a little too far, dude.
It must be crazy week. This morning some older lady stopped on the sidewalk to yell at me "HELLO" in English. Something I only hear from drooling men staring at my chest, and surprising not interested in learning anymore words in English. Unless, they come before words like "yes, please" or "tell me more."

Tonight will continue the new tradition Meg and I have of Thursday Night Dinner. I feel like I'm cheating a little bit on my original Thursday Night Dinner that I used to have with Liz in college.

But it's nice to have a little bit of stability in this city, especially when you deal with the crazies I have been dealing with.

The girl that sits across from me at my internship has a cookie jar on her desk. The problem is that her desk is my desk. She's my desk buddy, if you can say that. Frequently, she will stick her hand in there and eat a cookie. Everytime she does this my hand wants to jump out and snatch the damn cookie from her. and eat it.

The other girls in the office usually play terrible 90s mixes on their computers for the whole office to hear. Yesterday featured Whitney Houston's, "I will always love you." Including a sing-along. People would agree it's one of the best international hits to play in the work place...besides "whoop! There it is" Nothing is better than that.

My roommates are coming back next week. I'm really excited. The "fourth roommate" and I have been in the tiny apartment alone together for weeks now. I'll go days without seeing him, but I know he's home because sometimes I see that the bathroom floor is wet. Or there are food stains uncleaned on the stove. Sometimes, just sometimes, the door will be cracked open. And even though I can't see him, I'm comforted that some fresh air is breezing through the dark cave.

I've completed to two of my application questions. Only eight more and a video. Because of my inherent ability to procrastinate I've told myself the deadline is actually 10 days before the real one. But shhhh don't tell my brain, he's convinced.

Also, updates on my attitude: I'm getting excited to come home! I'm already planning a trip up to North Texas for about a week to hit all those cool peeps in the Denton, Dallas and Ft. Worth area that I haven't seen since pre-South American experience. Don't worry Austin-ites I'll be muy cercita de vos.

Chau amigos.



My brain is tired. I really missed this feeling. I spent the afternoon writing my bio for my application. Only nine other immensely creatively destructive questions to go. I should have started saving up to spend all my money on café en los cafés. There's no way ideas can come to me in this closet of a room, so I'll have to find alternative places to pass my afternoons. Outdoor public places are definitely out of the question, unless I would like to never see Fugi again. I'm not sure I've seen a single library the whole time I've been here, either. And there's no campuses where I can fake that I'm a student for free wifi. That only works for museum and movie discounts.

Time to put myself to bed with a few episodes of 30 Rock and humidity that you could swim in.



[moment of ]

It's hard to think just a year ago I was in Chile, traveling the south with Meg. And even a month ago I was parading through the streets of Santiago de Chile. Now the country is in a state of disaster. And turmoil. I'm lucky to be where I am, safe and alive. [Moment of silence.]

Someone smokes in the ad agency office where I'm interning. Actually in the office. Because it's not very frequent, it doesn't bother me as much as it just plain strange. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I'm in an episode of Mad Men. The internship is going well, though. First day I showed up on-time to find myself waiting 30 minutes until someone arrived. Oh, how I love Argentina work ethic. I'm working directly with the project manager. There are only about ten people in the agency, so it's nice small feel. Of course me being the only gringa in the house makes it a little bit more obvious, not that it's ever that subtle. But sometimes I try not to be so obvious with my Spanish-stum-bling--st-u-tter.

Meg and I finally figured out a way to make fast cash. Even though she does live on calle puta (whore street) we've decided to use our skills in another way. Baking! We had our first successful cookie sale on Sunday at the San Telmo fair. Of course I had to perfect my "Galletas.galletas.galletas" voice. Nothing will compare to the pure raw talent of the old men on bicycles who yell out "heeellladoooo.helado.heladooo." but I can always strive. So now that Meg and I are actually cookie artisans we expect to getting a little bit more respect, even if the majority of our customers are old men wanting to sneak a peek at my chest and ask us where we're from. He's giving me 2 pesos, the least I can do is flash him a smile. But the staring I'll have to start charging extra for.

I started going to G.A.P. classes at my gym. Don't let the Spanish acronym fool you. It's an ass, legs and abs class that had me feeling like a 90-year-old lady. It left me to put on very embarrassing display of inability to do crunches at the gym the following day. Meg insisted that I do 10 even though it really ended up being 20 because I half-assed about 30 before she counted them. She's a good gym partner. But. There was lots of grunting. maybe some yelling. definitely some cursing. And as opposed to former thoughts in the week, I am still alive. Next adventure: Spin class!