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!