Senorita Juliana

I have a recurring alarm on my cellphone. And this morning, since I had no intention of getting up anywhere near the time it started going off, it vibrated so many times that it vibrated itself off the table and onto the floor. I kept hearing this buzzing sound intermittently for about an hour and half and then suddenly: crash.

It's dragon boat day, and may I say that a grayer day hath never existed. England would be hard put to rival today. It's the last day of my membership at my imperialist country club. SO I had breakfast there with the usual suspects. Then I exercised my buns off, literally--a particularly unfortunate accepted invitation to join the Pilates class with rubber bands has resulted in a pulled muscle in my ass. Sometimes it's fun to take a class like that and realize that there are muscles in your body you've never been introduced to before.

So, I stole the March 2006 Esquire magazine from the fitness center because it has Viggo Mortensen on the cover. And as I've been reading through the magazine, I am struck by the high caliber of the writing. I noticed the same thing in GQ. It's not just one standout writer, like Will Blythe and his hysterical article called Hating Coach about Mike Krzyzewski of Duke, or George Saunders and his phenomenal article about Dubai in GQ. It's the whole thing, the writing in general. Women's magazines are just too often subpar. With the possible exception of Vanity Fair. These men's writers drop literary references like bombs and have passages that are almost too poetic to get away with, but are sandwiched between such gruff manliness that they are totally acceptable. argh. Of course, to read such excellence you have to wade through their artistic designers getting off on their position with a well-respected magazine by having Evangeline Lilly pose in a gingham bathing suit with pigtails in photos that are laid out with an article in which she says she is sick of the gratuitous nature of many of her scenes in Lost. Heinous. so Heinous. so you are left with the knowledge that the writing is good, but the men in charge don't respect women or, possibly, anyone. oh that silly evangeline. she probably didnt mean that thing about hating gratuitous exposure. she won't mind fulfilling my fantasty of her as a little girl in pigtails. oh the fallen world.

I want to express my sincere thanks and gratitude to those of you who have acknowledged the crappiness of my living situation. I did manage to get sonme concessions. I've got the whole weekend to pack up, not just until tomorrow and I managed to get away from the cats and am instead moving in with Andrea. This appears to be some kind of new theme. I'm assuming Jessie is next in line to be shuffled through Frau Andrea's magical pre-departure boarding house. Of course, no one could ask for a more pleasant housemate than Frau Andrea. Speaking of which, she's a superfine woman, far better than most men deserve and if you happen to know a high quality Christian man who just hasnt been able to find the right girl--hopefully because he's too busy being wildly successful at the job toward which he is passionate--teaching, engineering, national park guide, whatever--and hilarious, you can have him superficially see Andrea online and then he can comment if he wants to get in touch. For Andrea I am willing to put myself into the position of matchmaker despite my general loathing of said activity. She's one of the only people who allows me to be entirely myself and doesn't judge me. She has more faith in me than I deserve and has thusly won my unswerving devotion. And she has always wanted to be a California girl. Just in case her apparent love for Asia dissuades anyone.

I just had Custard-pudding flavored Haagen Dazs ice cream. Basically tastes like Flan. So good. Do they have this flavor in the U.S.A.? All this goes to show that I should have studied Spanish. I am a Mexican girl at heart. Once we had a guest speaker in one of Ann Huss's brilliant seminars--Wellesley College, YOU SUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK--and he asked me why I studied Chinese and I said "I have no idea; I should've studied Spanish" which clearly did not help him make whatever point he was making, but which I still hold to be true. I have echoes of abuela saying "Juliana, Juliana, un besito por favor" and getting scratched by her little granny moustache.