Yakamatsu (viii)

Did you see? the Pope made the news again.

Nice, where?

He's in the cover of Rolling Stone?

What's that?

... a magazine.

Never heard of it... is it a geology journal?

O.o

Having a baby

... now that I have your attention...

No, I'm not HAVING a baby, I HAVE two babies.

Want to meet them?

Click here and here.

Yakamatsu (vii)

I swear, I am NOT making any of this shit up.

Did you hear?? Nelson Mandela died!!!

I saw that, yes!

Do you know who Nelson Mandela was?

[Oh fuck! am I being tested?!?!] Ummm... SouthAfrican president - Apartheid - Racism - Prisioner... Ummm...

REALLY? I thought he was a singer.

[Jaw. to. the. floor]

Lunch, next day:

Did you hear about the World Cup draw?

World Cup... do mean soccer??

Uh-huh.

Not really, I'm not into sports, I prefer to read about news of the world.

[Suuuuuuuuuuuuure you do... pffffff!!!!]

The World Cup... they'll play before New Year's in Australia, right? 

[I think I'll lose my jaw to all the "flooring"] 

What about it?

[And now, to ensure my ticket to Beelzebub's fire pit...] Do you want to hear something sad?

Oh no!!!... what?!?!

Nelson Mandela was going to sing at the opening ceremony.

Oh noooooo!!! poor guy!!

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

I kept repeating that phrase to myself while I looked for a number on my phone.
I haven't dialed it in a long, long, LONG time.
I wanted to make the call. I needed to.

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

Before calling his number I called his office. I wanted to check if him, Dr. so-and-so was going to be available before Thanksgiving or if he was going to be out of the country because... you never know. Family values, right?
His secretary was "nice" enough to transfer my call to his direct line.
Oh crap!!

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

Lucky for me, he was not in his office and I had a couple more days to think about what I was going to say besides...

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

I was ready for a voice mail from a rejected call.
I was ready for an everlasting ringing and no pick-up sound.
I was ready for a "What do you want?!" from the other end of the line.

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

I knew we didn't end up in the best of terms.
He hurt me and I hurt him. I disappeared from his life and he didn't bother to look for me. Or did he?
All of our common friends don't talk to him anymore so... how was I supposed to know what was going to happen when I called?

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

I gather all the brave bones in my body and I dial his cell-phone number.

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

It's ringing...

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

And someone picks up...

Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.
Hey, it's me. Don't hang up.

And...

HEY YOU!! HOW ARE YOU?!?!
IT'S SO NICE TO HEAR YOUR VOICE AGAIN!!
WHAT A GREAT SURPRISE!!

Hey, it's me. Don't hang --- WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!

He was surprisingly nice. Oh my God... is he dying?!?! Is he high on mushrooms!?!?!
He asked about my life and my health.
I asked about his work, his new place, his health...
He told me he had a heart-attack scare and I told him about my boob-bump scare and we both promised to be good people and take care of ourselves.
He asked about my family and I did the same.
We talked about our plans for the future.
We apologized to each other for all the weird stuff that had happened, I thanked him for all the good things he had done for me and I told him how much I missed him.
I told him I was surprised how he knew it was me, how he hadn't deleted my number from his phone and he said: "Why would I do that? you don't delete the people you love from your life! I you just give them and yourself time to cool down and forget the reasons why you were mad. I'd never delete your number from my phone. I'll always love you."
He apologized as well, he called our "fight" a tie and suggested we started brand new with a: "Hi, how are you? my name is... what's yours?"
We talked for about one hour, then he had to go, but not before saying: Don't be a stranger, please stay in touch. Really, don't be a stranger.

We hung up and I had a big smile on my face.

And then... I woke up.

Yakamatsu (vi)

A post-Thanksgiving present for the world... a DOUBLE-YAKAMATSU feature!!!!

(and yes, I'm copying my most commented Facebook status of the week here, sue me)

The old lady from the reception desk just learned we don't celebrate Thanksgiving in Colombia:

WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?! What do you celebrate then?!?!
Ummmm... Christmas?
What do you do in Colombia on Thursday then?!?!?!
Ummmm... work?
Does that mean you're coming to work on Thursday?!?!?
Of course! 
But Thanksgiving is a world-wide celebration!!!
Just like the Word Series, right?
EXACTLY!!
It's a religious thing. We're all Scientologists there.
Oh... 

I know, I'm going straight to hell.

Of course, I HAD to share this with Yakamatsu girl because well, I was bored.
Meh...

Why do you have to be so mean?!?!
I was not being mean! That old hag is TOO old, maybe she was there when the pilgrims came the first time, she maybe even helped on the Welcome party planning. She should know better!

I don't get it.

[Surprised Mafe? ----- nope!]

Anyway, do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?

I think "this guy" was going to invite me to his parents house...

OH MY GOD! ROMANTIC!!!! ARE YOU GOING?!?!

No.
WHY NOT?!?!?
Because if the family is as boring as the guy I'll end up hanging myself from the shower curtain.
You're mean.
It's called reality check sweetheart. The dude's incredibly and horribly lame. Besides, the neighbors invited me to their place, they're fun, I prefer walking across the parking lot rather than driving 45 minutes to be bored to death.
You're being a bitch.
No. It's called being practical.
Wait! Why didn't I get an invitation from the neighbors?
[Because they're afraid of you, maybe?!?!?!] I don't know, ask them, not me.
Ha! but you're not going to be able to go to ANY Thanksgiving parties anyway.
I won't?
You'll be working on Thursday, won't you?
You're joking, right?
But you just said----
You DO know I was jok--- are you being sarcastic?
I don't know what that means.
[Lordy Lord a' Mercy!]

My best friend's wedding

One year ago, while I was spending the most amazingly LAME Thanksgiving day in the History of lame Thanksgiving days, my best friend called me: I have to tell you something... Skype, NOW. It's HUGE!!

Knowing her like I do and knowing her current love situation I knew perfectly well what she was going to tell me. Of course I did...
The dude just proposed!!, she said. I can't believe it!!

(Btw, yeah, I've known this for a year now, when Mr. Big knew that didn't tell him and waited for her share the story he LITERALLY chased and spanked me around Downtown Ann Harbor with a flip-flop on his hand - true story.
What I don't understand is how he missed it, since she actually wrote a post about it?? -  burn baby!!)

That night we talked for hours, she told me the entire story.

A year passed and about a month ago she called me:
Hey queenie, what are you doing on the weekend of the 24th?
Hey princess! Not much I hope.
Will you be willing to fly to Ithaca for a weekend?
Why would I go to visit your fiance while you're in Colombia?
Will you, or not?!?!
I think I can... in theory.
Well, in theory I'll have a visa and will be there a week before.
Oh... so in theory we'll see each other!
And it theory you'll be a witness at my wedding!
SAY WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!
So... how do you write your name for ticket purposes, I need to book your ticket. Middle name?
Oh my God! is this really happening!?!?!?!

And so it happened.

I was there.

It was the greatest honor she could share with me. Being there, not as a witness but together as the sisters life gave each other to love and to bitch when the other one is doing something stupid is, by far, the greatest present anyone has ever given me.
I saw my best friend in the entire planet join hands with a wonderful, funny, smart and amazing man.
I heard him say how much he loved her and I heard her say she would go to the ends of the earth for him.
I was standing close enough to witness the way they lovingly looked at each other when they were pronounced "Husband and Wife".
I was there to see her transformation from a "Bah-Humbug! Bollocks to Valentine!" to a sweet "I found my prince charming... I've had enough frogs in my life. This one is taken bitches!!!". The roles have changed. Now, I'm the Humbug. A very happy Humbug because my best friend is the happiest person right now.

It was an extremely cold day in upstate New York but we didn't notice. Our sleeveless dresses and high heels were not ready for 10F nor snow but... pfff!!! it was the happiest day in my best friend's life so what if I lose a toe to hypothermia?!?!?!

You know I'll lose all 10 toes if you need me to walk across the North Pole.

I love you princess.

Of beauty, make-up and Photoshop

I'm going to be honest here, I don't think of myself as beautiful or sexy.
I'm not ugly either, I'm normal... nothing too fancy, not too disgusting, just... normal.
A good fashion sense, I guess.

I clean up nicely, they say. I dress pretty and the way I do my make-up is normal.
I like to have my hair put together when possible. Otherwise you'll see me on a not-so-pretty-sumo-wrestler-like pony tail but that's it. I'm a very normal, standard person.

Or so I thought.

This last weekend, as a celebration to the first tornado of the season, two of my friends and I decided to play dress-up and help one of them practice as she wants to become a make-up artist and hairdresser. We stayed home and... well...

Smokey sultry eyes, bright red lips, little black dress, beach wavy hair and I was done.
I looked different.
Just for fun, I took a selfie and whatsapped it to an ex-dude and he replied: "I'm not sure about it... I'll have to see it in person to comment"... whoa.

Of course, we HAD to take real pictures, OF COURSE! we were not going through all that and not have evidence of the beauty crime, right?
We turned the living room into a professional photographer studio with upside down lamps looking for the perfect "Facebook profile picture".

I didn't think it was going to be a big difference, it was just about the same right??
Wrong!

The result?

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRY-FIVE likes!!
Twelve hours after I posted my picture on Facebook, 135 of my friends liked it and 38 commented on it:
"You look like a beauty pageant contestant!"
"Gorgeous"
"Hey sexy, where have you been?"
"How YOU doin'?"
"You look super hot mamacita"
"Mafe, you look stunning"
"Damn girl! I'd date ya!" - from a girl.
A friend left a voice mail: "Since when do you look like Kim Kardashian????"... yes, apparently my friends drunk-dial my number.

Do you know what is like having 135 of the people you know clicking on LIKE?
Well, I never had anything like that happening to me so it felt AWESOME!!!!!

But here's the thing: that picture was completely staged.
There was nothing "casual" about that look: the make-up, the hair, the dress... yes, it was me under all that but that wasn't the real me.
Two hours after the picture was taken I was back in bed, with my hair and face washed and the model from the picture was gone down the drain, literally.

"Congratulations on your new look"... look? whatchu-talking about??
"I love your transformation"... what transformation?
"I barely recognized you! you look so pretty"... ohhhhh... kay... ummmm... thanks?

To make things funnier, I landed my first "modeling gig".
Yes, now I'm a model. No, I can't believe it either.

And no, I'm not a Victoria's Secret Angel, God forbid!
A friend of mine is part of a health research team (can't tell much because I just signed a confidentiality agreement) and they needed a Latina for his posters and, guess what? he called me.

At first, I thought it was going to be something simple, just go to his house and take some funny pictures.
Then shit got real yo': We had a meeting to discuss the "storyline", the "concept"... the actual contract... and I started to chickened out.

Then they sent me the address to the stud---- wait... STUDIO?!?! Yes, studio.

I had to stand THERE, in the middle of those lights, with a dude taking pictures of me while someone else kept saying: look sad, now look disappointed, now look happy, now look hopeful... now look at me, now back to you, now back to me, you are now petrified because you have 10 pairs of eyes watching your every move and you cannot smile when your supposed to frown... I'm on a horse.

I asked my friend if the camera was going to reflect all the imperfections on my face, I begged for  make-up!! to which he said:
"No worries Mafe, you'll be fine. You actually have to look older... I'll Photoshop a couple of years into your face, you are naturally cute and I need you to look old".

So, what is the definition of beauty?

Where is beauty actually? is it at the bottom of my make up bag or in the screen of a graphic designer?

I sent the first selfie that I've sent my ex to my dad and he didn't like it (what the duce?!?!): It's too much Nana. You don't look like yourself.
Then my dad saw the FB picture: same day, same face, same dress, same hair, BUT different lighting and he commented: That's much better, you see? you don't have to overdo things to look beautiful.

Is beauty in the eye of the beholder or in the hands of a lighting assistant?

I don't know, I just felt existential on my first week out in the world again.




BONUS TRACK: if you made it as far as this line and you didn't get the "I'm on a horse" thing: