meaning... my day was a little bit of a clusterfuck. Quilombo is probably one of my favorite Argentinian slang words-not the dirtiest but fun to say and very versatile.
Let's back back back it up nah...
Woke up this morning at 6:30a for my 8am class at UMSA (the local BA university I'm taking a class from). Today was the first class-Estado y Politicas Publicas(the state and public policy). I was gonna be a PoliSci major before I found International Studies so I've taken my share of public policy-related classes before. All I need to do is pass this thing. Not even do well, just..sobrevivir(survive). I go on autopilot and forgot that my class starts at 8 not 8:30. At 7:45 I got a text from another IES student taking the same class asking if I was close. Well fuck, I haven't even left my apartment building yet. I fly out of the apartment and realized it was raining and I didn't have my raincoat with me. Hauled back up, grabbed my jacket and walked to the bus stop, which is on the corner. I wait...five minutes later the line I needed comes down the street. I stuck out my arm to flag it down. It sees me, and the other three people waiting. Fucker passed right on by. Awesome.
Finally caught the bus and then walked to UMSA. I met Zach, the other IES student. 10 minutes late but thankfully Argentinians don't believe in being on time. Ever. So we climbed the five flights of stairs because there was a huge line for the elevators. Found the class, sat down. Bueno.
Professor rolls in, starts class. Speaks at a good speed, I'm keeping up. Talking about things I'm familiar with. Awesome. Then...he spoke faster and faster and I'm sad to say I didn't have the balls to raise my hand and ask him to slow down. Also, he starts writing notes on the board. Except they aren't notes, they're fucking glyphs. He writes letters, like SL or E, circles them and draws a bunch of arrows connecting to other circled letters. I lost the thread of his lecture, looked down for five seconds and three or four more circled mystery letters had appeared like mushrooms. Great.
Fast forward an hour and my brain was fried. It actually felt hotter and flattened. The professor ran out of class. I turned to Zach. He looked deflated. A girl in the class asked us if we're all right. We straggle out of UMSA and walk back to the IES center. It was raining, obviously. Back at IES we strategized about other, easier classes to take. Historia de Argentina, I'll see yo fine 1st year-level ass tomorrow.
After lunch, during which I unsuccessfully attempted to open not one but 4 packets of ketchup for my burger, I walked back to my apartment. I collapsed on my bed, checked emails and felt a bit better. Today my Visual Arts in the City class had a visita at the Museo de Arte Moderno(its Spanish acronym is MAMBA which makes me smile-Kill Bill anyone?) I caught the colectivo and grab a rail. It's hotter than a mug on this goddamn bus, lots of people and 97% humidity doesn't mix. Actually 97% humidity doesn't seem to mix well with anything except my hair, which by the end of the ride looked like a white girl version of Diana Ross early 70s, post-Supremes. I'm on the bus and I'm sweating. I don't mean buckets, I mean slow, steady, under the bra, trickle down the back annoying-type shit. I look at the woman next to me and she is pristine-hair done,high heels and no profuse sweat beads on her brow. THE HELL? Do porteños have a no sweating on the colectivo-gene???
I got off the bus and start walking the three blocks to the museum. Glad for the breeze I passed by a random park/wasteland and in my peripheral vision I see a man pissing on a tree. I ever so slightly turned my head his direction to confirm. Yep, a grown man, dick out in the daylight, peeing on a tree. Oh San Telmo. Oh Buenos Aires.
I arrived at the museum, still lowkey ladysweating. At least here so was almost everyone else. We started the tour of the exhibition. A few works of art down and we are looking at a large canvas of white paint, a big block of white. As I was standing there, I felt that disgusting sensation of sweat rolling quietly down my back, then as though to balance everything out, my boobs retaliate with their own trickle of perspiration. Fantastic. During the rest of the exhibition, my mind kept floating away and fun.'s song "Some Nights" played soothingly over my inflamed brainwaves.
By the time the exhibition is over, I felt flattened, sticky and not overjoyed about that exact moment in my life. I flirt heavily with the idea of emailing my conversation partner to cancel our meeting later that evening but decide to go home, regroup and go.
Reaching my apartment, I collapse onto my bed, feeling like I was sinking into it as waves of fatigue rolled off me. A power nap and regrettable WEAK-ass cup of instant coffee later and I left to go to my meeting with my convo partner. We talked for an hour, half in Spanish and half in English. I have found that there is a direct correlation between how awake I am and how good my Spanish is. Therefore in my artificially conscious state, my Spanish tonight was shittay.
Walking home I felt better, glad I had gone to the meeting and so happy it had cooled down. As soon as I got home I booked it to the bathroom and took one of those life-fixing showers. Feeling more like a human, I putzted around on my laptop and Skyped my mom until my host mami called me to eat dinner.
At dinner I asked if I could use the stove to cook some eggs on the weekends. She said no, she was too afraid that the gas would not be turned off all the way and that basically I could kill everyone in the building. I wanted to say that I'd been successfully not killing people via natural gas exposure for about 10 years of stove use but this was just not a situation to argue about. I am taking this slightly harder than I probably should but the stomach wants what the stomach wants and I want some goddamn eggs.
So, that was my quilombito of a day. Now I'm making it (almost) all better by listening to fun.'s new album and getting lost in the excessive drums and bass.
-j
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