Christmas Chisme

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Now, that you are done with the nuttiness of Christmas. Decorating the tree with exquisite one of a kind ornaments. Breaking through the parking lot unscathed. Braving the torrential crowd to buy that perfect Christmas pajamas and showstopping designer New Year’s outfit. Exchanging that perfect regift by your Secret Santa. Baking every melting in your mouth goodies. Cooking the latest recipes on Pinterest. Eating all that food until your hearts content, aka pig out. Playing your favorite games. Telling stories so cool, your bird slept through it. Dancing your hearts content. Pigging out from your own hand’s mischievous dishes. Now that you had time to breathe, take it all in. Let the church say, Amen. The scale and little rosie credit card bill awaits you. Inhale then join the mad caravan. Notice the ten days reprieve, aka shop, right?! Take it from me. It is true because my bird said so. It told me, it heard the chisme (rumors) on the street corner after the internet went down and I bought it cheap, a nickel as a matter of fact, from this guy selling peanuts. Yes, peanuts. Happy New Year love. Stand by. Start saving. The plane is in the tarmac, taking off once again in 341 days. Back to your regularly scheduled program, take on that annoying co-worker. Booyah!

©️ Angela Aguiar

April Fools It Isn’t!

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I was searching for a good ole April Fool’s joke and for the love of me, I couldn’t find one. I scratched my brain hard, reaching deep down the barrel to no avail. Defeated, well temporarily, it went into a parable of early retirement, retiring my wings to a group of cynical naughty birds. It was then during the “arch of the triumph” rhapsody that it dawned on me that I have news to share. My dream has finally come true a few days ago. I got myself a puppy, a cute little muffin full of sponge. It is not my loverboy Chihuahua but it is a dog and I love him very much. Yes, mommy and poodle are doing just fine and hope to live happily ever after into the sunset of make believes. I hope you like her as much as I do as I look forward to scribble and share her many adventures here with you. Isn’t she adorable?!

Hey, would you layoff her please?! She is my friend Jenny’s dog, Mimi. Got it?!

Why Are We So “Sensitive” to Each Other?

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I have been frantically breaking out like mother rabbit dropping her million babies. They have been popping lately from every corner – one here another there, to the west and to the east, from the south and the north – whenever they so feel like it. They are thundering down the curve, ubiquitously like microwavable popcorn at speed of my brain cells.

L’Oreal ain’t doing it, Oxy 5 too oxidized, Proactiv nuh, it too has a mind of its own. The fad just busted my solemn face and left me with some universally unappreciated dark spots at the chairs where they were conjured up; so, I parked it.

The little weasels just have a mind of their own and there is nothing I can do about it. They are irritating, unflattering, annoying and just plain selfish.

I feel like exhausting a leaf blower and all its magnetic heat into my face, zit it all out with a laser and like a carpenter carve it with a perfect razor. I know, that’s called going to a spa for a facial peel, microdermabrasion treatment and yada, yada, yada but in today’s economy, all bets are off; who can afford it? Besides, I may come out of there looking more like a lizard shelling its skin then a perfect green apple.

I just had it with them. So, I woke up one morning, loaded with ideas on how to deal with my inimitable crisis – as if I am the only soul dealing with this issue but I want to look pretty. So there!

I resorted to the oldest trick on the table; the cheapest bonanza on the bank, one that one may find in a corner of our bathroom cabinet and went berserk with it.

I looked like a woman in a mission, one mad lion on her way to scavenge for her latest meal. I designed my own little garden, as my face resembled the latest issue of Architectural Digest. The garden looked lovely but it was one scary scenario, I may add.

That was the previous night, while at the house. I cleaned it all out the day after.

I did not intend to make myself a walking Cirque du Soleil member but I stapled one of the miserable little things right above my lips back in. I glazed the zit with a tad of toothpaste – it is known to be an inexpensive spot home remedy for pimples – and got out of the house.

The unadulterated speckle was noticeable to the naked eye. A binocular wasn’t promoted nor a magnifying glass; they were not needed. I mean anyone could spot it; it was that obvious.

So, you would thing that a celebrated home remedy resembling a booger was sufficient to alert anyone of my protocol violation? You would think, someone would at least classily advise me that I have a “hideous” monster shoved up under my nose? You would think that in the age of the Internet someone would IM me to save myself from an embarrassment? Nope, nothing, zilch, not one dopey or hallucinagent comment. Everyone looked, everyone stared, everyone walked on by but no one dared say a nothing. Not _one_ word _whatsoever!

I paraded my anointed face the world over and no one blinked. I knew it was by design but the purpose was foreigner to most; so, I was expecting at least a person – a woman perhaps – to jump ship and report me to the Principal’s office. (I must confess that I was not looking for the report card since the expectation level wasn’t running high; besides, who cares, really?) The women were the best dodge drafters, avoider’s 100; they did not even look.

My little experiment led me to question, why are we so sensitive to each other; what are we afraid off? Why are we so cautious about telling people that they look appalling; that they look like evil in its way to the purgatory? They would rather see people running around with their trousers hanging or blood stain on their skirts – for their latest water cooler tittle-tattle bulletin board – then to warn the individual? Personally, I always raise the biggest stop sign I can find instead of letting the person crisscross a plague-ridden railroad.

It is not like we are walking towards the confessional booth and find the priest sitting on the corner ready to stamp “mia culpa” on our forehead for being callous. It is simply a matter of do unto others as you would have others do unto you. If you don’t want to be seen in an embarrassing jam; perhaps, someone else also would not want to be in the same predicament.