Royally screwing up her Mexican? Miss Cybil did that!

Lois, Gladys, Jimmy and Sal–prepare to wet yourselves. I’m not perfect. I know, I know, I know, who is? Aside from Bea Arthur, that is–that bitch has everything!

Since Mexican isn’t my first language (that’d be Klingon for all of you curious types out there), a few times, Miss Cybil has made a mistake here in Buenos Aires. And no, I’m not just talking about the reason I can’t go to Montevideo next weekend. Apparently you can make drunken eBay bids in the Southern hemisphere, too! I’m here to talk about mistakes I’ve made while trying to speak my 4th language, Mexican. Or use language at all, really. I’m also here on earth to preach the good word of Jesus, but the fact that you’re going to hell in a handbasket–not unlike my ex-husband, Voldemort–I’ll save for another day!

1. I told a pair of architects that I was unable to sit on my toes.

2. I told a group of college kids that I was a professional desk.

3. I told a doctor that in order to learn how to speak Mexican, I really needed a unique brunette.

4. I’ve told about eighty sales girls, twenty waitresses, ten cab drivers, and three of my kids that I didn’t need any help.

5. I told a guy from South Africa that I really enjoyed meeting him. (Note: this would have been in American.)

6. I failed to tell a girl from New Zealand that I wanted to punch her in the mouth.  (See above.)

7. I didn’t write to a friend of mine in China, a guy I’ll call Juan, that he was a douchebag in a recent e-mail I sent. In fact, there are about a million people whose douchebag status I’ve yet to reveal.

8. But I will. In time, I’ll post the others, too.

Non-Buenos Aires Argentina? Miss Blaine’s had enough!

Gladys, sometimes life gives you lemons, but you really just want to do an Anna Nicole Smith and lie in bed, popping pills and donut holes. But on account of fear of both the New Jersey Department of Child Welfare and your lawyer, Jimmy, you soldier on. (I mean, Jimmy, why did I have to swallow all of those condoms before heading here??? You’re lucky that’s not the first time Miss Cybil’s swallowed a condom in her day!)

I know I’ve got a black belt in making life fabulous, but when you’re banished to South America, sometimes…

…well, what I’m trying to say is that I miss my rabbit slippers. And I’m sick of Argentina. It’s ugly.

Lois, trust me on this one: if someone ever asks you, “where do you want to go? What do you want to do? What do you want to do with your life?,” tell them you want to stay home.

Tell ‘em you want to keep doing what you’re doing because you don’t want to see the rest of the world. Don’t bother skimping on new clothes or food or cable for a bit (you only live once, and it might not be for very long, so think short-term!), ’cause it ain’t pretty out here. Scenic world, my ass!
Nope, you’re not going to meet great people or see beauty that’ll renew your vigor for life. You sure as hell ain’t gonna learn about yourself. You ain’t gonna be reminded of the fact that even though you already seen so many pictures of these places, there ain’t never gonna be any substitute for actual experience.

Know what you’re gonna do? You’re gonna get the sniffles, maybe, and miss all of those reruns of Friends and Matlock. Granted, you’ll do stuff you couldn’t have even known about or planned for, but whatever. Just don’t leave the states or ever think, “is the rest of the world worth seeing?“

Because it ain’t. It’s a dump, the world, so just finish that Mai Tai and call it a day.

Cybil Blaine does Cuba Gooding, Jr.: on the bus!

A few things to remember, my friends: for every problem, there is a solution. (And as you know, it helps to define anything cool as a solution to a problem made only in hindsight.)

And another thing: Miss Cybil has a black belt in making life fabulous! (So does this dog, I think.)

Lois, you remember how I’d been bitching about a lack of black guys? Well, you and Gladys will be happy to know that I finally got off of my duff and got out of Bariloche. Miss Cybil roughed it with a bus ride from Bariloche to Comodoro Rivadavia, and then from Comodoro Rivadavia to Rio Gallegos, and then from Rio Gallegos to El Calafate–where our heroine currently finds herself. And on the bus, she was treated to movies. Everyone was. Because in Argentina’s transportation system, they don’t believe in headphones. They just believe in really loud movies, all the time. For everyone.

This was my vista: Imagine the vast and barren landscape of Patagonia, desolation and beauty incarnate.

This was the plan: to read, for work, Lonesome Dove.

However, blaring overhead for the duration of what felt damn near like the entire bus trip: Spanglish, Night at the Museum, one of those Hairy Pooper wizard movies, Shrek 2, The Transporter, and–undubbed, mind you–none other than Cuba Gooding, Jr.’s latest masterpiece, Boat Trip.

My friends, I saw Cuba Gooding, Jr. get down. I saw his finely-tuned body make jokes for a few hours, all served with a heaping side of Horatio Sanz.

I feel like there’s a life lesson in here somewhere, people. And someday I’ll tell it to you. And we’ll all be much better for it. But until then, not so much.

Cybil Blaine does Bariloche. And keeps it real.

Few things upset Miss Cybil more than the thought of her ex-husband walking around with that tramp in a motel room–our motel room, those mauve polyester curtains stained with our love sauce–in Daytona Beach. Or Fort Lauderdale. Or whterever the hell it was where I spent most of the ´90s, high on life, meth, and Mai Tais.

Just to prove to you, Lois, that South America ain’t all sunshine, political revolution and pumpkins, here’s a list of there are a few things that upset Cybil Blaine:

1. The inherent socioeconomic elitism of the Winter Olympics, and, by proxy, winter sports in general.

Pictured: a random, anonymous girl, Lila, and Mariana.

You need gear (which ain’t cheap). You need to get there (which, with that whole ¨global warming¨bit, is becoming a bit more difficult).

2. The lack of hot black guys in Argentina. (Am I asking for the impossible? I hope not.)

3. The lack of anyone who knows a decent schmear when they see one. My left nut for a dollop of lox spread!

4. Little ponies. Is it me, or does this freakishly small horse look lonely, like it’s sad that it has no other recently divorced small horse from Jersey to hang out with, who understands what it’s like to get banished to a different continent that has like all of these crazy things on TV, things that look like American Idol but involve trannies and ice skaters and Latin American versions of Ryan Seacrest, and I swear to God I’m not making this up?

But you know what’s fabulous? Being able to appreciate the winters of the world–while we still have them. So even though Cybil Blaine can’t ski for shit, she’s going to go outside into the snow and let some of them snowflakes fall on her tongue! Soon, maybe even today! Possibly while looking in the general direction of a really rich black guy! Because honey, these Pilates-toned hips have a taste for chorizo. (Mollejas are also pretty yummy.)