My country isn’t racist! Just look at our president

Hey Lois!!!
Can you believe it? So I was watching the fútbol game the other day with Ricardo, my latest Latin Lover, and some dipshit bartender accidentally changed the channel for a second. Apparently, the U.S. just elected a new president–and he’s black!!!

Did I mention that hot black guys in the Oval Office make me hot for democracy?

So, you know how whenever people have a black friend, they use that as a ‘I am not racist!’ get out of jail free card? You almost wonder if the whole country is going to do something like that. But you know what? Whatever. He’s easy on the eyes. (I have no idea what he was saying because, when he started speaking, Ricardo’s Mexican maid showed up and brought her damn kids, who he kept calling ‘mis hijos! mis queridos!’ Who knows what that means!?)

I don’t know much about this guy except for two things: One, he reminds me that there aren’t many black guys in Buenos Aires, and Miss Cybil likes a little chocolate on, well, everything.

Two: Even though I didn’t vote and had no idea that there was an election going on, it’s nice that I finally have this proof that I’m not racist! I mean, how can I be–my president is black!!

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.)

Cybil Blaine does asado, but can’t find black guys

Lois, remember how we were saying that I´d come down here and have an experience? Well, we were right! Cybil Blaine-as big a meat lover as they come-got invited to a real-life asado the other night. An Argentine barbeque!

I took this photo of a few locals: an anonymous girl, Mariano, Brian, and a guy who seemed to be doing his best impression of a French guy:

Did they have Mai Tais? No. But the vino (there was lots and lots of it!!) did the trick. I forgot all about Voldemort, world hunger, and my impending mortality for about five seconds. Also, I learned my first Spanish word, Jimmy, you´d be so proud! Borracha. I think it means butterfly or gorgeous! These guys kept calling me borracha all night long. (Remind me to look it up when I get back, Gladys, okay?)

After spending a few días en Buenos Aires, I’ve noticed one big cosa: where are all of the hot black guys? There are lots of Mexicans, but if there’s one thing you should know about Cybil Blaine, it’s that she’s been drinking straight 2% milk for far too long. She’s single again, and she’d like to live a little!

If anyone knows where all of the black guys in Buenos Aires are-the hip-hop clubs, basketball teams and places where you can get a decent hair weave-let me know. Until then, I’m going to head to Bariloche, which is like the Argentine equivalent of Vail or Aspen, for a few days. I don’t ski, but surely there’ll be some athletes there… and all of the best athletes in the world are black!