Things Miss Cybil misses about America

Hey, all of you chic kids! I know I’ve been away for a bit, but… well, what can I say? Sometimes, I miss America. For one, the delicacies are recognizable, the palates are well-formed, even amongst the local youth.

Photo credit: a sick bastard who let someone else force-feed this helpless kid into oblivion.

I mean, a culture that knows the meaning of the words patience, tolerance, and moderation has a lot to teach, and give, the world at large. And I’m just not getting this sort of lesson in Argentina.

A “friend” of mine recently came out with a book. And finally, a reviewer got it right. It was like PJ O’Rourke knew the kid! Or some kid. Maybe even this one:

Photo credit: luckiest bastard alive.

Forget her camera? Miss Cybil did that!

Kids, take note: Miss Cybil does not forget things. True, she may forget the occasional holiday, birthday, or that time she “was supposed to pick her son up after surgery” (always with the club foot, Sal!), but generally speaking, her mouth is like a cave. Her brain’s like a trap door. Or something.

At least, she doesn’t forget her camera. But there are times when she just can’t take a photo, per se. And some times, these are the best times. Like the last week. I can’t show you a photo of:

1. The taste of eating an empanada after having an affair with a priest. (Hey, he wanted it!)

2. The cool lashing of a breeze off of a lakeside…. somewhere.

3. The joy of playing bingo on the bus while sitting next to a lady who just may want the first prize (a bottle of Vino) almost as much as you. And the ensuing attempt to have the winner disqualified, because let’s face it, did he really look older than 15? I don’t think so.

4. Patagonian sunsets that seem to last all day, stretch further than the horizon itself, and introduce a new color each day.

5. Seeing The Bourne Ultimatum on the big screen, with not one but two kids from Boston!

6. Taking a cab ride around the city at night. Just for the hell of it.

7. Finding a new apartment! Okay, I’m lying, I did take a photo of my little outdoor area:

Not shown: a really hot, shirtless guy who was right around the corner, ready to give me “breakfast in bed.” Hey–I’m divorced, Jimmy, give me a break. And you know what? I do pilates. Granted, not as much since I’ve fallen in love with the empanada stand nearby, but enough so that I deserve a little breakfast in bed, you know what I mean? Photo credit: Cybil Blaine.

P.S. What I’m trying to say is that I was unk-dray for about a week and am only now coming out of what my landlady so lovingly referred to as an “American coma.” God bless those Mexicans!

Things Miss Cybil loves about Argentina

Escuchame, kids! Apparently, making lists is in style, so here’s one for you all about whatever-the-hell fabulous country it is that I’m in. Also, I’m still mighty high on… uh… life from the weekend, and if Miss Cybil tries to make a point that lasts longer than a sentence or two it ain’t gonna be pretty!

1. They put dulce de leche on everything. (That’s caramel to you gringos.)

2. They like soccer. And as a fabulously divorced woman, I love it!

Photo credit: Cybil Blaine.

3. They love meat. And as someone who loves meat so much she once bit off the ass of a live calf in front of a group of six-year-old Hindis, I LOVE IT!

4. It’s about the same size as India, but with 1/25th the people. And all of the cows are on plates, not running around in the street. And whereas India was half a billion guys with mustaches, here it’s like the Million Mullet March.

5. I’m going to kill my ex-husband when I get back. I just realized that the motherfucker took my limited-edition Elvis Zippo!

6. All of the cell phones need “chips” to operate; a chip is a little piece of plastic that gets inserted into the phone itself, and it has your phone number and ID info on it. So you can easily switch cell phones and numbers. It’s very spy friendly like that, South America. Go figure!

7. You gotta get used to the sound of gun fire. Usually, it’s just the shocks and pieces of cars and trucks that keep giving out. Sometimes, it’s the sound of firecrackers in the middle of protests. But damn if the stench of imminent upheaval ain’t a sexy beast!!

8. You gotta get used to the crappiest tissue paper on earth. You know that stuff you use to get a donut from the clear plastic bins? They use that to blow their noses here. And you know what? I’ve risen to the challenge of it, and have gotten used to it. And I’m a better person for it.

9. Caramel, yes, but they don’t sell peanut butter.

Swear to motherfuckin’ God, Lois, you’d piss all over your Blahniks!

10. They speak Mexican. Someday, I’ll tell my kids about this. (There. You happy, Jimmy?) See, my lawyer says I should really mention the fact that I have kids, if I ever want to prove my “sanity” and “get custody.” Or, at the very least, “be able to see them without several inches of Plexiglas separating us,” or “having to endure the Kafkaesque bureaucracy of Jersey’s department of child welfare.” So there ya go! I’ve got kids. Two.

11. Vaqueros! Miss Cybil is now on the hunt for an old-fashioned cowboy that speaks Mexican!

Photo credit: Cybil Blaine.

12. Fine, I got three kids if you want to count Sal. I usually don’t count Sal on account of the club foot. I mean, is it really even considered a person if there’s no chance in hell he’s gonna become a tap dancer? Not in my book.

(Sorry baby, but you know how Miss Cybil feels about Mr. Baryshnikov!!!!!)