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!!!!!)
