Decided to do the ‘president’ thing instead of playing guys named Tyrone on Lifetime.

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!!

What this tells me is: God have mercy on us all.

The smallest latté you can get costs ten pesos, which, for people making pesos, is the equivalent of ten dollars. (People here make like 30,000 pesos a year.) And you know what? These people have been lined up for hours and hours since it opened. You literally have to wait in line for one hour to get your ‘Cybil Special,’ as the baristas in Jersey City called it, my special blend of java beans and illicit hair.

Yes, Gladys, we are all screwed.