Californian Christmas

I was lucky enough to spend the last two weeks in California for Christmas (the 14th to the 29th) and am now on my way back home to Argentina.

The first ten days were absolutely crazy. I literally did "christmas" - baking and decorating cookies, making cinnamon rolls, filling cookie tins, wrapping presents, buying presents, purchasing christmas tree, decorating christmas tree, baking pumpkin pies and cooking christmas feasts - from breakfast to bedtime straight every day. My grandma was in the final stages of buying a house for my cousin and needed all the help getting Christmas ready she could. In the end if was a great low-key christmas but also the most exhausting I've ever had.

I got lots of lovely presents - spices like chili powder and cream of tartar, new pants, muffin pan, starbucks gift cards, great books like the Shock Doctrine and Tao of Pooh - but the main thing I'm coming back with has to be FOOD. I had to buy a second duffle bag to fit all my goodies in. It's literally my Santa bag filled with lots of toys and goodies. Lots of See's Candies and Reese's and hot sauces and grandma's cookies and cinnamon buns and... it goes on

BUT!!! there was of course a complication just like there often seems to be. I left Sacramento yesterday and should already be in Argentina by now, but because of Dallas weather I missed my connecting flight from Dallas to Buenos Aires and the next available way to get out they had was the same flight, the next day = 24 hour delay. So here I am, with another stranded kid from Modesto, both of us just trying to get to Argentina before New Years. We're shacked up at the Quality Inn at the "distressed passenger rate" and now we've got just three more hours until we venture back into the airport to try again, wish us luck!

AND HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!

ANOTHER MOVE?!?!

O drama-rama, that nobody saw coming.

Tuesday I got asked to move out of the house. 

Tuesday afternoon I passed my rent along to Jessie (english housemate-best buddy here-girlfriend of Emma) to give to Emma (argentine housemate-Jessie´s b/f-my landlord) for the rest of the time I was going to be staying with them.  I moved in on the 5th of the month, and fly out the 14th and have a long-term contract for my own apartment when I get back, so I gave them rent for the 9 days of difference = $300 pesos.

I go to the kitchen to make some lunch, and a couple minutes later Emma comes out with the 300 pesos and explains to me that these $300 pesos don´t do him any good. It would be best for me to just move out and into a hostel for the remaining time.  

A HOSTEL?!!?!! I´m flying out in less than a week, 5-1/2 days at this point, and I´ve been living there over two months, have a life´s worth of stuff, posters on the wall, and the whole idea seems ludicrous to me so close to the end of my stay as it is.

He explains to me that he is tired of the way people act when they live here.  He doesn`t make us sign contracts or pay deposits or pay the rent on the day we moved in or anything, and then in return I pay him per day, or some other guy named Brent has 2 girls live with him in his room for 2 months without them paying any additional rent, or various other stories he begins to recount.

I asked him how much he wanted/was expecting to me to give him of rent, and he said half the month because anyone who would be moving in after me would be paying half a months rent as well.. makes sense.

I offer a couple of times to give him the extra money, but at this point he´s decided it´s too late.  The 300 pesos were like a slap in the face, were symbolic he says. So after all that talk about how we, the rentees, don´t understand he has to pay the bills, etc. He decides it´s better to not even take my 300, or the 500 or even more that I did/would´ve offered him. 

And pride beats rationality.

It´s now 3:30pm on Tuesday, December 8th.  An Argentine Holiday.  All decent places with private rooms are booked. All the agencies to rent apartments temporary are closed for the day.  Going to have to wait until Wednesday.

Wednesday morning comes, I call at 9am as soon as they open to ask if I can move into another apartment that same day, have to wait to hear word back from the owner if it´s available, etc. etc.  

It´s 4pm.  Still no word. I´ve called 3 times to check.

It´s 4pm.  And I have no idea where I´m sleeping that night.  I´ve spent most of the last 24 hours crying.

It´s not that I don´t have options. My sweet as can be and super generous aussie housemate Rhys (pronounced like Reese´s peanut butter cups, which I´m very excited to eat in just a few days) has offered to let me stay in his mom´s apartment who is visiting because they are going to the Iguazu Falls... he offers to let me store stuff in his room, etc.  And my mom offers to pay for me to stay in a hotel so I can have some personal safe space to recuperate.

So it´s a big deal, but why am I crying SOO much? I´m not without options. And I realize it brings up all sorts of trauma from moving out of my dad´s house.  No it´s not the same thing.  But it brings up all sorts of emotional trauma/baggage/anxiety about having to move out at the drop of the hat from a male´s space.  Ok, well. Glad we pinpointed it.

Then finally, the owner calls and says I can move in.  YIPPEEE!!

So now i´ve rented that place and I have my own safe space. I´m not living out of a suitcase in a hostel.  

But I´m still really hurt.  I still feel like damaged goods. I still haven´t put all the little katie pieces back together.  But in just a few days I´m off to the US.  And while the idea of having to repack and live out of a suitcase for two weeks makes me want to tear off my skin, I can´t wait to see my family which I´ve been missinggggg sooooo mucch and am so excited to see.  Which makes it all worth it.

Thanks family and friends.  You all saved me.

Photo Montage!

the photos don't come out very well because I think I put too many up, but click on them individually and they look a lot prettier! enjoy!

CASA ROSADA

Visit inside the Casa Rosada (Pink House = equivalent to the US White House, aka. Presidential Palace).

At the end of the day, a traditional band of soldiers plays in the hall of presidential busts, and the conductor lets little kids from the audience direct the music.

The Presidential Office - Christina wasn't in for work ;)

This is the Presidential Lift - it is the personal and private elevator of the president. It only goes up one floor, and the president never walks. Or pushes the button to go up/down. What sloth.

Me pretend sitting in the elevator - but I'm not president. I'm not allowed in.




This is what happens when Jessie and I have "homework club".



COLONIA, URUGUAY
yet another visit to Uruguay to renew that 3-mth visa.


my favorite restaurant.


GAY PRIDE MARCH, BsAs
Group of Lesbian Mothers with their kiddies, how rad!



Flowers..not reading


COOKING
Sopa Paraguaya (Paraguayan Soup).
which is not a soup. or even soup like. It's cornbread with cheese and onion.