Nomad Style: An Elegy to the Good Times. A Fairwell to my Friend Katharine Wand.

Series 1: The Farewells. Boccioni, 1911.

"The sixteen people around you in a rolling omnibus are in turn and at the same time one, ten, four, three; they are motionless and they change places; they come and go, bound into the street, are suddenly swallowed up by the sunshine, then come back and sit before you, like persistent symbols of universal vibration."

‘Manifesto of Futurist Painters’, Boccioni, Carrà, Russolo, 1912; as quoted in “Futurism”, ed. By Didier Ottinger; Centre Pompidou / 5 Continents Editions, Milan, 2008, p. 146 (artist quotes, Umberto Boccioni)

Those who Go, Boccioni, 1911.

Buddists believe that stasis is the end of everything. To be without connection to other things or people is freedom. Through meditation, they search for zen, a state of enlightened calm. And I think that in Katharine's world, working as an air steward for Air Transat, the notion of being able to let go, to beginning again and to be constantly looking forward is not only comforting but vital in terms of staying emotional and psychologically intact.

But I am not an air steward. I am not a Buddhist. I am an clingy and notoriously passionate and too often give into the childish impulse of riding the full spectrum of the human emotion. In this moment find myself giving into sadness, descending into melancholy for simply I don't want to let go of my friend. I hate this idea of being left behind. I begrudge my friend for her step towards new direction despite the fact that it is what she needs.

I want her to be around for me when I'm sad, when i want to drink a bottle of wine and smoke a pack of cigarettes and listen to and rhapsodize about art and rap and everything in between until i fall asleep at five o'clock in the morning. I want her to be around for me when I'm happy, when I'm nervous and exited about a boy, for her to be there to remind me that i don't look like a man and that when I'm not on the defensive I can actually almost be like her, attractive, charismatic and magnetic. I want to pout my lips, tear up and exclaim "it's not fair!"at the thought that she will soon be gone, across the country and tangibly out of my life.

Those Who Stay, Boccioni, 1911.

Canadian Contributor

Family has never come easy to me. Aside for my parents, they have always been far away from me, be it because of geography or just complete lack of understanding. I don't understand them and they never really took the time to know me, a fact that as an adult I have found a sort of piece with, but as a child caused me no end of tears and grief. For as long as I can remember, i have always felt like an outsider, teetering somewhere on the edge of wanting desperately to be a part of the group but maintaining my distance because i know the cruelty big groups can create and the pain of being the one that doesn't fit in.

I think it is for this reason that I love nomads, these ephemeral being that come into my life as individuals, representative of no group, free of association and in need of companionship but not attachment. Together we are free to create ourselves anew, defining our own experiences and finding out what it is we truly want out of life without prescription, undefined by any of those people that were instrumental in creating our character. The only problem, however, is that when you love nomads, you are always having to say goodbye. 

"Katharine" is an alternate spelling of Katherine that emphasizes the link to the Greek "katharos," or "pure." And as much as I know she would love to deny it, beyond the image of the boozing, drugging pleasure seeking, jet setting hedonist that we know all know and love, lies the essence of a woman the is more true to her name than anyone could have predicted ; in that she is the picture of sensitivity and her heart is sweet. The reason she burns so brightly is that she had found it within herself to confidently celebrate her own external and internal beauty.

So to Katharine i wanna say thank you for the good times my dear. It's been a blast. You are living proof that style and class have nothing to do with how much money you have. Your ability to stay true to yourself and loyal to your friends, to speak the truth loudly even in challenging times has inspired me.  I hope that this new chapter in your life brings you luck, love and happiness. Here's to getting naked in fountains all over the world!

men just cant get enough

katie has had enough haha

Soul sister

I was searching for pictures of great looks in my files, and I found these. My favourite people have great styles, but you are the ones to judge that. Enjoy!

Fashionable young one.

Blue hair dreams in black.

I'm turning japanese.

The greatest.

Acid Trip.

Dresses and boots.

The girl with the funny skirts.

I'll delete you with the power of my finger.

The powerful finger.

I can't stop reading between lines. It doesn't matter if I'm part of the conversation or not, but I can't help it. Last night I was feeling a little blue, so I called my best friend from high school: 28 year old biker guy, who is in love with his motorcycle and his many many pairs of steal-toe boots. We had a six pack while we were trying to discover why relationships are so complicated. As you might know, my dear reader, we couldn't find the answer but at least we got pretty drunk and the sadness suddely disappeared. He was playing motorhead and iron maiden while I was getting dress to go out, and try to do a little research about our dilemma.
I wore a sequined black blouse, high rise black shorts, black pale tights and my doctor martens boots. Lots of make up on my eyes, I love mac's club satin eyeshadow, and my black liquid eyeliner, which, my friends, is a must have. He was very sweet and said that I looked great, perfect for our experiment. He was wearing a Slayer black t-shirt, and black jeans, and obviously, black boots.
We both look hot, and very darky for the place we were going. It was my first time there, and it sucked, I don't know if it was because of the music, or because of the audience, or just because I'm heart-broken, or maybe because we didn't know anyone in there. It was a place full of 22 year old people, whose parents have no idea what are their children doing at night. Drugs, electronic music and sweaty faces are a combination that usually culminates in not-wanted-pregnancy.
We felt totally out of place, we didn't belong there, but the worst part is that we don't belong anywhere. It's hard to find a place where you can hear nice rock music, full of nice dressed people, with enough age to know that the world it's an awful place and that is hardly anything to do about it. I'm sick and tired of those young revolutionary kids, who smoke pot all the fucking time and think that they can change the world, and that if they haven't done it yet, is just because they are busy with their reflection in the mirror.
Yeah, I'm bitter this morning, but how could I not be if yesterday I realized that this new generation kinda sucks, the good looking guys and girls, are empty attempts of older generations, from the hippies 'til the so called generation x. Eddie Vedder? Yeah, many guys are trying to look just like him, but they miss the point, They don't have any slogans under their flannel shirts.
Nowadays, you can go to Urban Outfitters, and choose what group you wanna be part of. Although in the mexican case, you have to be upper middle class, to be able to fly to San diego, just to buy your new you.
I love fashion, but I also love "political" commitment. Understanding the Aristotelian definition for politics, as an ideological way to make decisions in group with the only intention to achieve some goals.
The people who I saw last night were lacking of anything, but the intention of getting drunk and laid.

Yes, we can!

I don't know if it's my age or what, but I think fashion is art. You don't become a painter from day to night, just to get some chicks under your sheets, right? or maybe yes, and that could explain why am I a lonely bitter person.
I like when people make a statement with teir clothes, like Lady Gaga or Madonna, back in the 80s. It's not to look sexy just to look sexy, the way I see it is more like you look sexy because you are breaking some rules in the stablishment. It's like when girls weren't suppose to wear pants, or when you take your bra off and wear a sheer blouse.
And even more, as a girl you are sexier if you wear wicked clothes and also decided to take the control in a relationship with a man. Sadly, that scares them. It's one thing to make out with a girl who wears a leather mini skirt and a sheer blouse in a club, but for some man (the mayority, in this city) is a completely different thing to  take you seriously and talk about life and politics with you, if you dare to set the rules of the relationship. If we took the power from them, they feel naked, vulnerable. As girls, we are only allow to look good, not to take the bull for its horns. If you are pretty and intelligent, they become the weakest part, and that threat their masculinity, so if you call them, they will give you many different excuses to stop seeing you. From "I'm very busy with my projects" 'til "I don't have the monetary solvency for a relationship"... Yeah, for a relationship that "I'm not gonna rule". A woman cannot be the captain of their boats. Well, we don´t want that right? So if we even meet a guy like that, just use the power of your finger and erase his contact from your cellphone, from your facebook account or whatever, that's one of the benefits of this new social network era, you can easily erase someone from your cyberlife. Sometimes people are just a typing error, you must delete.

Two woman with the power of money.

And that was pretty much the same advice I gave my friend, but the other way around, he met this girl who is wainting him to treat her as an object, so anytime he asks her something, her opinions or whatever, she gets all freak out. "You are suppose to make the decisions" She told him. Well there is always a future housewife for a future jerk. The bad news, is that they are everywhere, sometimes dressed nicely, so it's difficult to be aware of the stupidity of humans.

Two fist of solid rock...

Once I wanted to be the greatest....

Totally Naked Little Woman.

"Why do I have to clean up a mess that I didn't make," he said while he was trying to mop the floors, taking away all the beer and wine stains from many nights ago, the nights that he had spent at my place, leaving his roomate home alone.
"Because life is a bitch babe" I replied. I couldn't look him in the eye. Actually I was trying to hide between his huge ripped grey sofa and my sense of guilt.

In a way, he wasn't just cleaning up the floors, but also my life, my heart, my past.

For so long I've been crying for an old young love that I had. He has been the reason why I constantly write and why I, all of the sudden, stop doing it.
There are just a few words to describe my pain, and I've used them all.

I met him last week, it's funny, that night i didn't make  an effort to find what to wear.
I picked my sequined 70s blue and red shirt, and my high rise black pants from American Apparel. Again, I had to wear wedges just to feel part of the tall crowd.
He was there, with his messy brown hair, beautiful young smile and very kissable lips. Wearing a tight vest, vintage tie, and an amazing pair of black biker boots, for which my old young lover could have killed for.
I thought he was hot, but what I liked the most was that he radiated some kind of innocence, like if he stills believes in the world.

For me, it was a regular party. Fancy people, hipsters all over the place, going from one way to another, holding cigarettes without a filter and  cheap beer, in a 70s lighted dance floor in which nobody was actually dancing.

"Stop! Don't kiss me, I just put some lipstick on" I was trying to protect my infallible Chanel red lover french complice. 
"I don't care," he said and grabbed me from my shoulders. I had to look up, he is taller than me, and I found a  kind teenage smile.
"I wont kiss you," was my response, even though my eyes were challenging him to do it.
"Then, I will do it". And he gave me a cute warm kiss, that took me far far away from that roof. We made a memory that we have been sharing  in our pillow talks.

That evening, when I chose what to wear that night, I wasn't expecting to take any of my clothes off, at least not in front of someone.
He drove my car, and parked it outside of my building.
I went upstairs with a giggle.  My heart was racing like a teenager about to make out for the first time.

The wowman who wants to see me happy

In this case, my parents weren't sleeping in the other room, instead, my recently "in a relationship" roommate was. I didn't want to wake her up, but also didn't want her to judge me: "How could you say you still love your old young lover if you are going to get a stranger under your sheets?"
Now I know that she wouldn't say something like that to me. She just wants to see me happy, not crying 24/7 in my bed. And right now, I kinda look happy, But I know that sometimes happiness could be mistaken with excitement.

It's been so long since I had sex: I lost my libido since my old young love crossed our front stoop for the last time; leaving me with all those bills, all the furniture, all the memories and empty walls, and the worst part: All the silence from what used to be a noisy love nest.
Getting laid wasn't something in my plans, I have been busy trying not to cry every fucking time that Russell Brand appears on T.V. or in a magazine. He reminds me of my old young love. Sometimes I feel the Mexican version of Katy Perry, and that our destiny will be to be together, just like them, probably without the expensive Indian wedding though.
It seems that  the teenager's logic never disappears, in spite of the age.

I never had to come up with an elaborated conversation that would help me to reveal "my secret" in the future with a stranger.
In a way, I've always expected my old young love to come back, So I didn't have to talk about a secret that we both share.
I've a STD, nothing too serious, nothing mortal, Thank God.
Before I met my Russell Brand, I was perfectly healthy, just a regular free of STD girl. Then, a couple of months after we moved in together, I noticed something strange; he and I went to the doctor and that was it, one of my worst sexual nightmares became true.
I don't blame him, it wasn't his fault. Actually it was nobodies fault. He didn't know he had it, he couldn't warned me.
For the first few weeks I was devastated, then I learned to live with it, I have a new tenant in my body, and I will always will.
The time passed and we started to act normal again, like no tension for the bad news, after all we were going to be together forever. What a joke life and love plays to us. I knew that nothing is forever, but now I truly believe it.

So, there I was, all naked, no pants, no sequined blouse, no shoes, no make up on, just my fearful skin lying on my flowery comforter, and then, I realized I was still "wearing" something that I had to take it off: "my secret".
No designers, no brands, just the truth.

"Look"- I said while I was staring at a phrase I wrote on my window: Live the life you imagined.- "I have to tell you something before we do anything".

I kept talking, I was scared, but I had to do it, even though that could mean:
-not seeing him again.
-not having his company again.
-Losing him before I even had him.

"So..." - and I sighed - "That's my secret".
I felt ashamed, unprotected, exposed. There wasn't my Chanel sunglasses to wear and hide my glossy eyes under the shades.No my Gucci high heels to make me feel taller and strong. Nope, there was nothing but a revealed secret, a naked conscientiousness.

I could never put someone throw the horrible experience of going to the doctor and leaving his office with more than just a prescription.
These are new times, and if we, woman want to become a wowman, and wanna be in control of our lives, we have to be strong and brave enough, not just to dare to wear a super high heels, Eiffel Tower size; or to put on our lips some exotic color; or even wear as many bracelets as we want... No, sometimes we will have to show a clean face, no make up on baby, just the truth, even if that means letting someone else to see a part of us that we dislike.
It's easy to cover up a pimple with foundation; or to make our eyes or lips look bigger or smaller, depending on our complexes.
It's easy to look slimmer wearing the right clothes on, or to look sexier with the help of a  Wonderbra. but there are somethings that you cannot hide, you should not hide, things that you must reveal, no matter what.

We didn't have sex that night, but shortly after I confessed, I felt a warm breeze on my skin, I felt proud of myself. We could see the sunrise through my window, writing on the floor with a courageous shadow the phrase I had written when I moved to this apartment.

My fears were gone, being honest didn't take him away from me. We are just two people excited about what can happen tomorrow, two people smiling.

Today, just like he said, I realized there's gonna be many episodes in this life, and in some of them, someone will have to clean up a mess that he/she, didn't do, didn't cry, didn't enjoy.
He left the mop for a moment, and before he came and silenced me with a kiss, I kept repeating to myself: "Life's a bitch babe, life's a bitch".

The mexican contribuitor kissing Audrey Hepburn, a wowman.

My many different shoes.

This are some of the shoes that are taking me far away from my old young love, and closer to the dance floor.
Pictures taken by the furious Perrito Bebé.

Condoms are The New Black

No joke, Chanel Condoms, $279 for 12

"The tension between sexual danger and sexual pleasure is a powerful one in women's lives. Sexuality is simultaneously a domain of restriction, repression and danger as a well as a domain of exploration, pleasure and agency. To focus on pleasure and gratification alone ignores the patriarchal structure in which women act, yet to speak of...sexual oppression ignores women's experiences with sexual agency and choice and...increases...the sexual despair in which women live."  Carole S. Vance; Pleasure and Danger: Towards a Politics of Sexuality from Pleasure and Danger: Exploring Female Sexuality, P.1. Routledge Press, 1993.

Martin Luther King Jr. and  Coretta Scott King, 1953.

This week, the United States marked the twenty-fourth annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. King was an eloquent "Baptist minister and leader of the civil-rights movement in America from the mid-1950s until his death by assassination in 1968." He was a voice of hope, courage and reason and lead a firmly non-violent campaign to end segregation, racial inequality and racism in an America. While African American males were being treated "as less than men," he acted as a fierce opponent against the oppression of the American Negro at the hands of their Government, the law, the FBI, the CIA, the Police and even the American Military.  (1) In his most famous speech on the steps in front of the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall in Washington, D.C in 1963 "We hold these truths to be self evident. That all men are created equal. I have a dream."

"I Have a Dream" Speech, 1963

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a brilliant leader and spoke loudly and reasonably against racial hatred and bigotry. He was not silenced in the face of violence directed towards him and his family or the Black Community that he represented. He was known, however, to have what people would call "a weakness for women" was rumored to have several marital infidelities.

Now I say this not to discount the work of  Dr. King  or even to speak to the validity of the rumors. I mean simply to examine the concept that "we find it hard to imagine that ordinary human beings with ordinary flaws might make a critical difference in work of social cause."(2) Despite being a great leader and strong voice for the disenfranchised, Dr. King was human and vulnerable to the same temptation as you and I. He is symbolic not only of human frailty and human greatness but of a general human quality that causes us to view people as black or white, good or bad, and forget that while people may be essentially good, they are capable of doing bad things, even to the people they love.The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote of this duality:

"Man is a rope, tied between beast and [superman]--a rope over an abyss. A dangerous across, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under. I love those who do not know how to live, for they are those who cross over."

Figure A

Figure B

Why am i writing about this in blog that's supposed to be about sex and fashion? Because at the end of the day, i feel that the way we conceptualize icons Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., follows us into our daily lives, into what we choose to wear and into our sexual relationships. Whether we idolize our partners sexually, romantically or both, we have a tendency to paint them as we wish to see them, as an impression. We abstract the fact that although we may love and/or desire them, they are still capable of doing us great harm, not only emotionally but physically. More specifically, men that we trust are capable of being unfaithful, and/or of exposing  us wittingly or unwittingly to STI's. (Sexually Transmitted Infections)

All them men I have been with have been with have somewhere gray,  between dogs and saints. I have had several STIs scares and i question I always ask my self after is why does it take a look back for me to see the mongrel in the angel?

I'll hit you with ALL my bracelets!

Yes, that's me.

We were the only two tenants on the second floor of this old building, but two nights ago I realized there were some lights on next door. Quickly I went to our living room, just to have a look throught the window. I wasn't wearing my chanel glasses, so I couldn't see them properly. Against my desire, my new neighbor wasn't a cute guy, actually was a couple who looked happy and in love, or at least that was what I could see hidden between the paper curtains.
It was a Saturday night,  and the only company I had was my BlackBerry and my green laptop. So I thought that going there and say Hi, could be a good way to kill some pathetic and boring time. I couldn't go and introduce myself empy-handed, so I took my carkeys and ran to a liquor store. I bought them a bottle of red wine, not a fancy one, I still didn't know if they deserve an expensive one; so I decided for a Chilean one, good taste, but nothing out of this world.
And there I was, going upstairs, a little nervous but also excited, I was going to have a conversation! Cause the silence was killing me with memories, a lethal weapon for a everyday-heart-broken-lady.
They opened the door and instantly I looked to what was the guy wearing: a polo shirt with blue and white stripes, a pair of 90's levi's and sneakers. It's funny how I can remember what was a person wearing instead of focusing in his name. So I baptized him "the guy with the stripes". He was nice and had a kind smile, I was trying to see the other person, so he noticed it and call the girl by her name.

Wear them even in the pool!
Girl, don't be shy.

I couldn't believe it! I knew her, we were in the same university, and she was younger than me, but somehow she looked older now, her clothes told me that she has a more adult life than I do. She was wearing a boring grey suit, barefoot.
"Heeeey, long time no see!, How are you?, do you live nextdoor?, is that for us?, thank you, you shouldn't have, so tell me where are you working right now?, are you married?" Yep, that bitch approached me with all those questions without taking a breath after every question mark... She was annoying me and I regreted buying them that red wine bottle, I needed to drink alcohol more than they did, I had no answers for those questions and they had; they even had each other, I was alone: two cats and a computer, what a party!
I never liked her during university, she was the kind of girl who looks taken out of a GAP's catalog: boooooring. I didn't like her because I didn't like the looks she gave me back then. My whole life I've been asked why do I wear those clothes, and it's not like I have green hair with an 80's london punk style, I'm just a little bit more brave than the majority when I choose what's in my wardrobe. Just a couple of hours ago, when I went to get my coffeee, the barista told me he remembers me from going there a week ago, and all because "the way you dresses".
While they were inviting me to go in, I decided I was going to forget all those bad looks and relax myself, a lot of time has passed and maybe she wasn't going to judge me again, not even with her eyes.
"You guys will love this bulding, the neighborhood is amazing and all the other neighbors are nice and young, so you don't have to worry about the noise or parties" and I ended with a nervous "ha ha".
"Oh yes, is great" she said, without taking her eyes off my right wrist. And then she took her revolver out of her conscience and shot: "You couldn't decided which bracelts to wear, right?"
I gave her the look, "What do you mean bitch?" (Actually, I didn't give her the "B" word, just thought about it) "What's wrong with my bracelets?"
"Well" she said, "it just seems like you are wearing the whole jewelly shop" and she giggled.
With more than 2 years living abroad, I forgot how stupdly jugdmental are the people in this city.
But I wasn't going to just let that happen. I was like that most of my life, but not anymore, I was going to defend the freedom of styleech. Someone has to stand out for those who like to wear the latest stuff from the catwalk. Perhaps, when Alexander Mcqueen was young, a lot of coward and boring people criticized him.
So I told her that for her information, wearing the whole jewellery shop was sooo in this season, and that I felt sorry for her, why would a person wear grey clothes when in this city is always summer?
With tha said, I wished them good night, and left.
As soon as I got into my apartment, I played my favorite cd at this moment: Lady Gaga, and did it loud, so they, specially she, could hear her songs, and I dancend infront of the window, wearing a purple vintage hat and making a lot of noise with my bracelets.
Poor of the people who have to wear boring clothes just to feel like an adult, and even worst, poor of the people who think that what you wear has a direct relation with how old you are.
Tomorrow I will wear my ripped jeans with my vintage biker boots and my beige Alexander Mcqueen jacket, and I'm sure that's gonna giver he some questiones, for which I do have answers.
                                                               

Wear them even in the pool! Girl, don't be shy.

I Cut my Hair to Reveal Myself

The Canadian Blog Contributor, Before.

I hadn't had my hair cut or coloured in awhile.

So I finally went to see John at Axis Salon in Sinclair Center because i heard he did a wicked blond and sat in the chair and declaring exuberantly "make me platinum!''To which he promptly replied in not quite so many words 'Hell no girl! Your hair will fall out, this fucking red will never ever lift. I can make the roots blond but unless you wanna cut it all off..."

He proceeded to shear the red hair down to my nipples into a pixie cut,  revealing my virgin and fledgling, dirty blond locks.

I'm not really sure what made me do it. Maybe it was because my hair dresser was sexy and if he said it was gonna look good, who was i to question it? Maybe i wanted to get rid of my colour damaged hair that was begging to make me look more like Raggedy Andy then a sexy Andrea. Maybe I did because I think Eddie Sedgwick and Jean Seberg are cool ass chicks. I dunno, I went in wanting a change begging the question "when did the break up happen.?"

The Canadian Blog Contributor, After.

Yes. I'm single. For the first time in four year, i have don't have a boyfriend and it's been difficult, I'm not gonna lie. I realized that I've always been the type of girl that needs the reassurance of having a doting man in my life. And in his absence i have had to let myself out of the mind set that even if nobody loves me, i still have worth and i still count. I've done it all, revisited past relationships, made out drunkenly with strangers in dark clubs and even tried to make male friends into lovers. Just as I have hidden coyly behind my come-hither hair, i have hidden in the company of men, denying myself the catharsis of knowing myself.

Samson and Delilah, ca. 1610
Peter Paul Rubens

As my hair fell around me I began to panic. He was cutting away my femininity, my beauty, my identity. I went in with a gorgeous main that flew attractively around a dance floor and fell softly on the pillows of lovers, and left with a short hair seen on mode girls, butch lesbians and business women. I had violent flashbacks to the last time i had my hair cut short, when i was a  ,

me, age two, 1989

geeky three year old kid with coke-bottle glasses, a time when i was often mistaken for a little boy. And I though "Damn, I'll never have another boyfriend." I sat slumped and  defeated like Samson, my great tool of adornment and of the power of attraction, gone to me for now.

But as i left the salon, back to my natural colour that had been hidden for as long as i could remember, my ears and the nape of my neck turning red from the bite of the winter air, I had the most incredible sense of freedom. For the first time in years i was alone, no man and little hair. Free from hair ties and the blow dryer. No one to hold, but also no one to hold me back.

The new embracelet.

The Mexican Blog Contributor and her amazing hair

I have the greatest hair in the bulding, and it's a shame that tonite is gonna get locked in the apartment.
It's saturday night, we suppose to go out right? Or at least that's a social shared idea. But nope, my luck is not so good enough to get me out of this two bedroom suite.
Knowing that this night was calling to an end, i tried to go to bed. Bad news, my fifty year old neighbor is having a party, even he has more social life than I do. I couldn't sleep, the noise was to loud. Their old songs just made me relise how pathetic is my life at the moment.
I opened a bottle of red wine, a good one that I stole from my father's cellar: a chilean Merlot from 2003, "120" it's the name "in honor of the 120 patriots who fought for Chile's Independece" it's written on the label. I wish i were one of those guys, then my life would have any meaning, because right now it seems like my life is out of any course.
I had a couple of glasses, lighted up a cigarette and started to rearrenge the whole living room. I felt just like an alcoholic housewife whose husband was out, having fun, while I did the dishes.
No lipstick, what's the point of it when you are not leaving your nest? No skirts or sexy blouses. The only thing you could rescue from my outfit were my pair of high heels. Yep, I ware high heels at home, is the only way to feel gorgeous while you are doing hosework or trying to find out where to go; so, if someone calls me, I can easily change my clothes, but feeling already ready to party. Well in this case, nobody was going to make that call.
I dialed a couple of numbers, trying to crash into a party that I wasn't invited. No answer, even my roomate, the girl with I share adventures and the rent, wasn't available. She went out on a date, lucky her. With a guy she doesn't even care about. Sometimes the desire of killing a lonely night could make us do unpredictable things.
And that was something I was getting to know well, pretty well.
 I called a guy that I met a few weekends ago. We made out at the bar, but nothing further, he was a cinderella man, he had to get home early because of his age. I even did my hair before I called him. I spent a considerable amount of time infront of the mirror, rehearsing the conversation I was about to have. What a waste of time! There was no conversation at lot but his "Sorry, I think I'll pass". What does that suppose to mean? "I'll pass"? What the fuck? He rejected me, big time, and I wasn't use to it. Not because I'm irresistible, I don't think I am, it was because I'm not use to ask, in my culture boys ask, and you have to choose between the guys who had chosen you.
Well, I was new in the city, with a whole new mentality, so I tried to shock the mexican culture by asking a guy to go out, and more specifically, by letting him now that I wanted someone to make up with. So a direct negative response is what you get when you try to change the status quo of a macho society.
My moral was low, so low that I could reach the centre of earth, and let me tell you it was hot, but the paradox in this equation is that I wasn't, I wasn't hot at all, or at least I didn't feel that way. His rejection made me feel stupid, pathetic and ugly, even though I now I'm not. The power that we women put on a man word is infinite, they could take us to saturn, and let us think that we deserve one of those rings, but in a moment, they could take us back to earth, and we will find our selves digging a hole which doesn't take us to China, where, at least we could be buying pirate Chanel bags, which could help us with the mourning of not having someone by our side.
It seems that I'm a masochist, 'cause I called another guy, one that I knew he likes me, he had a crush on me during College, and now that I'm back I ran into him a couple of weeks ago. After a bottle os whisky, he confesed he used to love me, and he was trying to ask me out, but he was too coward to actually pronunce those words. I understood at that moment, and left him alone, I wasn't going to give him a hard time, the whole karma idea was running in the circuits of my head.
-"Niengo, hi this is Me, what are you doing?..... Oh, ok I understand, see you later, I guess?, Ok bye babe".
And that was it, he rejected me too! This wasn't my night, I haven't had a "night" since 2008. That was it. I understood the message, this new Bobby Brown wasn't going to make its debut on my lips tonight.
I kept drinking red wine, I drunk it like if it was holy water, and was going to solve all my problems.
I sent a couple of texts to my roomate, she hasn't replied yet, and I don't think she will, I wouln't do it if I was her position, in the middle of a date, with a no-so-cute-guy, but hey, he still have lips and hands that he can use to make a point.
So I decided I'm going to finish this bottle of wine, and perhaps, if I reach a good point of drunkness I will be able to sleep, even though my neighbor is showing right into my face that he has more "luck" than I do.

Not so pretty in black.

 "What's the point of wearing lipstick if you are not going share it with some other lips?"

Scarlett Johansson Sporting Black lips for the 2010 Cosmetic Campaign for Dolce and Gabbana

That's what I said to my friend while I was applying my new black lipstick from Make up forever.

The Buchanan's whisky bottle was in the middle of the table, we were getting ready to go out. She wore her new black chamois, which were giving her the usual bad time that a new pair of shoes give the first day you wear them. We were determinated to get drunk that night. We had two different reasons for that, but both had a common denominator: Man.  That was also the reason why we needed to find someone to dance with, and why not? to kiss too. A casual kissing session which gives us the topic to talk about the morning after, while we are wearing pyjamas and making coffee.

I wore an oversized black tshirt as a dress, with black mate tights and my black doc martens boots. I straightened my two-colored hair and wore my vintage black hat. The kind of hat that ladies used to wear in my country during the fifties, whenever they went to the bullfights.
I love wearing hats in this bored city, it's easy to find me, nobody is wearing a hat, but the mariachi musicians.

Erin Wasson sporting Docs

And it's even weirder to find a girl in a club wearing her docs.
After three glasses of whisky, we left home and took a cab down to the club.

As soon as I got in I saw my victim. Young cute guy with the best hair in town I've seen since I got back.
I stoped, and stared at him from far. He took me back in time, when I first met my old young love. He had his hair like that. So, for a moment I thought that he was him, a stupid and romantic thought from a desperate person who wears a mourning black, even on her lips.
My girlfriends and I went directly to the dance floor and ordered some drinks to our favorite waiter.

Two beers after, the cute hair walked infront of me... I grabbed his arm and said: "I like you, I saw you when I came in, and I like you". He said: "I like you too, I guess it was pretty evident that we stared at each other when you crossed the door". Yes, indeed, it was evident, and also awkward.

He asked me what do I do for living, and of course I didn't want to say "mmmmh I write". First of all because I don't think he would understand the implications of being a writer and what was a writer doing in that club, which is everything but a writers place; and also because I don't make my living writing, I'm alive because I write. Anyways, I said "what's the point of knowing what we do? We're only going to be together for a night".
He had a weird look when I said that. So, to break the unconmfortable moment I asked him where was he going before I stopped him. "To the washroom, but suddenly I don't feel like going". We laugh.
Those were our last words, he got closer to me, like trying to kiss me. I moved my face to one side, preventing a black mess. He didn't care, grabbed my face from my chin, and gave me a good reason to smile.
I opened my eyes, and all my black lipstick was on his lips, none in mine. "Perhaps you wanna go to the washroom now, and see your reflection on the mirror", "Perhaps not" he said and kissed me again.
We kissed, and kissed, and kissed again. We kissed until he said "I need to go, my friends are waiting for me". Who leaves the club at 1:30 in the morning when he finally found a cute girl to kiss? That's when I knew that I had became a cougar without knowing it: He was 20 years old! That explained why after kissing me he hugged me, guys who are my age don't do that.
I let him go, we literally kissed each other goodbye.

And there I was, in the middle of the dance floor, drunk and lonely again. All dressed in black, but with nude lips.

I stared at my boots and thought: "What's the point of wearing black lipstick again?"
My old young love is not here, and he won't be in the foreseeable future. And his are the only lips I wanna mark.

At least wearing my docs made my walk home so much easier.

Wore that out of spite.

I have been trying to erase a person from my mind and heart. It´s been pretty much impossible to achieve my goal. No matter how many new pairs of shoes I buy (or actually my dad buys for me), his image appears everywhere: from the mirrors at the fitting room to the cash register. Even the security guard looks like him. So, three days ago, I went out shopping taking advantage of ZARA sales. I went directly to the shoe area, and decided to get a pair of shoes, or maybe two. But this time I wasn't going to buy the kind of shoes that I always buy: confortable and fashionable ones. No, I went out that day with the idea of getting a new me, a new pair of shoes, a new wardrobe, because I wanted to be new. And I wanted that 'cause maybe, if I became a different person, I wouldn't have that horrible image of my old young love. I was going to be a different woman, with a clean heart, with a blank after the phrase: "I Love _____".
Fuck love, and fuck confortable shoes.
And there I was, getting the highest heels in the store. I couldn't even walk to see them infront of a mirror, so I got pretty much an idea of how painful this new life was going to be, but still, I was positive that the pain that those shoes will cause me was nothing compare with the constant nightmares that my old young love brings me every fucking night.
I got those unwalkable shoes, a really short short brown leather skirt and three silk blouses: one see through with flowers, one black one with cute withe buttons and one leopard print (by now, you should now that my favorite color is leopard print). So I was determinated to look like a whore, but a fashionable one. I wasn't going to be the cute fashionable girl who loves a mother fuck*r who lives far far away from me. No more love, just hate speaking from my clothes. It was going to be a bitter version of myself, but with more legs and letting my bras do the talking.
At the end of my shopping journey, carrying two bags in each of my hands, I walked outside of the store confident about my choices.
It's been three days since that and I haven't wore my new me, which was on sale, how sad could it be. But I think that today is the day. The beautiful weather in this city allows me to wear a tiny skirt in full winter season, without wearing any tights on my recently tan legs.
Au revoir old me, sayonara old young love, hasta la vista memories, I hope tonight my new clothes write a new story, a one without your name on it, a one that erases you forever.