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.

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.