If a cow had a chance, it would kill you and everyone you loved.

11/24/08

 

I didn’t have to go into work today. My boss called me on Sunday and told me that Monday was a horrible day to start on account of there was a robbery at the office and someone had up and absconded with the safe. My boss believes that it was an inside job, as the company has received a large cash payment earlier on Friday, and the robbers touched nothing else of value save the safe. Inside job or not, I wonder how two people carrying a largish safe through a relatively populated area of Buenos Aires didn’t attract any bystanders. All the same, no work on Monday, 3 day weekend.

 

11/30/08

This week in recep:

Monday, no work. For reasons previously explained.

Tuesday-Friday, working for the man.

I got to the office Monday to find that besides my boss and I, not a simple other man worked there. Yes, you understand correctly, for the better part of 12 hours I am surrounded by women. That being said, I like my boss, and I appear to be getting along well with my fellow coworkers. However, as I am usually out of the office for the better part of the day, it is really of little concern.

As I was essentially thrown into my role as soon as I touched down in the office, I have a pretty good understanding of my responsibilities to date. However, as my boss seems inclined to unload the entirety of his current job onto me, I feel like my work load will be increasing post haste.

I arrive early to the office, as it allows me the ability to cut out the otherwise obligatory chit chat with my fellow workers about what they did the night before and ohhh did I see the news program where the showed the protesters shutting down the highway again (yes, it happens more frequently than you would imagine). Technically, my responsibilities should lie more on the developmental side of things, but as there is little in the pipeline at the moment, I have branched out to covering a large part of the management side as well. This essentially means that I spend 4 to 5 hours a day, moving between properties in different stages of “user readiness” either checking to make sure that in the previous 48 hours nothing had gone catastrophically wrong or attempting to fix the things that had indeed gone catastrophically wrong. As some of the properties are currently “completed” this sometimes means dealing with unruly and irate tenants, who don’t seem to grasp that in no way did I intend to have their kitchen wall destroyed by the building crew working next door. As it stands, we are currently in discussions with said construction crew, over who is technically responsible for said wall’s destruction; the wall for being there, or their free swinging hammers which apparently had minds of their own. More to come on that front.

All that being said, I love my job.

 

My carousing has taken a bit of a hit, as per the 7 am office call time I generally have to make, however there remains fun and strange things to get embroiled in everywhere.

Last night, for example, I went to a traditional asado or barbecue, hosted by one of my friends here. One could say that it was reminiscent of barbecues we have back home, but like most things here, the similarities are shallow, and once you look a little deeper you remember, “ohh yeah, I’m in bizaro-america.” Gas grills, apparently they exist, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who owns, has seen, or knows someone who has seen one. There something like the “Bigfoot” of Argentina. Envision, if you will, a metal contraption consisting of nothing more than metal legs, a laterally moveable grill bit, and a receptacle area for putting charcoal. Further envision, that the charcoal you are using, appears to have been stored here from prior to WWII. Throw a grease trap on the front, and the fact that the entire mechanism wobbles just a little too much for my taste, and you have a guaranteed house fire within the first 6 months of use. Hmmmmm, tastes delicious.

All these obstacles aside, the Argentineans appear to be phenomenal grillers. The hosts threw what appeared to be the entirety of a calf (though I was assured it was just part of a full grown animal) onto the grill, worked their magic with the charcoal/other and within two hours the 15 of use were inhaling perfectly cooked steaks of varying forms. There were accompanying dishes, apparently someone had prepared a chicken, though from where it came and how it was still warm, I am at a loss.

After dinner, during the early stages of food coma, someone decided that we should play a game, something where one person stands up and tries to act out the title of a movie without saying any words, hoping that their teammates will be able to discover the title through varying forms of divination.  I had the uncommonly good luck of determining correctly that Diego was attempting to portray “attack of the killer tomatoes,” and when all was said and done, we ended up winning by a margin of one. I think we all know who was responsible. Also, for those of you who have not seen “attack of the killer tomatoes” since it came out some 25 years ago, I highly recommend it. I watched it the other day, and I truthfully tell you that it toes the line between brilliant and “lock them up and throw away the key” insane, but you will not be lacking for laughs.

 

I am currently without clean clothes, as the Chinese gentlemen on the corner has yet to open, even though his sign says he opens at 9, and it is currently 12. I believe he may be spiting me, as a result of me not having gone to pick it up yesterday afternoon, after explaining to him how important it was that he get it done as quickly as possible, as I had other engagements. Coincidentally, I slept without sheets last night. If I get the impression that he is indeed spiting me, I will devise some dastardly and devious torture for him the next time around. Perhaps I will show up with a basket of all black clothes and demand that they be spotlessly white when he gives them back. That, or I will only drop off one half of every pair of socks I have, making him account for the missing halfs when I return to pick them up. Better yet, I write “left” on every sock I have, as ask him where the fuck are all my “rights.” I’m open to any suggestions anyone might have.

 

Crafty like a tomato.

A drop of tomato sauce has found its way into the inside of my pants. From the few remaining clues, it would appear as though it originally emanated from the pasta sauce I cooked earlier. Having first traveling to the knuckle of my big toe, it then deposited itself on the inside of my pants when I took them off.  Now that I recall, I did slightly burn my toe while cooking. I shall from here on be using the term, “crafty like a tomato.”

I am currently unable to receive phone calls to my apartment. Apparently, my roommate has up and taken the telephone wire. The phone remains, however there is nothing keeping it in communication with the hole in the wall. I wonder if telephones go insane when they aren’t plugged in. What with having to keep all their thoughts bottled up like that, it can’t be healthy.

I just saw a news headline that read “two people and one Bolivian die in car accident.” Breathe easy friends; the question as to whether or not Bolivians are considered human beings has been answered.

I saw a car made out of books today...

I saw a car made completely out of books today. It drove by me on my way home. I wondered if knowledge torpedo of death was the Argentinean version of the magic school bus. I will never know, however, as the occupants were far to stoned to realize that i was beckoning for them to stop.

A friend of a friend, thereby making her an acquaintance, wrote some weirdness to me on facebook last evening. While I don’t have it in front of me, it went something like “we make mistakes so as to learn from them, and we learn from our mistakes so as not to make more mistakes.” She followed this lovely haiku with “’im sorry, and I hope we can be good friends in the future.”

For viewers at home, sitting there thinking they understand this, your wrong, because I had, and will now continue to have, nothing to do with this little psychopath. I mean seriously, we have been in the same location, and I do not use the word hanging out specifically to demonstrate that for no period of time greater than 30 seconds were we within 10 feet of one another, all of 4 times. Either I have some sort of animal magnetism, or we have a full-blown crazy here. While the former would be delightful, I’m hoping for the latter, because I could do horrible things to a crazy.

 

Seeing how Anna is under the impression that her brother would now like to open up his inner psyche to us, I jotted down some of my thoughts throughout the day. They are unorganized, and freestanding idea shards, as this is the manner in which my brain currently operates. To make it easier on everyone, I have not included the ones that are partially in Spanish, as even I barely understand them.

 

--

 

I sat down to lunch before I realized my spoon had eaten my fork. That, or someone had stolen only part of my utensil. Nothing works correctly in the third world.

 

The first piece of advice I plan on giving my son is “don’t trust anyone, especially me!” Then, to drive the point home, I will trip him as he walks away.

 

The downside to taking placebos is that now I’m addicted to little white pills that do whatever I want them to do.

 

The doctor said if I didn’t work so hard, I wouldn’t have a problem. I told him that if he worked harder, he wouldn’t have to give me a bullshit diagnosis.

 

The problem with wearing pajamas all day is that everybody things your lazy.

 

I’m thinking about getting into the water business; everyone needs the stuff, and I already know how to make it.

 

I wonder if when the sun goes down here, some little kid in China grins as he thinks, “now I have that bastard owen’s light.”

 

--

 

Oh, and I got a job today. Cheap meat for everyone.

It is done. You select few, you brave souls, you misguided friends, now have continual access to my sorted thoughts.