zombies and self-deprecation

I have been writing a 10 minute short film script about two people who fall in love in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Think “Before Sunrise” but with zombies.

I am writing the “important” dialogue now, the parts that are supposed to grab you... the quotable parts. The philosophy and theme. But I find myself too stupid and disorganized to do this. I think every time I write I try to summarize what I think about everything, ever. The absolute truth according to me. But it's impossible, more impossible in a movie, even more in a 10 minute short. I wonder if every writer goes through the same process.

Right now I'm at the part where I don't give a fuck anymore and I write a joke about Jesus and a blogpost about my nightmare script.

I kid I kid, I actually really like this project. But I find myself being stressed out, the way I hadn't been since I was in college (which, hey, dude, wasn't that long ago) and I figured out that it's the only way I can actually do things and push myself. I drank mate today and I was able to work for a couple of hours. If I could only do this every day. I guess what I lack is not intelligence but lots and lots of drive. And maybe prescription drugs.


I'm sorry I don't write more often. I don't know how I did it in Paris every day. I am sorry for myself I don't write more often. With practice and routine comes truly great stuff, which I'm not producing right now. Nothing I think is interesting. Maybe I'm just bored with myself.

Maybe November is just really hard on me. You know, because of IT.

But I did get my Italian citizenship this month, which is cause for celebration. I am going to Paris soon. I am starting yet another new life and I'm super excited. I need to fill myself with new people. And hear new things, even if I don;t create anything new or like, give anything back. I don't think I will ever be one of those people. I don't think I can ever be recognized for something unique or new. But sometimes I surprise myself, only myself. I've retrograded into that, but it's okay. I can bullshit it well this time. Some people seem to believe that only because I have traveled and studied in fancy places that I know what I'm talking about. Tip: I don't.

Ssssssseeeellllllf deprecation!!! No, but really. I feel fine about my role as a listener. I just hope that's enough. And now, for some light bed side reading: Derrida. See? I can be an intellectual!


something something on the bus

Today I had a crazy day. I woke up at 6 (lies, I put on my alarm at 6 and snoozed it until 7:10, then hurried the fuck out of my apartment). I got to work juuuuuust in the nick of time at 7:45 and waited for my students who are always late. Only one showed up. Like half an hour late. Then, I had two more classes back to back. After, I ran home, ate, and took a bus to Colonia del Sacramento.

via http://diegorj.tumblr.com/

There, after a three-hour trip, I gave another class. Now on the way back, squeezed next to a burly man on the bus, I'm on facebook instead of writing my short film (another story for another time). But, before I got on the bus, I went to a food cart to eat a hamburger and these two young guys were there. I was sitting there, eating, and one of them “whispered” to the other: “she's beautiful”. I dont know if they were a little deaf or what but I could totally hear what they were saying. It was kind of adorable, so I stuck around for a little longer. When the "whisperer" ordered his food, the other one said “and if you can include her, it would be great too”. He whispered that too, but I heard it.

I thought it was nice because they weren't saying gross shit about me, and I miss that. Here in Uruguay, all men say the grossest shit to you down the street, and even if it's not gross, they say it to your face, they invade your space. If you say something back, you're a slut, if you say something MEAN back, you're a bitch. Its like, fucker, you invaded my personal me time FIRST, I get to say whatever the fuck I want! But these guys were just saying that I was beautiful. It was refreshing, they didn't even try to talk to me (which is a smart move, cause they would have gotten shot the fuck down).

What the fuck is it with men and that behavior in this country? What in my face makes you think you can talk to me? This is why I've resorted to big ass headphones and sunglasses. I can still tell that they say shit to me, but I can ignore it safely. But I have a problem. I just cannot ignore it when they know i've heard them. I just have to say something back. Ill even call them a fag, which is the first thing that comes to mind, even though it's awful, because, poor fags, what they ever do to me?


If I ever forget my headphones or ipod or make eye-contact and I get cat-called (it should have another name, it's so gross), I will call their mother a whore. That's just the way it goes. You fuck with me, I rape you in the ass with a sharp stick. God forbid they touch me, because I will break their hand. Or at least twist their arm, like, a lot. It's happened before. And then I get called a bitch or crazy, by other women even. But whatthefuck, what they are doing is a violent act, even if they just use their words. It makes me SO ANGRY, they are violating my identity as a woman, and as a person.

It's like they dont believe I am real, they think they can just say whatever to me. What happens after, when my self esteem is shot, when I feel like a piece of meat that people just want to stick their penises in? When I cry myself to sleep, or just feel shitty for a couple of days? No man, if I say something back, the anger just floats away, and I get to resume a conversation with my friends or go about my day like nothing ever happened, knowing that that man will probably think twice before saying something gross to a girl he has no authority over.

Or maybe I have anger issues, one of the two.  



no sleep till colonia del sacramento

I can't sleep. Again. I noticed, however, that this is because I like a girl. I like several girls. I like all girls! Again! And thus, I can't sleep; I go through different scenarios in my mind, playing out different outcomes to my awkward phrases, what I could have done better, etc. It's all very new and exciting. But I can't sleep. So, there's a correlation between me liking girls and me not sleeping. 

What.fucking.ever. At least I think about something other than how shit my life is because I'm so broke. Now I think about how shit my life is cause I'm so alone.

Maybe it's cause I keep doing this.

So no sleeping is a blessing. Lots has happened in my life since I last wrote. I have more friends now, different friends, international friends. People who are interesting. And do lots of drugs. I've been a bad girl. In the best most delicious kind of ways, and I just want to keep getting yummier and yummier. I also found out that the girlwhoshallnotbenamed was, in fact, seeing someone else and I KNEW IT MOTHERFUCKERS I KNEW IT. I actually feel better about myself, it doesn't mean it's anything I ever did, it's just that she is unreliable and met someone else. End of fucking story. Fucking finally

Although, with summer very fast approaching, I do miss a hot body on top of my hotter one, but we'll see what we find eh?

Today it's 26 degrees (80 F) out and I see people without their shirts on, which makes me infinitely happy. Other things that make me happy: my mother's apple crisp with vanilla ice-cream, wearing skirts, smoking weed, girls with long hair, buying cheap nail polish. Things that make me unhappy: my perpetual state of motherfuckingbrokeness, being away from my friends, forgetting things, like my headphones in this exact minute. That's a pretty short list if you ask me, so I'm alright.


I've always been afraid to do many drugs or drink too much, but I think that shit is actually making everything better. Yay for drugs!

Right now im on a bus going to work like 200 kilometers away from home. I go there and go back home every tuesday and thursday for the next two weeks. It's not great money but I dont have anything else to do. However, I made the mistake of taking the non-direct bus and this motherfucker has been stopping every time, letting people in an out. The seat next to me has seen a parade of mothers with babies, older smelly people, and, as of right now, a young girl who is very loud but seems nice. She looks about 15 and has a ridiculous interior accent.

Have you guys seen Pretty Little Liars? Because it's terrible but I watch it every week. 

When I travel by bus the same feeling overcomes me once and once again. I see a post, or a piece of garbage by the road, an individual electrical cable, and I think, fuck, has anyone else ever in your life ever noticed you? Probably not, I think, so then that makes me the only person ever who has ever noticed this thing, sitting there. A great big pressure begins in my body and I feel extremely big and extremely small at the same time. Sometimes when I close my eyes at night I feel the same pressure, but I am also floating. The darkness inside my head feels intermittently huge and tiny, my body, the same. I used to feel that a lot more when I was a kid. I hated the feeling and now I miss it. It was like being naturally high, questioning your own size, the universe, the darkness. So, I'm glad I can't sleep and question my own smallness.

I can't fucking believe I forgot my earphones.  



Let's see. It's 5:45 AM and I am awake. I don't have to be at work until 7:45. I woke up randomly at 4:00 and have been on the computer for about an hour now because I couldn't fall back to sleep. I've been writing a story about a rapist. yaaaaaay. I'm also listening to the Buffy Musical soundtrack. 
These past week has been very very strange to me. It was my birthday, which is always... weird. Growing up, more freedom? new friends IS THAT A(NOTHER) WHITE HAIR???!? Yeah, it's like a roller coaster of social and existential anxiety throwup. For me at least, for the last couple of years. I don't presume it will get any better until I turn 40 and I just give up. 

Anyway, I had a fight a fight with a friend that is not even resolved at the time I am writing this. So right now I may have lost a friend, or, you know, not. It actually hurts a lot thinking about it, so I'm not gonna write about it until there is some clear definition to the conflict (hahahaha lau that only happens in movies this is real life). 

But it got me thinking about friendship in general (OHMYGOD now I'm listening to "Under your Spell"... you Buffyphiles know what I'm talking about -- Tara was so awesome). 

"You make me cum - plete!" Joss Whedon is SUBTLE. 

I take friendship seriously. Like, very very seriously. I could win at friendship if it was a sport. Competitive friendship (it's called the internet). Since I was 15, my friends have HAD to become my family because I was so far away from home all the time. And they did, some of them. I have many sisters and foster moms and brothers and etc. Making friends is choosing your family, it's awesome! I don't  understand people who only stay with one group of friends forever and ever... There are so many awesome people and I always wanted a big family! And I've got one! I've got a family member in every continent! (Except Australia). 

hey you

But homie, I work for these friendships. I am so not perfect, and I get angry too easily and I come with baggage and you will have to listen to me complain about my father and shit, and I get moody. But I care, and when I say "te quiero" it really - really - mean it. I know not a lot of people, including some of my friends, share these feelings, or at least not to the same power as mine, which is hard sometimes. 
Also hard? Feeling half a person most of the time because your sisters and brothers are not there with you. 

This in an incomplete thought process. I might come back to it. 

pic unrelated, but isn't this shit cool?

Okay, moving on. Last night I went to to my first class  on script writing. We watched bits of Back to the Future and talked some theory, so yeah. The teacher is young and seems very smart and informed. Some of the people taking the course, however, seem older people with nothing better to do. Many of them didn't know who Lynch was... which, like, okay, but... no. I'm a snob? No, I'm a film student. Fuck off, you cannot not know who David Lynch is. WHATEVER some other people seem pretty cool (90% men, and the other girls are uncool and annoying -- no lesbian love for me there!). 

she... wasn't there

Speaking of lesbian love, I'm insane and I had a huge step back this weekend. Maybe it was my birthday thing. Maybe because I've been dreaming about my ex like every night. But I messaged her... didn't play out so well. I have temporarily closed off my Facebook out of embarrassment. 

(Giles' song is playing now, and I kinda want to cry)

You guys I'm watching the sunrise from bed this is actually ridiculous. My apt has the best view ever, actually. The sky is blue and yellow and green and orange. The buildings are black and the sea is purple. The street lights are still on, flickering? The Uruguayan state can't afford very bright lights, maybe. Which is okay with me, this city is fuzzy at night and that's fine by me. The birds are chirping -- loudly -- and there are very few cars out.

this is not montevideo, this is bolivia. i took this pic <3

Thankfully I think today won't be bad. Even though I only had two hours of sleep, I feel pretty positive I won't start crying as I do the dishes like I did on Sunday. Or that I won't sleep ALL day like I did on Saturday. Or that I won't wait for my mom to go to the store so I could contemplate disinfecting my pair of scissors. 



self diagnose // just an update

I haven't been very good about writing lately. I mean, I never am, but this is special. Because during the past week or so I have actually been thinking. It's like I'm midways, suspended in gravity, along a deep pit. I was looking down, but now I am looking up. I can see some stars, whereas before I could only see more brown.

I have ideas, ideas about films that will probably never be made, ideas about how to decorate my room, ideas about the appropriate way to trick a girl into kissing you. Setting: She has curly hair and doesn't want to go too fast, and you're okay with that. For the first time in ever.

via this person
My birthday is next weekend. Saturday. It will be my first birthday in Uruguay in five years. No themed parties, no summer birthday any more. I turn 24, which is a blah age. I met a guy the other day and I had a really funny conversation of which I was the star. I like when people think I'm funny. He couldn't believe he was talking to a pretty girl who was funny. I laughed it off, but it's pretty sad. The people in this country need to chill the fuck out. Maybe the summer will bring shorter skirts and some more laughter.

I got bad news the other day from the Italian embassy about my citizenship. It's apparently one year behind. And if I want to apply for my masters in Sweden and not pay for it, I need my citizenship. For other things too, like, moving the fuck out once the fall here starts again and I can go be with my J and be able to work in Paris. I realize I just can't be without her. You know those people who move places for love? Well, I want to do the same, but for friendwife love. And the italians are cramping my fucking swag.

Speaking of J and I, we went to Buenos Aires when she was here. It was very cold. She met A who is a very good friend of mine and I just knew they would get along and talk about arty shit I have no clue about. Although me and J fought A about how good Buffy was because A doesn't like it, which I think is a travesty, such a great post-modern show, not being appreciated by one of the most intelligent people I know. Oh well.

J and I did very touristy shit but it was great. Being around her is like a human SSRI inhibitor. I just feel fucking happy. I'm lucky my soulmate is not someone I have sex with, because that fucks shit up. We are forever.
We looked at the pretty colored buildings and danced until sunrise and had lols as we missed out boat coming back to Montevideo. Buenos Aires is a weird city for me. I don't really like it, but, goddddammmmn is it much much bigger than here... There are things TO DO! I mean, if all else fails, I guess I could move there, getting a job there will probably be not hard.

i took this one

But I'll try New York before I try Buenos Aires. Its size scares me. And there are no black people there, which is unacceptable.
Holy shit this post has been about nothing. Here's something I thought about when I was looking down at the mud. Imagine the robot voice from Fitter Happier saying these things out loud.


non-voluntarily anorexic
fictionally paranoid, high functioning virtual paranoid
bipolar with a twist of anxiety
selective attention deficit
party junkie
panic self doubt
chimeric body issues
oedipally complexed woman
bicultural depression; the open veins of pachá new york
chaotically simple minded
unextraordinarily intelligent
lazy fuck


the one time i was really cool

Storyteller 7006
Come on in! Let me tell you about an incident that happened a couple of weeks ago. By the way, this is the second post today because I have not written in a really long time, and I am trying to keep from smoking for at least another 12 hours. I have gone 36 hours without a cigarette, and I want to see if I can make it until tomorrow night. 

do NOT GIVE UP (from this person)

Anyways. Twoooooooo Saturdays ago, J was here and I took her to El Mercado del Puerto. It's a huge old market where near the docks/port/water/bigassboats where they used to buy and sell goods FOB, but is now a turist (albeit DELICIOUS) trap full of restaurants that cook meat RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. They have this special "wine" thing, called Medio y Medio, half wine, half sparkly shit, and it gets you buzzed

Anyway, I took J there and we went with my Uruguayan bfffffl Emma. Emma is not her real name. We has a delicious lunch and me and J laughed at Emma's stories because she's a hilarious lady. As we walk out of the market, I tell J, in English: "Watch out for your shit, they steal everything around here." Literally dude, cue to a little kid sntching Emma's purse and running away with it. Two of them. I was oblivious, but I reacted quickly. 

classy classy (larepublica.com.uy)

"What did they take?" I asked. 
"Todo." Emma responded with a wounded kitten look on her face. 

Forth comes the most badass moment of my life:

"Hold this." I told J, handing her my cigarette and leather jacket. I promptly started running after these little hoodrats. The possibility of a knife or the fact that we were fastly heading into one of the most dangerous areas of the city didn't cross my mind. Finally, I see that they run into an old house, kind of shantytown deal, broken windows, broken doors, a junky standing outside, the whole deal. Out of breath, I suss out:

fuckas ain't know shit

"Give me back everything and I wont call the police" Seeing as there is a police station one block away from there, I wanted to strike some sort of fear into their little blackened hearts. See, in Montevideo, there are groups of kids, minors, who rob tourists or oblivious girls of their purses, wallets, whatever, and the police can't do shit. There is no good juvi system here, putting them through a trial is expensive and ineffective. And they can always accuse the police of police brutality. So the security around touristy areas is minimal since law "enforcement" officers choose to stay the fuck away. 

sometimes I like James Franco

Somehow, though, I got back my friend's purse, sans the money (150 pesos = 7 dollars) and with a broken strap, but her ID and shit were in there. So, happy ending. I was left with a killed buzz and threatening-to-explode lungs. However, my friends (and mom) pointed out that it was a very stupid thing to do, running after thieves. I would have been shot, knifed. 

Could I? I don't know. I have these reactions ("you don't act, you react" says my mom) that I sometimes can't help. I had a therapist tell me that these "badass" moments I sometimes have are a way to test my limits, but mostly, a form of self-destruction without the guilt. Which, is, you know, all sorts of correct. I also really enjoy all the compliments and astonishment from my friends that comes with doing shit like that. SOMEBODY NOTICEMEEEE. 

Okay, that was my story for today. I have others from my trip with J to Buenos Aires. 


John Waters wrote this book called Crackpot: the Obsessions (which I own but is currently in possession of someone who is not fully appreciating it) and it's hilarious. Everyone should read it. In this book, John lists 101 things that he hates and 101 things that he loves. One of the things that he hates is people who say “I had the craziest dream last night!”. Well, I am a horrible perpetrator of this crime irl. Mostly because I dream a lot and my dreams are hilarious (as opposed to other people's). But I try not to talk about my dreams too much, specially on my blog, because it could easily become a dream log... because, again, I vividly dream every day, even during naps.

I also sleep a million hours a day

But today I talking about a dream I just had, because it is so disturbing it has left me depressed and disturbed. So... OMIGOD you'll NEVER guess what I dreamed about last night....
Okay, I had a dream that I found my real father (keep in mind, I know who my real father was), and he lived in America, was remarried and had two kids, a boy and a girl. I was staying at their house after being kicked out of Smith (you guys have GOT to stop posting about going back on Facbook, it's hacking into my dreams), just for a couple of days. My real “dad” (a short, kinda bald dude) never showed up in my dream. I was sharing a room with my 14-year-old half sister.

via this person

This is the fucked up part: 

I dreamt my “sister” seduced me and we made out and I was planning to have sex with her 

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN. WHYWHYWHYWHYYYYY WOULD I DREAM SUCH A THING??????????????????? I woke up feeling WRONG and when I remembered my dream I wanted to jump off the balcony. But it's like, really cold outside, so I didn't. What.The.Fuck. Am I a secret pedophile? It was so gross. It is so gross! I need to wash my brain with bleach.

Anywhooo, today is the first day without my Jwife. She left yesterday after being here for 13 days. The two months I spent here in Uruguay were basically just waiting for her, I knew she was coming, there was like, a hope. Now that she's gone I can't seem to find anything positive about being here – like, anything

maybe *you* (via thisperson)

I, of course, psychological help with this. Now, who's gonna pay for that? These past two days have been shit, shit shit. I found out a friend's mom passed away, which made me and J pretty depressed since both of our moms have had breast cancer. Most of the time I feel pretty numb, with some flashing moments of my eyes watering a little, my nose gets itchy, I can't get words straight. But then it's back into staring into some sort of screen, nice blues and greens, empty plates around my bed. Crumbs of sandwich number one make friends with crumbs of sandwich number two.

Autumn Sonata - Ingmar Bergman - 1978

I wasn't home when J had to go to the airport, I was at work. She left a note in my computer that I read when I got home from work which said “Leaving you sucks and I am starting to get tired of saying goodbye to my best friend.” How can people be expected to go through this type of shit all the time? Maybe I would have been better of staying here in the first place, never meeting people who will always take a piece of my heart when I leave or when they leave. My brain is scattered all over the world, in about 15-20 pieces, and I am afraid that I will never be complete: these pieces will never be in one place at the same time.

Google "Andre Harlow" and shit your pants.

But then, I wouldn't know so many wonderful people, and, let's face it, it's hella cool to have a piece of your soul in every continent.

On the other hand, I feel paranoid at all times; I am afraid one of my pieces will give up on me and not love me anymore. Let the little bit die. And then I'll die. And then who will I feel sorry for?
Is that why I can't meet people here? I have no more pieces left! All my interesting bits are not with me

... I just realized that all this talk about “pieces” and “bits” is extremely sexual and I didn't mean it it to be sowwwwwy.


two-color ghosts


And now for something completely different: 

The amount of observing I am doing: I hardly talk any more. Today my friend's grandma died and, obviously, when that kind of thing happens, it stirs shit up from my past. About half of my family is dead: all my grandparents, my father. My mom has had some fucked up health scares. I have to be careful about what I think. It's super windy outside, it makes everything lonelier. I had a teacher once that didn't like when I used adjectives meant for people as adjectives describing a feeling or a day or a mood. He can go fuck himself. I like doing it, it may be cliched but there it is.

Erin McCarty

The night is lonely, herself. My eyes are lonely, so are my ears. They miss having people around, colors. Right now, my color gamma limits itself to pale yellow and navy blue. The colors of Montevideo at night, the colors of inside my apartment. 

This apartment, where both of my grandparents died. I am right now in the room where my favorite person in the whole world, el Señor (con B mayúscula) Beltrán Castro, died three years ago. I can pictures his thinning hair and the even-more-thinning fabric of his old ass PJs. They were lovely. He was lovely. But I miss him with a smile on my heart. I wish I could say this to my friend who lost his grandma. In a little while, you'll remember and cry but with a smile. 

recodis magazine

And you'll laugh about the way he used to recite random poems in the lunch table and no one would know what to do. The way he would always joke that I was the stupidest in the family even though he loved me the most (sorry, family, but we all know it). He would sing folk songs to which I never bothered to learn the words, because I though they would be there forever. But now they're not. It's OK, they are his songs, not mine. I have my own, and my grand children will have to ignore my singing some day. 

Nick Vargas

My grandfather was the most practical person in the world. He needed to have the time on the microwave reset every time there was a blackout. I did that for him. He pealed my banana and orange for me. 
Te extraño, abue. Is your ghost in this room? Someone is here with me, and they are heavy and sleepy and melancholic... is it you?

unknown artist: not mine, probably not yours either. 

There are other dead people I can never remember with a smile. They still scream.