My last exercise.

Hello, long time since i've posted anything but not without writing. This are my last two excersice from my Creative Writing Class. Check it out and let me know what do you think. Cenqiu!!!!

The “I don’t believe in Santa” Club
By Lidice Pousa.

I was about to cry when the phone rang. Even though I knew it was nothing or anyone important, I couldn’t let it ring. I don’t know what happens to me that I can’t let any phone ring without answering. In the weird times I miss a call, I return it almost immediately, especially if it’s an unknown number. Curiosity kills cats, and me, because most of the unknown numbers are from Scams Companies. If I had any sort of disorder, it would be a phone disorder. On those days when my phone doesn’t ring, I think something is wrong with either the company or the artifact.

By the time I found the phone, I didn’t remember why I wanted to cry in the first place. My room wasn’t the sanctuary that it always is, and I couldn’t blame it, because rooms don’t fix themselves. This weekend, the one who normally does it (me), was to busy buried between pillows and Kleenex. I normally don’t cry, but this time it hurt so much, that I even used the powerful combination of Netflix and Haggen Daas, to help me get through this one.

When I say I don’t cry, it’s not because I don’t want to, it's because I can’t. And since for all the things you can’t do, there are always the ones you can. Thats why last night, after finishing my gallon of ice cream and August Rush, I wiped my tears off and coated my eyelashes with mascara at the same time I loosened my hair.

All my best friends were celebrating that one of them got promoted. They knew I wouldn’t come, so they decided to have me participate through the phone. I then thought, “No way I’m staying here, drowning in self pity.” Besides, two days should be enough to get over the love of your life.

So I did my face, my hair and headed to the Bar where I was supposed to meet the rest of the "I don’t believe in Santa Club". We are normally three, with the occasional and orbiting meteorites that crash into our galaxy from time to time.

Don’t get me wrong, we love those meteorites, and since some of the times we get tired of each other, we need the occasional meteorites to crash, but on a daily basis they are too busy to attend the frequents calls that the anchor trio make.

In terms of looks, on zero to ten scale, I could say we (individually) could easily be a nine. But I don’t want to sound too much like Paris Hilton, so I’m downgrading to an eight point five. Betsy, the lawyer, is a tall blonde. Jenifer “the focused” is also tall, but she’s more like a flavor of the month head, cause she changes her hair color like I change diets. And I’m Lu, nothing to write home about, but with such a grace to compensate my 5’2 that sometimes people refer to me as “cute little thing”. And in 2010 we all know that cute equals not so pretty, not so ugly.

On my way to the bar, the 82 year old lady who lives right next to my apartment, intercepted me on the stairs and asked me if everything was ok because she had heard noises from the bathroom.

-You’ve heard? Or you put a glass against the wall to actually hear?-I thought.

With my best smile I replied everything was good and kept going down to the ground floor. Nevertheless, and with a suspicious face, she looked at my wrist and smiled back with a
-If you say so
-What do you mean if I said so? I’m perfectly fine! And why do you care anyway!
-I just prefer the noises from the bedroom
Is this for real? Is this lady spying on me? I was about to say something but I decided to go outside and get some fresh air instead.
I remembered. The night before I was so pissed at J.P that I took all of our portraits and I smashed them against the wall. Mental note: next time burn them so the old lady doesn’t think I’m hurting myself.

How funny, when my dad divorced my mom, she immediately went to the drawer were the family album was stored and cut my dad out of all pictures. She also decided that the rest of the people on the picture shouldn’t be erased; so she took my dad out of every pictures and re did the picture with clear tape.

By the end of that mission and because we had tons of pictures, my parents got back together and it took my mom three months to bring my dad back to the pictures again. However, when this new task was achieved, my parents had decided not to be together once more. Because of this, I resolved that I would never do anything that drastic before certain period of time (a year for instance). That’s way I didn’t cut the pictures, just smashed the frames against the wall, just in case.

When I finally made it to the Bar and I saw my friends so happy, chatting, dancing and laughing I thought
-Maybe its not a good idea for me to spoil the party for them, so I stood there, looking at them for a good three minutes and I got back to the entrance, which by the way, now was the Exit.



* * *
Two days later I was still feeling that “Je ne sais quoi” that makes you stay still, because when you still a have a doubt about something, you shouldn’t do anything about it. So I went to work on automatic pilot like everyday, from Monday to Friday, from 10 to 7.
Honestly, I think my hours are more fashionable than 9 to 5. When I think about people who work 9 to 5, I picture people that work for the government and always treat you like if you were not paying for their salaries. Besides, my job has to do with fashion (in a way). I’m a sales representative and marketing director for L’Oreal. But don’t get swayed by my job title, what I actually do is arrange L’Oreal products on Airports Stands to make them noticeable to you, so you can buy more.
As I was sitting on my desk, in front of my computer, I noticed a peculiar smell that doesn’t belong to a cosmetic office but I ignored it and went straight to my calendar to check the to do’s.

-Shit!!!!. Sometimes I hate things that help you remember things, bdays, valentines days and all dates you are supposed to be celebrating with your loved ones.
Today is JP’s bday and I made a reservation in this ultra-hard to get a room-boutique hotel with a very special surprise for him. But I guess I will have to cancel or give it to someone who actually has a “someone” to celebrate with.
- I can’t give it to anyone. The special surprise is not something you can brag about. I don’t imagine Betsy or Jennifer all wrapped in seaweed with pieces of sushi covering them. Yes, part of the surprise was me waiting at the room wearing a seaweed suit on a table with sushi pieces placed in strategic places.

* * *
With this many hours to find someone trustable to spent the night with, I decided that “renting” someone would not be a bad idea. After all, men are very well known for using these services and for providing them as well. Nothing could go wrong. Except that all went wrong.
So Yellow Pages in hand, I started my search with the ones that had pictures when a 6’2 dark haired, dark skin, brown eyes, caught my attention, so I called.
An also “dark” voice answered the phone and I immediately hung up. Stupid me, another mental note: always, always use *67 before calling an unknown number. They called back.
-Hello.
-Don’t be shy. I know why you are calling.
-Oh, no. It was an honest mistake.
-How do you know you reached a wrong number if you didn’t ask for anyone?
-Erh, hmm, ahh…. well, I was trying to reach ahhhm, Elaine, and you are clearly not Elaine
-Oh Honey, that depends on what you want me to do. I can be either Elaine or Eloy.
For a few seconds I said nothing and I though- this Elaine/Eloy has my number so if I piss him/her of she/he could easily reach me. Mental note again: take my number out of any public directory!
-Erh, Are you tall and have black hair? I asked with a weak voice
-“HAHAHAHA”. I heard from the other side of the phone
-You are looking for Bri, I mean Brian. Oh Honey, Bri doesn’t work with me anymore. He opened his own business. I mean, he stole my clients and ran away. But don’t expect me to give you his number darling.
- “Oh no no no”. I rushed and I stopped to say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
We both went silent for a minute as if we knew what was going on in our heads. Then he asked
- Dear, is there anything I can do for you?
-Hum. Do you know The Clockwise Hotel?
-Are you kidding me? Everybody knows and would kill to stay in that hotel. Why do you ask? Are you the owner?
- Oh no. I’m not the owner, but I can invite you for a drink there.
Another silent moment
-Honey, how old are you? Are you ugly? Are you limping or something?
-Well not really. Neither ugly nor old. Why?
-Baby, a girl like you shouldn’t be calling me unless she wants to get back at her boyfriend.
- How on earth didn’t this occur to me? This is even better than sleeping with some random guy!!! I felt as if I’d won the Lottery. A really chunky lottery. I dropped the phone and started dancing.
-Hello? Are you there?
I’m still dancing. Actually I’m picturing JP’s face when he sees Elaine/Eloy dancing for him in his parent’s house.
-Hello?
- Ah yes, yes I’m still here. Listen I want to ask you something. Are you free toninght?
-Yes, why?
-Are you free like right now?
Absolutely dear. What’s the address?
After that call and feeling much better about life. I put on a mini skirt, glossy lipstick and headed to The Clockwise Hotel. Expecting nothing less than drinking the whole bar by and go up to the room all by myself where sushi is waiting and treating my hangover the next day at the very expensive hotel spa….

It must suck to live in Philly

Yes. I was watching the news this morning, and the Weather Channel was informing about a snowstorm that is happening in that area. They’re even speculating about, that this could be one of the most severe one in the history.

Now the airports are closed, and people who live there are getting ready to spend a whole weekend inside their houses. For those who worked a lot last week, this situation must be heaven, cause they’re going to get to spend the entire weekend doing nothing, with no other explanation that, "they absolutely can’t leave the house".
But I’m thinking about the ones that don’t even live there,the ones that went for business trip and get stock at the airport. Philadelphia is a very important city in that region, for many reasons, but that airport is a very important one for connecting flights that comes and goes to everywhere in The States.

Imagine you planned ahead a vacation and you can’t leave the airport. Imagine you got a package to come to Disneyworld and you couldn’t make it. How do you explained that to your children, whom by this time, must be as excited to meet Mickey, the mousse,and the entire princess collection, as much as to see Santa on Xmas.

Or imagine, that you were going to your Own Wedding and you can’t leave the airport. I mean this is a real catastrophe for all the reasons you are probably thinking right now. But what if you haven’t seen your (title here) in two months and you really want to see him or (her). How do you explained to your hormones they need to wait for the storm to pass? (This is a hard one).

Anyways, I always watch the news and they’re always saying something like this is happening in Philadelphia, for what I conclude.

It must suck to live in Philly.

Bienvenida La Paz

Hace muchos años, cuando me mudé a vivir a México,llegué con la idea de lo que me contaba una amiga mía que se la pasaba muy bien, y con muy poco (casi nulo) conocimineto de su historia.


A medida que me iba haciendo literalmente mexicana, aprendí mucho.Desde hacer rajas con crema, hasta de su historia(sobre todo de la que escriben día a día). Y en mi humilde opinión creo que México tiene varias historias. Una, es la que te cuentan los muy ricos muuuuy ricos, que se hicieron dueños del país prácticamente sin títulos rimbombantes de universidades y con amistades muy influyentes y otra, es la del resto del país que incluye desde los que sobreviven con dos tortillas al día, hasta la clase media que cada día se pega más a la parte ancha de la piramide. Y es que en México muy pocos caen pa arriba.


En tres ocaciones fuí víctima de la violencia que se vive en ese país y debo confesar que aunque ya pasaron muchos años de esos acontecimientos, mi proceso de sanación por llamarlo de alguna manera empezó cuando ya no tuve que vivir más en él. Día tras día, subirme a mi carro (del año o no) era un verdadero suplicio, porque a toda hora eres blanco de los que en nombre de su pésima situacion económica te hacen pasar horas, y en ocaciones días, de verdadera agonía.

Escribo esto no para purgarme,(ya no lo necesito,no ver las noticias y la vista que tengo del mar me curan),pero hace un rato leí unas cartas que el hijo de Pablo Escobar escribió en su Blog para Mexico que tristemente esta repitiendo la historia de Colombia. Y me acordé de una pregunta que yo me hice muchas veces cuando vivía allá.

-Qué sentirán los hijos de los autores de crímenes y eventos como los que ocurren día a día en el mundo.

Cuando tienes cierta edad es muy fácil que no te des cuenta de nada, pero, que pasa cuando ya tu conciencia tiene voz propia.

Y en estas cartas que leí hoy, encontré las repsuestas.

www.pabloescobargaviria.info/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=286&Itemid=32