unicidades

I finally moved my furniture out of my guest bedroom, almost everything. The room is almost empty and ready for tango. I will finally have my own tango room. I made some changes in the living room and in the patio as well. I feel like donating my TV. I don't have room for such useless piece of equipment. My books will be in the living room now. My zebra painting is up and beautiful. It took me only five minutes to hang it and I did do a great job. I am so proud of my abilities as a handy girl. Now I need to find affordable mirrors and a ballet barre. I also want some posters and photos for the walls. Maybe tango in black and white. Maybe some photos of myself dancing tango. I can't wait to see it ready.

Botero. Me. Comme Il Faut. Art. Music. A pink Sunday. A drop of blood. A name without a face. I am moving, moving.

If you understand the lyrics of a tango song, most likely you will feel Buenos Aires in your heart, in your soul. To understand a tango song is to understand the feeling of a red sky and warm breeze on the streets of Buenos Aires.

I have my zebra up. At last!

Djavan Tonight. I am watching live tonight the guy who back in 1983 made me dance to the sound of his voice.

I cannot believe I am hangover for having 1/2 of a glass of wine. HALF of a GLASS!

These are my new sparkly wannabe tango shoes that I brought from Los Angeles.

Chega um ponto em que o amor nao faz diferenca.

Estranho como se parecem as palavras esquecer e aquecer. Esqueco que me aqueceste. Ja nao me aqueces e eu te esqueco. Tu te aqueces ao pensar em mim. Eu me aqueco nas lembrancas.

Comments have been reactivated and the blog looks different. I still would love to see someone create a new template altogether, but I couldn't yet find such professional. This will do for now.

I was driving on Santa Monica Blvd. and I was looking at the shops and movie theaters when I saw this small place called Dolores Cafe. The service was ok, but the place itself was nice and the atmosphere was very pleasant. I had the French toast and a cappuccino that was good, but not hot enough. From where I was sitting, I could see everybody and even the two Mexican cooks preparing the food in the back. The French toast was delicious. Just two blocks down, the movie theater was playing Partir and across the street they were playing Douchebag. After breakfast, I went for a walk in the mini farmer's market across the street. It was a lovely morning with sugar, spices and jazz.

One of my big pet peeves (and I have many) is when I go to a party and start talking to people who know I dance tango and they start a conversation like this: Person A: So, Juanita told me you're a dancer. Me: Hmmmm. Person A: Aren't you? Me: Well, I dance tango. Person A: Same thing. Me: Not really. There was this one time a guy introduced me to a bunch of people by saying: This is my friend, J*, the dancer. Needless to say I never saw him again, right? He was a total imbecile, but that's beyond the topic of this post. In my mind, a dancer is a person who either dances for a living or is capable of dancing several types of dances. I think that this generalization bothers me even more because I suck at so many dances. I know it's just one more generalization people make, but it bothers me. I don't want to mislead people into thinking that I can dance to any kind of music (especially the crappy ones) or that maybe I am a cabaret dancer. I am none of those thi

Pictorial work showing the niceness of dogs, while cats do nothing, but nap and smile sardonically. I would say that this particular work also shows the bravery of dogs.

One of my friends was talking about how she loved Japanese cartoons when she was a child. Today trying to decide where to go for drinks with another friend of mine, I started thinking about this place where they play some old cartoons on TV. Turns out they're Hanna-Barbera cartoons. I think those were my favorite. My father for instance used to call me the Atom Ant and I loved it.  Image: Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy

I was never a maternal girl. I never had dreams about having children, dressing them, how cute they would look. There were moments, though that I had thoughts about kids. In one of those thoughts, I imagined this cute little girl with long curly honey-almond toasted colored hair. I had visions of her. In my vision, she's around six years-old and she's precious. This idea has always been on the back of my mind. I never thought I could actually have children. I also know way too well that is very hard to find the right father. Recently I found out that I am physically capable of having kids. The news was shocking. Then I started thinking about the idea of having a daughter and how protective I would be. There's a lady who comes to my workplace and she has a daughter who looks so beautiful I think of a Botticelli's painting when I see her.  Allegory of Spring to be precise. Her mom and I have a very similar taste for good movies. We like deep and dark, intellectual stimula

Dancing with Brian Nguyen. He is the current National Tango Champion and happens to be a very good tango dancer.

I think about the choices I've made, which you once told me you admired for they were unmaterialistic choices, and I pay the high price of having made them. If there's a noble side to making unmaterialistic choices, there's also the sad side of deprivation and frustration.

I was mugged back in July and only now my toenail fell. I was kind of expecting it, but it brought back memories of the experience and the things that happened to me in July and August.

I danced tango in Los Angeles everyday while I was there. Every night was different and held its beauty. On Sunday, I went to a practica that was almost empty. I worked on my adornments and walk. Then an experienced leader showed up and we danced for almost one hour. The dancing room was located in a hostel in Santa Monica. A nice old house that seemed to have been renovated recently. It was so hot in there that I got a blister and had to stop dancing to go somewhere to buy band-aids.  Then I headed to the outdoor milonga on 3rd Street Promenade, which was fun. It was actually packed and people stopped to watch us dancing. They applauded. The audience smiled. As the sunset approached on the Pacific Highway, hiding behind the mountains, a cold and unfriendly evening approached. People were still out. I sat on the street for a few minutes to watch the dancing as my stomach growled and complained about the fact that I haven't had lunch yet. On Monday, I had been told to go to El Divo.

It's tomorrow and I have nothing ready. Traveling is much more fun this way!

I feel the need to explain to my Dear Readers and fans from around the world, people who are very intelligent and smart, and who know a lot about a little bit of everything what the acronym AFCO means. We are talking about really nice people here. This morning, I got an e-mail that said that I knew that one of my readers knew that I knew that he didn't know what AFCO means. I wonder: how? Anyway, I figure that I should, solely for altruistic reasons - maybe many people wonder about AFCO as well - that I should explain it here. I had to do some extensive research not because I didn't know what it meant, but because I want my readers to have the best of cutting edge information available to them 24/7. So, I cite from this terrific book (which by the way belongs to my private library) which is called the Book Of Mundane Worries, by the renowned author and many-things-wannabe J9, page 06AB: People who suffer or indulge in AFCO tend to suffer from the following symptoms: they

First of all, I want to visit my friends. My school friends and my library friends. I want to see my first boss in the United States. She was such a good boss to me. I want to see the librarians I first met in California. People who inspired me and helped me go to UCLA and get my master's degree. They were actually pivotal in my journey. The funny thing is that most of them are Jewish. it seems like I get along very well with Jewish people. Since I started reading Jewish literature back in my hometown.

Why is that any tango teacher is called a master?

There's something about this photo that I like. Actually, there are many things about this photo that I like. The salt and sand on my skin, the lack of make-up, the image representing the courage of being who I am - whatever that is. The fact that it shows a semi-serious face and the fact that you can see my frowning face - things that please me. I can even see that wrinkle just  close to my left eye, in between my eyebrows. (which has been suggested once that it should be removed with Botox!) This photo was taken under a Hopper sun. A Hopper sky. My favorite type of clouds lingering around. A lazy afternoon in a foreign land. A landscape of freedom and hope. The mystery of the human condition. A brave heart fighting to be alive and well. For good or for worse, that's who I am: no pretense, no colors, no bullshit and yet a fragile soul willing to be embraced by the intriguing face of love.

Of renting a convertible mini-cooper in Los Angeles.

He tells me, he whispers in my ears that we're talking about the past. His lies bother me. My head goes back and forth with these thoughts. I think about meditation and about stopping these crazy thoughts. Self-indulgence. I finished Eat Pray Love and it was a very hard thing to do. I don't like her writing style.

One of the cutest books I've read recently. On top of being cute, it also has a very nice surprise at the end. I recommend it even for cat lovers. After all, they might get a better understanding of the canine soul and convert to being loyal dog lover's.

Photo by Dan Garver.