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mi casa es ... oh, ya sabes | 2002-03-05 - 9:48 p.m. "Always keep a clean house," mi madre would tell me when I was a girl. "You never know who'll be coming to visit." Ya sabes, aunque I never set much stock by mi madre's pronouncements, I always found the part about las visitas mysteriosas a little ominous. Even in my ni�ez I knew my future visitors were bound to be disappointed if they expected a clean house from me. I had taken stock of myself and en mi coraz�n de perezos�n I understood I was no more likely to have una casa limpia than a private jet or a pony stable. De hecho, by the time mam� started lecturing me and mi hermano on cleanliness, I'd already started to suspect there'd be no casa in mi futuro at all, dirty or otherwise. Every time I tried to envision mi destino, I'd see a squalid old rathole of an apartmento with a scabby carpet and a dingy cottage cheese ceiling, the kind with asbestos flakes and gold sparkles in it. Algo like el basurero I inhabit today! As a child I'd imagine being visited in my ramshackle adult pad by a crew of disdainful, white-gloved writers from Better Homes and Gardens. Their patrician faces would screw up in asco as they fingered my dust-coated muebles and toed my rancid piles of dirty chonis. They'd take fiber samples from my queso ranchero. They'd whisper among themselves and make copious notes on large silver clipboards, which they'd refuse to discuss with me. Then sin aviso, they would leave as abruptly as they'd arrived, their disgust as palpable as el olor emanating from el cuarto de ba�o. In my imaginings, Jes�s would come by uninvited too, and even though he'd never write anything down, I could always tell by his downcast cara that he was disappointed in me for not being more like Him. You know He would never be caught dead with a clogged up toilet and hair all over el suelo. Uf. Even to this day I shudder when I remember these visitas imaginarias de mi ni�ez. So you can imagine my chagrin when I come back from work esta tarde only to realize that not five, not seven, but fifty-seven different t�os paid me a visit today in Diarylandia while I was out. Some very distinguished visitors, too, from far away places like Mount Holyoke, no doubt lured to my diary by my muy upmarket banner with la maja desnuda on it. So what do my distinguidos visitors find when they stop in unannounced? Uggh, my latest unedited "musings" -- the Diarylandia equivalent of excrement jars all over the floor -- a fe�sima Castigada header; uninspired graphics; and, encima de todo, horror of horrors, a tacky, outdated Diarylandia background! Forget about content, hijos. One look at that background, and you can just see the silver clipboards coming out. Might as well wallpaper with pictures of The Eagles and John Denver. So how do I explain to these nice people that I am really buena gente? Should I even care? Because this is a freakin' personal diary, �por el amor de dios! On the other hand, I guess I did invite everybody over with that chingado banner thingy, didn't I. I am torn. My gut tells me I should stay up late and do a little Diarylandia houscleaning esta noche, but my gut is notorious for leading me astray. In fact, it's leading me to la nevera now, where Ben and Jerry await me. Oh, fuck it. The housecleaning can wait 'til ma�ana. Go ahead, visitors, and make yourselves at home. Pry the lids off those older entries and take a whiff. Mi casa es tu casa.
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pride and prejudice - 2004-09-07
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Diary Rings |
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member of the scorpio diaryring: next - prev - random - list - home - Diaryland member of the snobs diaryring: next - prev - random - list - home - Diaryland we live sweat but dream light years | d*land wage slaves: next - prev - random - list - home - Diaryland member of the love-is-pain diaryring: next - prev - random - list - home - I'll Dance on His Mutilated Corpse - Diaryland Living Abroad - the expat diaryring: next - prev - random - list - home - Diaryland |
