SO POLITIC

I plead guilty of going too far when giving my opinion about certain candidates to the presidential chair. Yes, I do rant, and a lot of the time I get carried away by my views and sometimes in my rush to get them across I might be a bit rude. OK more than just a bit. And that’s what I wanted to write about today, because everyone’s entitled to their own opinions and I, as everybody else, should respect that.

Just yesterday I got into a discussion (via Facebook on a friend’s publication) with some stranger who clearly had some issues with my friend’s post and most of us who agreed with him. I ranted, I let myself go on this one and very similar to a rodeo bull I was quite eager to put this clown down to the ground. I’m not saying it’s okay, I’m just describing what it felt like at the moment. Neither of us was about to give in and it got messy. As soon as I realized this I apologized to him, and told him that even if we can’t seem to agree I’m at least sure that what we both wish for is a better future for our country. He agreed on that and then suggested we further exchanged our points of views and then I got a friend request from him on Facebook.

Honestly, I will not accept his request, because I know he will try to convince me that his candidate is the best when I couldn’t disagree more. It would be like setting myself up for endless and more importantly, pointless confrontation and more ranting. I know, I know, discussion is a great way to get one’s point across as well as broadening it, but this guy and I will just be bumping heads and I’m pretty sure nothing good will come from it. Also, when I considered friending him I got the same feeling I get when Jehova’s Witnesses come knocking at my door.

I stand firm in my belief that information is crucial for this year’s election and everyone should use that as an instrument when going to the voting polls, and question, always question, the contenders. Full trust in a single candidate is a mistake, as far as this elections go. Also, it couldn’t hurt to even have reservations regarding independent movements (both that are going on right now) as every day it becomes more and more unclear what hands are really rocking those cradles.

I promise that from now on I will not fall into political arguments that lead nowhere and create a bigger gap between us as citizens of this country. OK, I promise I will try harder not to. I’ll try. Maybe I will accept that dude’s friend request, but only after elections, no matter who wins, because our future isn’t just about that particular day but what happens next, months and years after the next president gets elected and to see what he/ she has accomplished or not. And that’s a discussion I’m looking forward to.  


Feature image via

AN EPIC TAIL

Yeah, the one in my house lived in the kitchen, but not once did it make me breakfast. Humph.

First of all, my apologies for not writing sooner, and though, not an excuse for neglecting my writing duties, I did have a few issues that needed my attention and time was not allowing. Also, my mind was sort of elsewhere with said issues which I will be talking about on today’s post.

The last couple of weeks an unexpected guest was living in my house, chose the kitchen for itself and sometimes wandered around the working space in my humble abode, probably while Passpartout and I were sleeping our out for a walk. Speaking of which, Passpartout either was fine with it or just plain ignored it. I couldn’t, so I decided to do what I could, and as I was instantly assigned to the welcome committee, I placed a few “treats” to deal with it. Of course, as you might have guessed, I’m talking about a rat.

This is my epic tale I might be turning into a book or something. It’s like I was Frodo to its Mordor. I was Batman to its Joker. I was Mario to its Bowser.

Turns out, this was one relentless vermin. First of all, I thought it was just a mouse, “Haha” the thing must have thought, as it had me fooled as to what I was really dealing with. I was determined to get rid of it, but I must confess I was terrified at the possibility of finding it there, lying dead or agonizing or whatever. Not a good mental picture. Then, one day, I was in the kitchen (its turf) and I heard it, in a drawer (which I’ve had months without the need to open) in the dishwasher so I knew it was real, and I hadn’t been imagining things. I once scared myself to death by my own shadow because from the corner of my eye it looked like the rat coming right at me. Yup. Anyway, I called my sister and told her I knew where it was and apparently still living regardless of the amount of poison it had ingested before. I called her for I needed the moral support because I was going in, by which I mean I put on boots that cover half my legs and climbed on a stool and opened the kitchen door to the back yard. I rattled the drawer a bit and the thing climbed behind the dishwasher and found its way out through the window. At this point I’m screaming bloody murder and probably startling most of my neighbors, who maybe assumed that a crime was in process. I shut the door and the window and just tried to calm myself down hoping that the bastard rodent would just find itself out of the yard and into the wild.

No such luck, the thing was too comfy in my house and wanted to be part of this family. I wasn’t having it, no, no, I said and though I wasn’t really sure I put out more poison for it. Evidence pointed out that the rat was still around, but at least it was outside now and I took cautionary measures to keep it that way.

One night I found a few red spots around where I placed the poison, so I assumed it would die soon enough. The very next day I went out to check and there it was, in the corner near the kitchen window, kinda looking like “Do you think she saw me?” on its face. You know how they tell you that it is probably more scared of you than you of it? Well, I might just be the antithesis of that expression. Again, I shrieked and slammed the door shut, and ran for the phone. Maybe I should have ran for the broom or if I had one a shotgun, but I just needed to hear either my sister’s or my mother’s voice, even if they couldn’t make out what I was saying through my panting panic attack. So, yeah, basically that’s my reaction when I see a rat. I scream. I run. I call someone. It’s real simple to remember and follow through.

So, the next day, I went out again, but I had my weapon of choice, a broom, and ventured outside. I didn’t have to go far, or even leave the frame of the door because there it was again, only this time it was nearer to the floor, and after a squeamish yelp I tried hitting it with the broom, successfully, but not fatally. It hid somewhere I couldn’t reach and I gave up for the time being, since I had stuff to do. Either way, there is no such thing as a small victory, and I was proud I at least mustered the courage to at least strike it, since I wasn’t even sure I was capable of.

Later that same day, a handy man came to the house, since I’m doing a few renovations at home (will post pictures), mostly accelerated due to the presence of the rat. Anyway, while I was showing him where the renovations would be (right where the rat had decided to camp) I walked out with the broom in my hands and explained why. This man kinda chuckled and asked where I thought it was and as he was assessing the situation, the flashlight illuminated the dark hideout of the rat and there it was just standing there still with the halo of the light around it. Of course, I squealed. For those PETA supporters out there I suggest you stop reading, because the man took a useless broomstick and clubbed the rodent. Actually, stabbed it. And it made squeaky noises while I squealed some more. This was on repeat for a bit. Wham. Squeal. Squeak. Wham. Squeal. Squeak. Then he said it was over and I grabbed some plastic bag to place it and then to the garbage bin. I must say I didn’t look at the remains for fear that I would spread last week’s instant ramen noodles on the rat and the man’s shoes.

So it was over. It was finally over. Granted I did not do it myself, but it’s not like I made the man do it. He was amused by the whole thing. And before anyone revokes my membership of feminism, I did make a few proactive moves which I never would have thought I was capable of. I was fortunate enough that the handy man came along and the rat was as he put it “a little disoriented”.

For everyone’s sake, mostly my own, I did not make this a “It’s not me, it’s Eew” episode because that would require a picture of the rat itself, so, you’re welcome.

So, that happened. Believe me, it was not pretty going to bed and shutting my bedroom thinking that outside there was a rat living it large at my expense and fear. I felt safe now that it is dead, that is until my sister dropped by and looking at the garbage bags that hold the carcass of the rodent she says “Hope it’s not a zombie rat.” Thank you for the nightmares.

Feature image: Disney Pixar's Ratatouille from the movie Ratatouille.

WITH MILES TO GO

So, when the world all over is tuning in to Call me maybe, I am practically obsessed with Swedish singer-songwriter Lykke Li. I’d heard her about a year ago when I would put on the Indie category on jukesy.com (by the way, I can’t listen to my music by categories now anymore, what's up with that?) and sort of just bopped my head to the melodic voice in I follow rivers and Little bit.

Anyways, by the time the video of dance like nobody’s watching went viral I kind of got hooked on the song and the songstress as well. For a while now (a big while), I’m Good, I’m Gone, which went out in ’08, is my new hymn, and even though I don’t really know the background that inspired this particular song, and also it took me like 4 years to actually listen to it, I just lo-o-o-o-ve the message of not giving up, and when people laugh at your choices or whatever, well, in the end you will shut them up with what you achieved. Since I’ve been listening to her a lot, I just wanted to share about it through here, and if you hadn’t listened to it (but I mean pay attention to it) I recommend you do, and if you don’t live under a rock like I apparently had, duh, well here’s a refresher, hehe.

I'd also give a listen to Sadness is a Blessing, which actually cheers me up every time a lsiten to it.

PJ’S ARE NOT CLOTHING!

Before you keep reading on, I should probably warn this is going to sound like a rant. Maybe because it is a rant? I don’t know. Anyways I want to ask you to ask yourself a deep meaningful question that could and will change the rest of your life. OK, so it might not change it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not quite of a head scratcher this one. How lazy must a woman be to leave the house in order to run errands around town wearing pajama bottoms? When did this become an acceptable trend? Really. I need answers here! It is not okay, honestly. Maybe to run down the street to the store around the corner to buy milk for your morning breakfast or if you’re sick and have to go to the pharmacy for meds and can’t muster the strength to put clothes on, that could be acceptable. I don’t really mean to sound judgmental here, but when I saw this young, healthy looking woman, going in to pay for her cell- phone bill wearing pajama bottoms, I can’t find excuses for going out like that.

Is it too much trouble pulling on some real pants like regular jeans? I guess it’s alright if they are yoga pants and you use them to sleep in them rather than going to yoga, but nobody has to know that, right? But to go out in pajama bottoms made out of some flimsy fabric and an unflattering shape, with circus animals printed on them only makes me wonder of how lazy women are getting.

I am a feminist and I don´t think that women should look like they just came out of a Stepford Wive’s commercial with colorful pumps and red lipstick on, or that we should always look our very best all the time, because I know it’s ridiculous, but wearing pants shouldn’t be considered like an extra effort on our part. I’d rather go out wearing a raggedy old jean than my sleeping attire. You might say “Well, maybe your pj’s must be really ugly if you don’t go out in them” (mind you, I imagine this with a very nasal annoying voice, so if that’s what you’re thinking you sound obnoxious), but that’s not even the case, because even if I’m not necessarily dressed to impress, I at least want to look like I care. Just so you know, no, I’m not in my house wearing pajamas while writing this, I’m actually at work wearing a cute Colors of Benetton gray dress and pink flats, so there.

For me, before I’ll ever consider going out like I literally just rolled out of bed or wondering if I’m about to make a fashion faux- pas (and I recommend you do this too) I always turn to two of my fashion mentors. First, I ask myself “WWAW?” which means What Would Audrey Wear? Of course, I am talking about Audrey Hepburn, since she is the epitome of what it is to be a lady, and if she wouldn’t leave the house wearing her nightie, well then I most certainly won’t do it either.  And then, just to be on the safe side, I close my eyes and picture what my reaction would be if Tim Gunn were at my house and saw what I was wearing. Would I be embarrassed or proud of myself and my look? Sometimes I will not be completely satisfied, since I wish I were rich and had a lot of clothes and stuff, but I make do with what I have, so I’m probably not all the way up there to Tim’s standards, but I know that wearing pajamas in public would be going in the exact opposite direction of what I’m striving for.

So, please, stop this insane trend of slumber inspired attire, because lowering the bar this low is one of the saddest things in fashion since knit vests, people. What if you were at the bank and there’s a robbery or something? You wouldn’t like to go on the five o’clock news having people noticing you as the woman in the pajamas, would you?

Girls, if this isn’t convincing enough, think about this for a moment: not even men go out to the bank wearing their pj’s.

Feature image via

MIEDO vs. IGNORANCIA

This post will be in Spanish due to the nature of what I  particularly want to say and to the people I wish to address.

Recientemente en mi “tweetfeed” vi un comentario que hacía alusión a cómo los políticos ya no usan el miedo para imponerse, sino que simplemente atontan al pueblo, lo mantienen en la ignorancia por medio de entretenimiento, luces y cosas brillantes, y mientras la gente está distraída con toda clase de espectáculos que “regalan” a la comunidad ellos hacen  sus planes para ver como se siguen beneficiando a costa de los ciudadanos. El miedo llega cuando los resultados muestran los efectos de la ignorancia.

Inicialmente, cuando dije que hablaría de la política en mi país en este blog, recalqué que no sería para hacerle campaña a ningún candidato o partido. Sin embargo, no puedo dejar de sentir que la imagen que sigue me llena de vergüenza, de enojo, coraje y tristeza. Explicaré cada una de estas emociones a continuación.

Vergüenza, no es que sea partidaria del PRI y me sienta mal porque un candidato tomó la decisión de hacer un evento como este, sino porque en mi país hay personas que creen que esa clase de movimientos son válidos con el fin de gobernarnos. Si en campaña cometen este tipo de crasos errores, ¿qué no hará una vez que estén colocados en el gobierno? Por gente cómo ésta, este de ahora es el país que tenemos.

Siento enojo por que el dinero para pagar este numerito vino de los contribuyentes. Vino de gente honesta que se destroza el lomo trabajando con el fin de proveer por su familia con lo poco que gana, con lo poco que le queda después de la cantidad de impuestos que aparte le quitan. Los políticos que deciden utilizar el dinero de esta forma son los que nos han dado el país que ahora tenemos.

Me da coraje por que como mujer, el que tomen mi participación en este país (cuando hablo de mí me refiero a toda mujer, ‘I’m every woman’ de Chaka Khan, escúchenla, pues) como una burla, es de lo peor que me pueden hacer. Es como si redujeran la posición de la mujer como una que no aspira a más que el contacto con un hombre aparentemente atractivo y que le haga caso y se desnude ante ella sin tapujos ni pudor. ¿Pues qué creen, priistas? ¡Hay una mujer que está en la contienda por la presidencia! ¡Entiendan eso! La mujer ya no está relegada a la cocina y al cuidado de los niños, tenemos todo lo necesario para salir adelante al igual que los hombres, así es que es una pena que piensen que esas son formas de convencernos. Háblenos con palabras, no con bailes, convénzanos con acciones, no con cerveza. Aquí seguiré con otro punto muy importante, y no sé si habrá más personas que opinen lo mismo. Por ser un evento en el que la mayoría eran mujeres y la meta era conseguir votos femeninos, optaron por contratar a un stripper para  sonsacar a las concurrentes, y lo hicieron de una manera muy pública. Palabra clave “pública”. Si hubiera sido el caso contrario, hombres asistiendo y una mujer quitándose la ropa para su deleite el asunto hubiera sido escandaloso a niveles exponenciales, sin embargo, no descarto la posibilidad de que sí lo hagan pero de forma más discreta. ¿Por qué se da esta situación? Nuestro país necesita avanzarle mucho en este tema, pues al parecer, este tipo de circo es aceptable siempre y cuando sea la mujer la que sea rebajada en la escala de lo que concierne a la política de México. Para que me entiendan, es como decirnos “Entreténganse con esto, y no hagan más preguntas.” Por entretenernos con circo, maroma y teatro nuestro país no es más que un circo, una maroma y un teatro.

Y finalmente tristeza, porque a pesar de todo eso que yo sé y que tú también sabes seguimos conformándonos. Hazme un favor y regrésate a ver la foto otra vez. ¿Ves lo mismo que yo? Yo, por mi parte veo a una mujer que se ve muy feliz porque su vida, la situación en su distrito 4, donde sea que esté, se ha solucionado con un six pack de Tecate. Ella no volverá a sentir la crisis, ni le hará falta la gasolina ni las tortillas porque un stripper le bailó pegadito. Es una verdadera pena que a esto se haya llegado, a niveles tan mediocres… ni que mediocres, eso significa estar en medio, ni arriba ni abajo. Estos son niveles de lo más bajos que se están alcanzando, cuando uno piensa que nada puede ser peor esta clase de cosas suceden. Y lo que más tristeza me da en todo eso es que seguimos conformándonos, y por eso tenemos el país que nos merecemos.

Este es sólo un caso, ha habido más y todos lo saben y no se limita a este partido. Y por lo que se ve así seguirá la cosa. Si tú no estás conforme, habla, di algo, diles “Mira, yo vine a conocer tus planes para con mi distrito/ ciudad/ estado/ país, no quiero que me vengas a ver la cara de tonta trayéndome algo tan ruin. Hablemos como personas que somos con la seriedad que merecemos como mexicanos.”

El progreso no debe estar en las manos de gente así, sino de los ciudadanos que realmente  queremos el cambio. Y eso se logra solo mediante la información y combatiendo la ignorancia. Abriendo los ojos nos daremos cuenta que el México que tenemos, que se nos ha entregado, en lo que se ha convertido y que ultimadamente nos merecemos no tiene por qué ser así.

¿Queremos un cambio, no? Pues cambia tú también, no seas el mexicano conformista y agachado con el que nos estereotipan, porque, por si no te diste cuenta, no son solo los extranjeros los que nos ven así sino también nuestros propios políticos que buscan nuestros votos con esas artimañas. 

COOL AUNT CLEME

I love all things vintage. I’m out, there you have it! I’m out of the vintage closet. Or I’m probably there looking for vintage-y stuff to wear or use for house décor. Yeah, that sounds more like it.

I have a lot of outfits my Mom used to wear back when she was my age and younger even. I have accessories from my Grandma like rings, necklaces bracelets, the works. When I turned 15 she gave me the rings her sister (the one I’m named after) wore every single day of her adult life including her engagement and wedding rings. I just love them, they’re from the late 30’s and have an incredibly beautiful, yet simple design.

Suffice it to say, I would rather get my hands on old stunning objects than getting all new items, though this doesn’t mean that I never do. Actually, it is rarer for me to get vintage clothes than bright new shiny ones, and that’s probably the reason I like the former better, because of its uniqueness and infrequent possibility.

However deep my love for retro outfits, only recently am I waiting for a legitimate brand spanking new thing, and I just can’t wait for it to get here. My sister has got something growing inside her belly and it’s not the usual nacho cheese- pizza- burguer- ice cream combo. She’s been pregnant for nine weeks and I can’t help but think ‘Man, nine months can’t go fast enough’. Never mind she’s the one gestating an infant, the thing is, I will be an aunt. YES! I’ll get to be cool Aunt Cleme and spoil the kid rotten and then send him/ her home to my sister and her husband. I can take care of this baby, love it, hug it, maybe squeeze its (hopefully) chubby cheeks until cuteness drips all over the place. Okay, so that last part could be a bit of an exaggeration, but supervision might not be such a bad idea.

Anyway, I couldn’t be happier at this point in my life for my sister and her husband. Well, I guess as the pregnancy progresses I will get increasingly happier, considering I was basically ecstatic when she was only suspicious. She told me she was disgusted by pizza (PIZZA, for Heaven’s sake!) and I cried in the middle of the food court at the mall. ‘Nuff said. 

FEM- POWER!

J. Howard Miller's "We Can Do It!" poster, 1943

Okay, so I don’t think I’ve ever said this on my blog before, but just in case, I want ya’ll to know I’m a feminist. I like to think of myself as a discreet hard core feminist, because I do feel strong about the importance of women throughout history, here and everywhere in the world because, there is just no denying our fem power, I tell you! But I’m also not one who will be shoving this down people’s throats either, thus the term ‘discreet hard core feminist’. Whatever, you guys, I’m cool with this.


I believe the world (or most part) is way beyond the whole burning bras in public in demonstration of the oppression the patriarchy has put upon women, and we are now in tha phase in which it is not to just to talk and convince but to simply act. Do. Accomplish. Execute. Simple as that. We shouldn’t be wasting any more time trying to tell guys to just shut up when they are acting all misogynistic and stuff. Who cares what these guys think? It’s because they feel threatened by our strength as women. I think I’m sort of digressing here. I got a little carried away from what I originally wanted to say.


The other day, I think it was through twitter or something, I discovered a tumblr page (remember my professed love of tumblr? No? That’s because I was professing my love to someone else, I guess) that was so freaking amazing to me. It was Who needs feminism?, which poses a great idea for women (and men, actually) to have an outlet to find inspiration for the bigger or smaller battles each of us are having in order to keep feminism strong. Anyway, what I think was the most wonderful part of this tumblr as I clicked on and on to keep viewing posts, is that I found very different opinions on just one matter, and the best thing it’s okay! The clearest example of this, for me at least, was that I read a post in which the girl who wrote it, wished that she wouldn’t be judged by the number of people she has slept with, while on the other hand, later on, another girl posted she wanted to wait until she was married to have sex and not have this be a reason for this modern society to put upon her for her choice in life. 


The two things that stand out to me like neon signs on a deserted town in the middle of nowhere about those two very different outlooks on sex are “judge” and “choice in life”. To be able to choose whatever we want, whenever we want without it being a problem because of our gender, while not to being judged by these choices is pretty much what feminism is all about. 


Whether it is to be able to wear a sexy dress for a night out and not feeling conscious about it because it generates cat-calling and ogling guys, or to speak our minds openly about politics and current events and not being called an opinionated bitch, or striving in a profession which is most likely dominated by men, why should we be faced with condemning remarks? Sometimes, sad but true, sometimes we make those unkind observations to ourselves. What's up with that? 


The point is, being a woman should be more of a reason to overcome the Why not?'s to instead of keep asking ourselves “Should I? Can I? Will I be able?”