Google translate: Spanish word for kisses.

My initial trip to Mexico (sans the rents) resembled as closely to a first all inclusive vacation with friends should. A nonstop party fueled by way too much alcohol and not enough sleep. Unfortunately it was never duplicated for the older we get the less stamina we have.
I never expected my second trip to resemble anything near the first. We were staying in Riviera Maya, a much calmer situation than Cancun. Instead of a large group of travelers, we were only just two (females) this time. It was a quieter vacation; a lot of tanning and relaxing. We amused ourselves with trying to figure out the status of the relationships surrounding us. I caught an instant crush on a beautiful man from Italy who seemed to always be two steps behind us...with his overly pregnant wife. Our resort was flooded with a high school graduating class which also proved to be excellent entertainment. Every evening we’d get dressed up for dinner accompanied by grape juice wine (the red wine in Mexico always tastes more like grape juice than alcohol). We'd later sit at one of the bars in the outdoor theatre for the nightly entertainment.
It really didn’t require much work to become friends with the bartenders and of course I thought one of them to be quite attractive. It was difficult to communicate as he didn’t speak very well English. Although the Spanish language makes me weak in the knees, I don’t speak it. I’m not sure how it happened, and it’s not so much that I can’t remember, but I’m really not sure what occurred. We were at the bar, fairly drunk. I went to use the ladies room and as I was drying my hands the hot Spanish speaking bartender was suddenly at the doorway. I’m not sure if anything was said, but he entered the woman’s washroom and pretty much pinned me up against the wall in the sexiest kiss of my life. The thought still gives me goose bumps. We spent the rest of the night’s meeting behind the bar to make out, not really being able to communicate any other way. On our last evening in Mexico we exchanged phone numbers, I’m not sure why. We messaged each other a few times and when I was returning the next year I initiated contact again. We met up one night in Playa Del Carmen at a club. My bartender had been practicing his English (and French) and we could finally have a real conversation. He made jokes about getting married and insisted on trying to teach me how to dance. I told him I could only white girl dance. He brought me out to the beach and just like that we jumped right back where we had left off with our lips. 

That was almost three years ago and I have not been back since. I have to admit, on these cold (single) winter days, I somewhat regret not taking him up on his proposal.
I mean, I could be in Mexico right now.



Noun: the day or period of time immediately before an event or occasion

I am grateful that Winter Solstice has passed and the days are becoming longer; slowly but surely (let’s be positive, right?). I am almost certain that I will forever detest the winter.  I take hibernation to a whole other level; my friends joke that they will see me in April. In all fairness, I cannot be blamed for being a summer baby. On select occasions I am so thankful for the cozy days locked inside. Last weekend was so dreadful I hardly left my bed. Due to the treacherous weather I stumbled upon a movie that every romantic should watch: Before Sunset. My soul sister in Paris described it as a too long conversation between two people. But what a wonderful conversation it was. Of course I found myself relating all too well...

I always feel like a freak because I’m never able to move on like… this, you know? People just have an affair, or even… entire relationships… They break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals. I feel I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with. Because each person had their own… specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost. Each relationship, when it ends, really damages me. I never fully recover. That’s why I’m very careful with getting involved, because… It hurts too much! Even getting laid… I actually don’t do that… I will miss of the person the most mundane things. Like I’m obsessed with little things. Maybe I’m crazy but… when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late for school. One day she followed me to see why… I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk, or ants crossing the road… the way a leaf cast a shadow on a tree trunk… little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see in them little details, so specific to each of them, that move me, and that I miss, and… will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. 

Lately I’ve come to notice that the majority of people cannot enjoy the present in its entirety because they are so fixed on the future.I’ve also become conscious of the fact that I live in the past. So, my wish for us all is to forget the ghosts of Christmas past’s and future’s. 

Have a very Merry Christmas (present tense).  
How cheesy am I becoming in my old age? 




Noun: a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent casual connection.

Last night I went to sleep preparing a visit to the clinic in the morning as I have obtained an annoyance which looks like chicken pox but is not.When I woke up, the spots seemed to be diminishing so I changed my plans and went to work.As the day progressed so did the skin condition leaving me to depart work at lunch hour to go to the clinic.Once I arrived I was given an appointment to come back at three PM.  I decided to go home and adjust my attire into something more comfortable.The doctor only saw me at approximately five thirty. Do not worry, I’m not contagious. My spots are merely an allergic reaction to something unknown. After waiting at the pharmacy for my prescription I ignored my not so presentable clothing and made my way to the busiest shopping center (especially at this time of year). I really had no choice as I’ve been wearing old and somewhat damaged contact lenses for weeks. The optometrist left a message informing me that the new contacts were ready for pick up yesterday, however they closed at five PM (yesterday). I work until five PM. As I made my way to the optometrist’s office I received a text message from a good friend who works at the exact mall I was at. 

“Pretty sure I see C in front of me.” **C being the one who confessed his love to me**

My phone was near death at only five percent battery. I needed to know where she was, I assumed she would be working. She was. He was only around the corner from me at the Apple store. I panicked obviously. I hadn’t seen him since July and I refused to bump into the one male who’s ever declared his love to me looking like I did. I needed to make a stop at Sephora, which would require walking by the Apple store. I considered skipping the errand. My phone had died; I could no longer contact my friend to find out if C was still within her vision. I couldn’t even use my phone as a distraction to occupy my eyes as I walked. I decided to take a long detour to Sephora so as to omit the walk by Apple. So here I am, in my black leggings and flannel shirt, scarf hanging wildly around my neck. Walking as fast as I can through the swarm of holiday shoppers, neglecting to make eye contact with anyone. I arrived at an intersection active with people and as I made my way right I spotted him in the crowd. He was walking in the opposite direction, talking on his phone. I held my breath...

I focused on the floor, made a sharp right and dashed as fast as I could through the crowd.
I don’t think he saw me.



Noun: a very powerful and influential nation

I would like to apologize to any person who found themselves trapped in traffic this AM alongside me. I am sure that not everybody would deem it enjoyable to be listening to Beyoncé (at maximum volume) so early in the morning.  I would propose that everyone try it though; it creates a brilliant start to a day.
Excuse my tardiness. I am aware that the majority of the world has been discussing Beyoncé for days now. I confess that I was late in purchasing the oh so hot visual album. I have not yet listened or watched it in its entirety yet and I am already convinced that she is beyond descriptive words. Move over Drake, I have a new obsession.
To some extent I am at a loss for words. Not only is Beyoncé fifty percent of the epitome of true love (common you can’t deny that she and Jay-Z equal perfection), she is the embodiment of sex appeal. Who’s dreaming of a Victoria's Secret body while Beyoncé exists? I’m tempted to move into the gym in attempts to become anything close.
As I continue to befriend her fourteen songs and seventeen videos (in which I then will be back to honour her further), the following proves enough (read on Tumblr):
- Beyoncé drops an album with no fucking warning and no promotions
- Laughing in the face of Lady Gaga’s Art Pop expenses
- On the night Lorde drops a “secret single”
- On Taylor Swift’s birthday
- When Lupe Fiasco had planned to drop his album
- Thereby fucking up everyone’s end of the year lists especially Rolling Stones magazine
- On Friday the 13th because fuck your Illuminati bullshit

In closing, all I want is to be drunk in love...



Noun: a list of desired things or occurrences.

I’m anxiously waiting the occasion when I get to share the holidays with a significant other. There is no denying that singlehood proves to be more difficult during this time of year. Gifts are no longer a surprise as your parents would rather buy you something you need/want; this makes Christmas morning not so special. Tis’ the season where everyone wants to get together; I’m not sure if I’m becoming a Grinch, but I don’t comprehend why I need to rejoice during the entire month of December. In addition, I have to attend all these events alone. Family parties beat them all. Riding as a backseat passenger in your parents car because really what’s the point of taking two when you would be solo? This also allows for overindulgence in the alcohol department which is quite necessary when you are possibly the oldest single member of the family. Being close to thirty, yet single, makes me feel like I still belong at the kiddie table. Moreover, there will always be at least one person who mentions the fact that you are still single. This is where the (more the merrier) alcohol will become useful; pour yourself another drink and smile.
While all of the above is actually not as awful as I make it out to be (I love my family and friends so dearly, even at Christmas), the one component of these tra la la la la festivities that have ever truly affected me is New Years Eve. I have never experienced a midnight’s kiss and for some (hopeless romantic) reason it is all I have ever wanted at this time of year. It is the one moment in life when no one can deny that being single sucks. There is no positive to being single when the clock strikes twelve on December thirty-first...

Nope, nothing.