Chao. On. This.

Thanksgiving 2009 was not held under traditional pretenses. No way José. As previously noted, I'm taking a decidedly backseat position in regards to this year's holiday season since I'm not able to be with my family (and eggnog just wouldn't taste the same in 90° weather). As such, I declined to partake in the T-day festivities this year with a surprisingly positive attitude and, to be frank, indifference. Did I eat more than usual at lunch? Sure, but it's not like I indulged in a pecan pie and 8 servings of mashed potatoes. I ate... a piece of bread. Quite a celebration in name of the pilgrims n' injuns. Mazel Tov. Although-... I just wanted to absolutely cry this morning when Eugene (one of my fav coworkers) brought an apple pie to our daily 15 minute meeting to make me feel better about missing Thanksgiving. I've since designated him a my Chilean grandpa. Adorable. <3 him.

In place of consuming 283760 calories in one sitting, I went and saw Manu Chao at the velodrome del Estado Nacional en Ñuñoa. It. Was. Awesome. My BFF BombayFox was right when he said that it was the best show he'd ever seen (which by the way includes our pre-Pepsi Center-fame Coldplay concert for which we waited outside in the snow for 6 hours on Colfax). For the $12.000 pesos I (finally) paid for the ticket (roughly $24 USD), it could be considered the best value for a concert I've ever forked up. Though he had no intro band, and we arrived a tad late, the band played for a solid 3.5 hours. And by solid, I mean they didn't stop making a noise/sound-of-some-sort for the duration of their set. It got to the point where I started to wonder if I would ever get home or if they would just rock out until, well, they passed out. After about 20 encores (not exaggerating), they called the curtain and we walked away with buzzing ears and achy feet. Was worth every peso.

As seconded by LL, the coolest thing about their concert was that all the songs flowed together, some of the songs intertwined, and some were a totally unique- if not improved- version of the original. Really, there's nothing better than an artist who has the ability to enhance what is already spectacular. And that he did. The show went on and, in what can only be considered a politically motivated move, he invited a Mapuche girl to do a traditional performance with him, after which he wrapped himself in the Mapuche flag gifted to him (that remained wrapped around his waist for the duration of the concert), and played Politik Kills. Subtle... But attention-catching. This being my first "famous band" concert in Chile, I was thoroughly impressed; I love that people here dance. Everyone dances. The crowd moves as one.

I could get used to this Thanksgiving day tradition. But until next year rolls around, digo que volando vengo, volando voy. Que la vida, sí, es una tombola.

Weird Afternoon

My lovely, wonderful, adorable boss has finally come back from vacation (yessss- he brought me a hawaiian shirt!!) to liven up our office and terminate my dust-accumulation-staring habit; as such, I had a frakking busy day. Just wanted to come home and glue myself into my bed with the Office and Gingersnaps (thxmom)... but before that... I... (in a +/- 90min. pd.)...

1) See a bus come 1 inch within T-boning a tiny little city-car. Yikes.

2) Stop by a record store to buy tickets to the Manu Chao concert that's this Thursday at the Estadio Nacional (happy thanksgiving to meeeeee). Wait for TWENTY MINUTES for someone to come to the cash register (never came, was quote-un-quote, possibly in the bathroom). Mind you there were like 39 other people working in the same store, but god forbid they assist a customer outside of their jurasdiction. F you Chilean customer service. F YOUuuuu. Storm out the store like the perturbed gringa I was, and along the way resisted every socially inappropriate urge that came to mind... except for muttering THIS IS BULLSHIT, MOTHERF($&*$#.

3) Turn a corner huffing and puffing out the mall (I hate malls anyway, mala onda) and crash into a lady with the biggest boob job I've ever seen. She had "blue eyes" and "blonde hair" and looked exactly like this:


Spitting image. Zexy.

4) Go to the grocery store. Choose lightly gassed water over ice cream-- feel as if I have won WW1/2, the Cold War, conquered Everest, freed the slaves, solved world hunger, and achieved world peace. EPic. Walking out of said grocery store, some flaite weon de mierda starts singing to me about my "ojos lindos." I straight up say, "F*&^ OFF" But walk away really fast just in case...

5) Eat my surprisingly delish tuna melt that I whipped up, come into my bedroom, and see two birds seriously getting it on right outside of my window. According to LL, "Love is in the air." He is exactly right. And f-ing adorable. I <3 him.


6) Find out that YES I will have the contract to my NEW APARTMENT (!!!!!!) by tomorrow but that Crazy "I-write-my-name-on-all-my-eggs" Sister #1 isn't gonna give me my deposit back (yet). She made up some BS about how she said I needed to let her know in a month advance when I was going to move out. Whatever. At this point I'm completely apathetic... just as long as I get it back in one month (and not A DAY more- so help me god, I will go SO postal on her vieja ass de mierda).

Should be doing so many things right now (can I start packing??) but just wanna be a veggie. Zzz.

//Anything weird happen to YOU today?!?!
//What is the last thing you googled?? (images: birds having sex... I win...)

Credit & Debit:

In college, I took two heart-breaking, hellish, life-scarring semesters of Accounting. Never have I tried so hard at something yet have failed so miserably. Absolute failure. Finance, on the other hand (after ditching RRhimself and Prof. Appalling-Mustard-Shirt midway through the semester) treated me a bit more fairly. Without having to Tara Reid myself to the professor, I sacked myself an A. Felt like a genius. Most (pretty much all, get real) of this information has since escaped from the thinning hold my memory has weakly grasped upon my brain cells. But let's leave numbers outta this equation... The real idea I had for this blog post was the notion of debits and credits in a relationship. Debit: He takes me to lunch. Credit: I take him to brunch. Keepin' it PG amigos, but you get the idea.

Awkwardly, in my current situation, I'm finding myself quite buried on the debit half of that bitch of a balance sheet (don't think it ever once squared). Like, I'm encountering that I don't have all the means to credit all the debits that I incur. Example: Clearly, in Chile I have no car. If I did, I'd be dead. Of a brain aneurysm. From road rage. That means I'm unable to "return the favor" of being picked-up, dropped-off, etc. Debit. In Chile, I don't live at home (slash comfortably) so I can't offer the same snacking/noshing variety that LL offers me with fruuuit, veggies, salads, desserts... DEBIT. DebitDEBITdebit. In Chile, I can turn into a helpless little baby in an instant, LL helps me, and smiles. What do I do? Ask him for help again and eat one of his apples. DOUBLE DEBIT. As such, I've been feeling like a completely worthless GF and feel like a total leach not being able to credit the debits that I most certainly owe.

I mean, I could straight up give him cash. But I think that's considered bad form/a mutation of prostitution. I could probably do a lot more things but they still would never add up, I will never be outta the red!! Thank god my mom is able to make me look like less of a chump and sends LL his favorite little snackies... But still people, I'm stugglin'. Strugglin' to balance la cuenta of the relash.

He better bet that when he comes to FoCO he'll be receiving the treatment not even Oprah would be of capacity to give. When that time comes (cough, ugh, next X-mas, cough) I will stuff him with the most delectable dinners, drive him til his ass turns square, take him to the coolest places only a local knows about, and shamelessly credit my account until those numbers turn black and I'll have enough credit to debit-out my life til next Christmas rolls around. Deal, deal??

//Have YOU ever been in this sitch?
//How would you balance your relash's BS?
//What grade did you get in Acct/Finance, and does it correlate??
//Is there some kind of Relash BS class I can take?
//Will I ever get outta the red?!???
//

Aviod Perú if Carrying Extra Holiday Weight...

The annual holiday season has fallen upon us (excluding me because with out: 1) family, 2) cold weather, and 3) the "who can make the weirdest x-mas cookie Loury-family tradition," la navidad just will cease to exist this year) and since the birth of baby G-sus, the swarming mass of eggnog-guzzling, turkey-gobbling, and pie-pounding holiday celebrators have never failed to gain the customary 5-7 pounds. Well, my friends, in case you are thinking of coming and paying me a visit here in Chilito, hmm, say around New Years (no, I have no plans), and then heading off to our hostile neighbor, Perú, to see bomb-diggity (wouldn't know, never been there) Machu Picchu, please do so after hopping on the treadmill and pumping some iron.

I'm only looking our for your safety seeing as Peruvian police have just arrested a ring of HUMAN FAT TRAFFICKING GANGSTERS.

In case you think I'm making this appalling story up, take a gander at the article published today, by the UK's Guardian. These big-boned lovin' gentlemen seem to be taking their grisly lead from (other than Tyler Durdan from Fight Club and the movie Perfume) an ancient Quechua legend where solitary victims are ambushed (oh, SURPRISE!!), drained of their faT which is then offered to the "gods" for their auspice in fertilizing the land. Sexy. Not to mention they call them selves Pishtacos... Wahoo's anybody?!

But to be perfectly serious, this ruthless gang has murdered and manually liposucted over 60 startled citizens from Huánuco, a rural province dotted with Inca temples between the jungle and Andean peaks. Bet that's not a vacation destination in Lonely Planet. Despite the disappearance of the victims, police were not privy until about four months ago when amber liquid started appearing in Europe under the guise of anti-wrinkle cream. Which, for your educational enrichment, is worth up to £36,000 a gallon. According to the Guardian, the fatty flesh of a human contains "cosmetic applications" to keep skin supple which has absolutely baffled medical experts who wonder: "hmm, this doesn't make sense- there are so many fat people in the world yet these victims are unnecessarily being ransacked to death... why don't we just go to Arkansas and go on a government sponsored lipo-binge???" I hear the potential holiday bells of a deficit increase ringing already... But really, you Wahoo gangsters, was that all necessary??

Sorry to have sufficiently grossed you out on this lovely Friday afternoon, but sometimes you just gotta know... Knowledge. Is. Power. And now you know NOT to go to Huánuco. Happy fin de semana.

Conundrum de la Casa

After sacando la cuenta, I recently realized that I have lived with 30 different people since the beginning of college. THIRTY PEOPLE, people. And to be frank, not many of them have been gems (917 doesn't count, i <3 you all). Most of them have been more akin to that irritating, son-of-a-bitch pebble that gets stuck in your sandals. So-- if you were in my chacos, wouldn't you want to live alone in peace and solitude-- devoid of a spur-of-the-moment freakshow parading into your house at 2:37AM??

Well, guess what.

The only time I'll ever live alone is, um, never. For those of you who don't know, Santiago is a real estate heaven- a plethora of beautiful, manicured new apartments with cute little balconies and blah blah blah-- but only if you have the buttload of $$$ to toss away on rent, "gastos comunes," and utilitizzles. Crap. And since I make in a month here (working full time and wearing a suit) what I made in a week working at a restaurant in FoCO, my all-too-desired dream of "having my own place" is washed down the dirtyass disease-ridden Mapocho River.

So where does that leave me?

It leaves me in my current apartment which, itself alone, is quite lovely (an ideal manifestation of the aforementioned cute apts) but is accompanied by some pretty bulging, more-annoying-than-a-strobing-fluorescent-light baggage. Basically, I live with the human equivalent of the evil step-sisters from Cinderella, if you add Real World drama, a drill sergeant's lungs multiplied by 29087356, and the compulsion of an OCD patient on adderol.



Exhibit #1:
-Saturday night, I had my bf (LL), Tomás, and Matt over for dinner which was a miracle in itself cuz the only food of mine you'll find is eggs, oregano, Kahlua, and apricot marmalade. So we ate, chatted, and left to go to a cumpleaños. Party, sleep, spend the whole day being a sloth at LL's house. Arrive around 9:00pm to my house, get on skype and start blabbin' with my dad. Ali-- evil sister #1, barges (no knock, nada) into my room and starts screaming at me in Spanish. I calmly take my headphones off (dad still on the line), say a big F YOU with my eyeballs, and ask her what could possibly be the problem. Convo as follows:

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Ali: WHAT- SO YOU'RE JUST NOT GOING TO CLEAN THE KITCHEN AFTER YOU MADE DINNER AND HAD PEOPLE OVER?????

Brenna: Um, I did all the dishes last night. Sorry, I just got home and Christina (former roommate) is studying on the table and I don't wanna bother her so I'll just put the tablecloth away later.

Ali: ARE YOU SERIOUS? YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE THE HOUSE A GIANT MESS LIKE THIS. THIS IS MY HOUSE AND I WANT IT CLEAN. AND THE TABLECLOTH IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE TABLE. OH- AND I WAS SOOOOO STARVING TODAY AT LUNCH BECAUSE YOU LEFT A POT (tried to make flan and burned the shit outta the pot.. never doin' that again...) IN THE SINK AND I COULDN'T EAT LUNCH. I WAS SO HUNGRY.

Brenna: Uh- sorry? (you f-ing unresourceful child) I'll do it when I'm done talking to my dad.

Dad (via skype): What's this girl's problem?? Need me to kick some ass when I come visit you??

30 seconds later... Barges into my room again...

Ali: YOU BROKE THESE TWO SPOONS. WHAT YOU JUST THINK YOU CAN BREAK STUFF AND NOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. YOU NEED TO BUY NEW ONES.

Brenna: Ali, those were already broken, I only used them because they were the only ones we have.

Ali: WHATEVER.... WHAT?? DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. IT'S NOT LIKE I'M ASKING A LOT OF YOU... (at this point I tuned out and only heard the words, shutupyouoldfatbitch, over and over in my head).
------------------------------------------------------------------

Exhibit #2:
Along the same lines. Had literally just walked in the door from a week with my parents who came to visit me (u rule m&d), had just dropped them off at the airport knowing that I'm probably not going to see them for at least another year (cue breaking heart). Was feeling, eh, overwhelmed, depressed, emo... And psycho Ali runs into my room and starts yelling about me about some pasta (leftovers from Exhibit #1) that was growing mold. I burst into tears and basically la mandé a la very worst places possible. I LOATHE HER. LOATHE. HERRrrrr. (Did I mention that she writes her NAME on each INDIVIDUAL EGG that she puts in the fridge??? Psycho bitch).

Exhibit #3:
She and her sister, Val, were born missing the vital gene that give a person the capacity to speak at a decent decibel level. No- they were born with THE SCREAM GENE. They wake up screaming, go to bed (at 1:30am) screaming, scream to one another via the giant cement wall that separates them, scream when having a simple, normal gene-d person conversation (#1, #2), etc. Hence my enormous lack of sleep, droopy eyes, inability to speak Spanish (very hard on a continuous string of 5 hours of sleep), and periodically surly attitude. The cackling of Ali's laugh burns a hole in my brain every time my little dwarf ears are pierced by it.

These girls would make Janice Dickinson/Tyra Banks/Lindsay Lohan look sane. Hence, finalmente, my overwhelming urge to move out. But here's the catch: (1) my apartment is within walking distance to my work, (2) near the metro (cuz duh, like I have a car), and (3) is in a "safe" neighborhood.

//Should I just deal with the bullshit?
//Should I move out to my 31st roommate's house?
//Should I inject tranquilizers into their yogurt?
//Should I just say, F it, and secretly move into the hotel where I work?
//What would youuuu do??? HELP!!

Opium Dens, Reviewed

My boss in on vacation. For three weeks. If there were someone else in the office to entertain/babysit me it wouldn't be so bad. But- I'm here. Alone. All day. If you think I haven't broken my self-imposed "no-facebooking-at-work" rule, go ahead and lock yourself in the loony bin. Despite this extremely lame personal set-back, I do manage to engage myself with reading material besides the bragadocious bullshit spewed by the status feed... such as the glorious, glamorous, gapingly left-leaning (besides the point) Vanity Fair.

A couple o' weeks ago, I stumbled upon the following article: Confessions of an Opium-Seeker by Nick Tosches, originally published in the September 2000 issue of VF (for which you need a solid 90 minutes to read). International illegality, drugs, and underaged prostitution aside, the article is the most stunningly penned piece of magazine literature I've ever read. Tosches chronicles his hushed, decadent quest to seek out the ever-so-elusive Opium Den of dyansties past with a prose that will leave you as high, as contemplative as the drug that he so thoroughly sought out via Hong Kong, Bangkok and the Golden Triangle, found, and inhaled-- inducing a raptuous profundity only the perfect drug could procure. I remain unconvinced as to if his high was maintained during the article's scribing as his writing style is as rich and tantalizing as, what I imagine, would be the ideal state of sedation/euphoria. But nonetheless, here's a sample of the art he constructs with language...

And now, wordlessly, we understand each other perfectly in the eloquence of a silence that not only contains all that has ever been and all that ever will be said, but also drosses the vast babel of it, leaving only the ethereal purity of that wordless poetry that only the greatest of poets have glimpsed in epiphany.

“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

Fuck this world of $35 onions and those who eat them. Fuck this world of pseudo-sophisticated rubes who could not recognize the finer things in life—from a shot of that vinegar to the first wisp of fall through a tree—let alone appreciate them, these rubes who turned New York into a PG-rated mall and who oh so loved it thus.

//Thoughts?//

How da Blog was Born

I had a bad day one day. A couple 'o weeks ago. I wrote to my best amigos an email detailing the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back and was promted by RRhimself to write a blog... así fue-->

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So- you know in the movie Mean Girls when they have lunch and there's all the different High School "cliques" who sit at different tables? And how the new girl (the ever-so-lustrious Lindsay Lohan) awkwardly walks around trying to find a place to sit, and ultimately ends up eating on the toilet in the bathroom??

THAT TOTALLY HAPPENED TO ME TODAY.

Not those events exactly but here at *work* they feed all the employees lunch and we even have those dumbfucking plastic trays to carry around our food (I've always loathed those things with a firey passion and have never known why). Well, my job isn't in a specific department even though I interact with almost all of them on a daily basis-- in my office it's just me, and the big boss man. Makes for somewhat of a lonely existance ESPECIALLY when you (or, me) goes to have lunch (obviously alone cuz its not like i have a office pals sitting next to me or anything) and walks into the cafeteria to see the following tables: 1) finance, 2) housekeeping, 3) kitchen staff, 4) marketing, 5) security, etc... and you're the LONE lost sheep who has NO friends and has to elect a table at random to awkwardly plop down upon.


So I'm like, ok, its OK, dont panic, I'll just go sit with these fine finance folks (with whom I'm most frequently in contact). I sit down. At the last seat. I notice that they're almost all done eating. Two girls get up and get fruit. I relax a little. Then, they all start talking about how they're planning this giant, like fucking fabulous, get together and they're all laughing and smiling about the future good times to be shared. Trust me, I by NO means expect to be included in this conversation whatsoever as I've only known these people for a total of 2 weeks and 3 days (plus- I think for some reason they think I don't understand them and therefore don't need to bother including me in the convo). But a "hi," a "hola, como estás?", or a mere nod of the head WOULDN'T KILL YOU WOULD IT?! Or am I living in some wild American dream where I assume other people actually make an effort (if even minute) to acknowledge your existence. It appears, my friends, I am.

I maintain going completely unnoticed until I make the wretched, god-awful mistake of asking Eugene (absolutly one of the most adorable, giant, Santa Clause-y old men I've ever met who always practices speaking English with me) to pass me the salt. Upon doing this he begins to ask me what "salt," "pepper," and "napkins" are in English. I tell him, add an encouraging smile cuz he's such a cute little g-pa, and look up to see everyone else staring at me with appalled, disgusted eyes. The conversation has come to a halt. Oops, I'm so sorry, I must have horrifically offended you by SPEAKING ENGLISH. I'm sorry I'm such a rotten human being.

I go back to being unnnoticed and unliked and they all get up and excuse themselves from the table (I'm not even halfway done eating my lunch). Which leaves me. Alone. Sitting alone in a full cafeteria. I play it cool of course while holding back the torrent of tears I could have cried while like 25 people walked past my table to sit with their own "tribes." Keep playing it cool. Can't do it. Get up in the middle of my lunch, throw the rest of it away, and make a B-line to my office of solitude. Again, I'm alone. But at least 75 people aren't staring at me like Carrie at her prom.

Needless to say, I'm feeling quite nostalgic for my REAL friends who have always been SO AWESOME and leagues cooler than everyone else...

And I'd be severely depressed if it weren't for your existence. Which, with this email I am acknowledging. Unlike some people.

Much love from my special office of solitary confinement---

Bienvenido to the Buzz

Ever since my luggageless arrival to the Southern Hemisphere, I've been graced with an alarming number of stories/incidents/explosions that could potentially be conisdered blog-worthy if only for the sheer awkwardness and empathy-induced bursts of laughter they provoke. And, lets face it, my job isn't neuroscience (sorry Dad) or overly energy consuming hence my urge to fill my time with an activity other than staring at dust accumulate (currently in 1st place). Buzz de la Abeja is born.

Quick synopsis. In an attempt to retain a degree of anonymity, I will craft-ily occupy the pen-name (whud up Brontë sistahs) of La Abeja. For those of you who know 1) me, or 2) Spanish... you'll get the connection. I've beeing living in Santiago de Chile since the 12th of January, 2009 and now find myself employed full-time (woah adult) by an international company. A hotel. No names. But it's not a bad gig. And lunch is free. Excelente...

Originally come from el estado de Colorado en los Estados Unidos. I always, ALWAYS, say "el estado más bonito del país." Because it is. My family (mom, dad, bro's and sis) is still stubbornly there despite my numerous failed attempts to convince them to move "south." Although my mom has deemed us "the six-pack" and we have a fuzzy, lovely, butterflies and rainbows relationship, I, Sagittariously, had to broaden that mountainous horizon to something a bit more picante.

So here I am. La abeja. Bringing you the best buzz from the fields through which I fly. Hope you enjoy.