So my roomie and I hit the sauna after our 2 hour work out.

Roomie: "I am just gonna lay down here"
Rach: "k"
Roomie: "You just missed my friend. He just walked out of here all hot and sweaty."
Rach: "oh darn"
Roomie: "I am so shaky right now. Everything on me hurts.
Rach: "Me too"
Roomie:"Tonight I am not going to be able to talk. My jaw is so sore. I am going to be like deerrr"
Latin Man in Sauna: "Que cochinas! I have to go clean off now"
Latin Man leaves Sauna disgusted by us!
Roomie: "What!?! Cochinas! How are we cochinas? (this means pigs or dirty girls in Spanish)
Rach: "ummm think about it, you said your friend just walked out of here shirtless and sweaty, then you complained that you were sore all over and that your jaw hurts so bad you cant talk!!!"

5 minutes pass, 6 other men walk in. Latin Man returns, after getting cleaned off in the pool. He sits next to the Cochina roomie.

Roomie upset with Latin man: "I didn't mean it like that. Why did you call us cochinas?"
Latin Man: "Why eh"
Roomie: "Because we aren't pigs"
Latin Man: "No eh its like your exotic or something!"
Roomie: "What? Exotic?? That is not what cochina means!"
Latin Man: "Ya eh, its like ur bad in a good way. Like bad ass."
Roomie: "No, I know what it means and I have never heard it like that!"

They fight over the definition. He is dumb. We decide that cochina can be what ever one wants it to be. It is the good meal I made tonight. It is the dirty mesero who keeps repeating roomies name and touching her hand. It is a tie dyed shirt. It is professor hitting on student. It is no clean underwear. It is the bad ass salsa dancer. It is gypsy music. It is my tipsy gypsy coctail. It is my brother who wants me to take him to the airport at 3 AM. It is this day. A cochina day.

This blogging is going to be a journal until I can master the art of entertainment via word. I think I am funny. I am not to sure if everyone else feels the same. And when I say I 'think' I am funny, I am being literal. I don't say many funny things, but in my head, I am a comedy club.

At breakfast today (eaten at 12 since I have no where to be and I was supposed to be on the beaches of Malaga, Spain tomando sol por el dia y bailando salsa por la noche) I decided to personify my fruit (again, being literal). OH yes, the new facebook question of the day is "If you were a fruit, what would you be?"

A fig.

For sure. And then to add to my curiosity, I discovered that figs are pollinated by wasps! They actually crawl into the fruit, no just the flower.
In a strict botanical sense fig "fruits" are actually inside-out flower clusters.
COOL...and for this, I thought the whole world should know this fact. This is why I am a nerd and want to be a biology teacher!

What fruit would you be and how are you pollinated...in other words, what turns you on? What does your fruit say about you?

Calimyrna Figs In California

Calimyrna Figs In California

I think my stage name just changed from PIMIENTA to FIG. Not sure yet, gonna have to sleep on this one.

Peacocking

I started my week off with a day at the beach!!! Yes, with my broken leg I hobble to the beach, find piece of sand and read for a while. I enjoy my solitude. I send no vibes of needing company. But 'they' find me. A summer beach filled with ladies working on their skin cancer, I get approached. An old man walks up to me an rambles for a good 5 minutes. I continue to keep my nose in my book as he continues to ramble. But then he starts to take a seat.

"Do you mind if I join you? I don't have a suit, just my training shorts...you know Speedos."

Rach to Rach conversation "My therapist told me I need to exercise being assertive on strangers. Here is my chance."

"umm, actually, I am trying to finish this book".

Assertion, come on REALLY Rach. That is all you got. Next time say 'NO'. But it worked. He left. I looked around me. Why me? REALLY. There were 7 other cute girls, just as focused in their books as I was, and I was the chosen one.

On Thursday Night:
My house mate and I have infamous stories on nights out. This night particular we both had curly hair! Trouble! I was actually nervous for the night. Which is quite strange, because I am rarely nervous. We skipped the line 30 minute line, got escorted in by the manager, dont ask how, and then a friend of mine offered to get us into the club for free! We were set. Since I cant dance and we are forced to sit down and watch the club, we invent a game. We decided to play the passport game. Basically we try to meet as many international people as we can. We use the camera and ask a foreign looking person (male or female) to take our photo. Our first two stamps were female. One Brazilian and one girl from Switzerland (switzerlandian?).
A white boy (heaven forbid) walks over and offers to take our picture. We read each others mind "no" but we both have a problem with assertion so we say "yes" He is quite a character. Rings all over his fingers, plaid pants, very different, very gay. We are in the safety net. And what do you know...he is another confused Italian American salsa dancer who speaks Spanish. He is part of our club. Then his friend walks over and what do you know...he is from Australia. Check! Passport stamp! We continue conversing over loud music. Australian claims to be a priest, so we do a mock wedding. Really. Now we are bored with plaid pants and need a change of scene. Like an angel, Mesopotamian guy approaches house mate. Stamp! We head up to the top floor of the club. We cant get in because it is full. I say something to the bouncer and bat my eyelashes and we get in.

1:30 comes. We leave. Plaid pants in tow. House mate has to pee. I offer her my tire. Plaid pants offers his house and a 3some. "She'd rather pee on my tire. Bye" REALLY

Apparently plaid pants was PEACOCKING. Targeting conservative girls, striking conversation with jewelery...there is a entire website on how to seduce with the peacock technique. Yet we are so naive that we didn't even realize.

"Really?" That was the comment from my house mate which triggered this blog. Well, that and I think everyone is sick of hearing my 'stories'. The open mouth jaw drop 'really' was after I recapped my first adventure on match.com. I guess most people would consider them 'dates', but in my life, that isn't so. They are adventures. Dates just lead to disappointment. I honest to goodness would like to meet some cool souls on match.com, but judging by my first experience, this might be a joke.

I am an average looking white girl. Big Brown hair, small blue eyes, larger than average nose size, half bad skin, 10 lbs over my goal weight (mostly kept in my two prized b's...boobs and butt). And apparently, as an old dirty wise man once told me, I ooze of feminine energy...(this is where the REALLY comes in my life) I sometimes get asked my ethnicity, but that is usually because I frequent places which attract various ethnicities. Here are some common perceptions..Jewish, French, Greek, Middle Eastern. Of which I am none. I am an Irish/Italian mutt.

Why Blog?

• I have a stress fracture on my L foot. It keeps me from my normal activities (soccer and dance) So I have some time on my hands.
• I am dying with curiosity about this online dating stuff.
• I am praying that by having this blog, maybe the crazy stuff in my life will suddenly stop. I might be able to lead a normal life

Lets just say this, I once miswrote my address on my drivers license (I tend to transpose my numbers). Of course I lost this license on a night out on the town and luckily a very kind person mailed it back to me. Ah, but not to my address, to another address. Upon receiving this random persons ID with the incorrect address, she thought I was using the address as a front for an identity. One lovely day at work the police phoned me and told me I had to come to the station. Apparently this lady freaked out and reported me!!! REALLY I picked up my license, got a slap on the hand, and I always double check my address when filling out forms!!!