Hairy Latinas (And Some Argentinians)

Do not google for “hairy latinas”. Seriously, in the name of everything you hold dear, do not google it. I’ve tried, and I’ll never forget what I saw, so this is me warning you: do not do it.

We cool?

Cool.

It’s a well known fact that Latinas such as myself are hairy EVERYWHERE: arms, legs, backs, eyebrows; you name it, we got hair for you.

*A tiny girl raises her hand at the back of the audience and says, “I’m actually Argentinian and I barely have hairs. Like, I only shave every three months.”*

First of all: shut your mouth, you hairless freak of nature, and second of all: suck my bratwurst, Argentina.

Hey, it’s not profanity if I don’t have a bratwurst, right? So, yeah, Argentina sucks my imaginary bratwurst.

No wait, it’s cool, it’s okay, I can say it because I’m from Brazil. Americans have the same relationship with Canada, only Canadians are super nice and Argentinians are the fruit of the devil.

See, even the Argentinian girl is all like, “It’s okay. We’re cool everyone, she’s Brazilian.”

Unfortunately, not all of us are as gifted as some Argentinians (when it comes to hairs, that is. When it comes to football, Pelé was obviously way better than Maradona. Take that, Argentina!). This means I have to wax constantly, like every month, seriously.

Okay, fine, it’s more like every three weeks at most. If I waited four weeks in between waxing, my pubic region would replace the Amazon rain-forest in the list of world heritage sites. (Too much information, anyone?)

I just wanted to say how much I hate being hairy, and waxing, and Argentinians. Okay, just kidding, Argentinians are cool. Hair in the wrong places, on the other hand, is not.

How about you? Care to share some experiences? 

Jeremy’s Marvelous Junk

“Dude, how big is your penis?” Dave asked.

Jeremy stared at his friend, choking slightly with the pot-smoke going down his throat. “Dude! You can’t ask that to a bro!”

“Of course you can, come on.” Dave inhaled. “Bro to bro, man.”

Jeremy squinted at him. “Bro to bro?”

Dave exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s the code. A bro can request a view of his bro’s penis at any given time. I’m sure it’s written somewhere.”

After careful consideration, Jeremy shrugged. “All right, then. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

So Jeremy stood up and pulled down his pants.

The smoke stopped mid-way Dave’s throat and all he could mutter was, “You’re a freak of nature, bro.”

Jeremy chuckled as he zipped his pants. “That’s what she said,bro.” He gave Dave a high-five but his friend was flabbergasted and could barely move.

After a long while in silence, Dave said, “Bro.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gay.”

Jeremy stared at Dave in silence. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Not the first time it happens, bro.”

 

 

Follow or Unfollow

Last week, I received four notifications on new followers, and that was awesome. I’m always happy when I get new followers, it makes my day (almost as much as comments and likes, just throwing it out there, you know, just in case).

I average around eight new followers a week, so you might be wondering what made those four so special. Well, according to WordPress, I was already following them.

Let me connect the dots, if I may (This is gonna turn into a Harsh Reality type of post, isn’t it? Oh hell yes).

Dot 1) At some point in time, those four people followed me (or I followed them first, doesn’t really matter), and as always, that was awesome. We connected, we followed each other. Cue to more awesomeness.

Dot 2) Fast forward a few months/days, and I get a notification that those people, who were already following me, just started following me.

Hm.

Look, it’s fine to unfollow me. At some point, you thought what I had to say wasn’t cool, or interesting, or maybe you were offended. Hey, it happens. No one can please everyone. It’s life, and I’m super cool with that.

But if you didn’t like what I had to say and unfollowed me, why did you follow me back?

Oh wait, you’re adding people randomly and then unfollowing them to increase your followers/following rate, aren’t you?

Sorry, but this is not fucking Twitter. Your shitty social media gimmicks don’t work here. And I don’t tolerate this kind of shit.

So you just earned an eternal unfollow, assholes.

You’re welcome.

Letters to Myself – Part One

Dear Future Me,

This is you from the past. Obviously.

I hope you’re reading this as you sit by the pool in your mansion in Tuscany, while a shirtless Chris Hemsworth fans you with giant peacock plumes.

Oh, Future Me, I have so many questions…Has Facebook shared Myspace’s fate yet? Has Google taken over our souls, and most importantly, has Justin Bieber grown a beard?(Just kidding, we both know that one will never happen.)

By the way, no one has created a TV show about the adventures of a young Captain Jean-Luc Picard, have they?

Of course they haven’t.

jlp

Whyyyy?

Look, you need to write the series yourself, and it doesn’t matter that you don’t know how to write a script. It’s your problem, not mine. Unless… you have already done that, and this is why you have a mansion in Tuscany!

YES!

Waait. This means I should warn an earlier-future-version of myself, the one who decides to write about young Jean-Luc’s adventures in the first place. If she doesn’t write the script,  you’ll have no pool, no mansion, and no bare chested Chris Hemsworth, Future Me!

You should really start freaking out by now.

Anyway, I better go write to her and save both our asses.

You’re welcome.

xoxo,

Moi

PS: This post was inspired by Becky’s letters at HUMYN. You should really check Becky out, her writing is absolutely beautiful.