Return of the spammers!

Friends, according to the latest spam commenters, it appears my blog has become so boring, it’s got some of them speaking in tongues.

Yesterday, my spam box gave me these fabulous gems:

“Hey, you used to write great, but the last few posts have been kinda boring¡K I miss your tremendous writings. Past few posts are just a little bit out of track! come on!”

“Hello! eeekgba interesting eeekgba site! I’m really like it! Very, very eeekgba good!”

“Hello! dakeeef interesting dakeeef site! I’m really like it! Very, very dakeeef good!”

It appears that while I thought my blog was “dakeeef,” some readers feel I’ve lost my mojo.

These thought provoking comments have me brainstorming on how to make this blog “eeekgba” good again.

I’m also wondering when I stopped writing “eeekga” posts and became “kinda boring.”

Hence, if you have any suggestions on how to get this blog “back on track,” or have any ideas that could help me churn out my earlier “tremendous writings,” I’d be grateful if you would leave your suggestions in the box.

Not the spam box.
The comment box.

Just remember, they have to be “eeekgba” ideas if I’m to make this site “dakeeef” again.

In the meantime, I’m joining Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.

(Never you mind that it’s Thursday. Heidi keeps her link tool open for three days for anyone who wants to join the fun.)

I leave you with captures of Roxy’s perspective from yesterday’s outing at the park,

I hope you find them “eeekgba”!

Enjoy!

What funny comments have made their way into your spam box?

Is there such a thing as a one sentence conversation?

Folks, Spring break has arrived!

At last, a break from nagging reminding the Son to set his alarm clock, study for midterms, and complete projects.

I’m finally able to clear away the mountains of books that have given our living room its “library after the hurricane” avant-garde look these past two weeks.

Only one book has been left in sight: Life of Pi, a book I started to read three years ago but sadly, have never finished.

Yes, I’m quite grateful for this break.

I’m looking forward to photographing the emerging signs of spring.

Already, the crocus have sprouted and the birds are chirping.

There’s only one caveat: knowing I also have to do some spring cleaning.

But before I start rummaging for cleaning supplies, I wanted to share with you what has to be the shortest conversation I’ve ever had with the Significant Other.

However, know that you won’t be reading a dialogue.

And that this conversation took place at a bus stop.

And that it consists of one sentence.

Yet it showcases a “twist” on our recent topic of comparison.

Ironically, I used comparison to stop comparison dead in its tracks.

Confused?

Read on.

“I’ll look like this

when you look like this

Enough said.

And now I’m off to find the Hazmat suit.

The bathroom needs scrubbing!

Have a good week, friends!

What does snow have to do with telenovelas?

This afternoon, while writing a comment on Monica’s blog, I underwent a brain zap.

You know, when blood rushes to your head, you start to feel lightheaded, and zap!

You go back in time.

It happened rather suddenly.

One minute I was telling Monica how I also wanted to be a Girl Scout and suddenly, my brain zap revealed that this never happened thanks to something called “telenovelas.”

Growing up, telenovelas, or soap operas in Spanish, were big in our house.

They started in the early afternoon and lasted until the early evening hours.

During this time, no one was allowed to speak.

Silence was pivotal if any of the spectators were to understand the complicated lives of the protagonists.

One telenovela after another, my mother sat glued to the television, quieting anyone who dared to speak with a sharp, “Shh!”

Nana, in the meantime, carried on in the kitchen, mumbling what a waste of time it was to watch fictional accounts of people’s problems.

“Hija,” she would say, “don’t you have enough problems of your own that you have to become an audience to these people’s crisis and drama?”

“Mama,” my mother would reply, “My problems hardly resemble anything as interesting and intriguing as the ones these characters have.”

And she wasn’t kidding.

During commercials, everyone was treated to a blow-by-blow description of Marianita, one of the few living virgins, who was in love with Padre Juan, the priest, who was in love with Sarita, the Venezuelan expat, who was married to Pablo, the blind welder.

Even worse, my mother didn’t think listening to her scream, “Marianita, keep your virginity until you’re married!” was enough.

She turned every situation in the telenovela into a teaching moment.

Hence, we were reminded of the importance of not engaging in premarital sex, coveting our neighbor’s wealth, and more importantly, of not falling in love with the village priest.

Not that we lived in a village.
But to hear my mother speak, anyone would think my sisters and I had a hidden agenda for attending catechism.

Furthermore, my mother did not discriminate.

Everyone was invited into our home.

Characters from Venezuela, Mexico, Spain, Argentina, Puerto Rico; they all made their way into our living room and quickly became part of the family.

We dined with them, studied in spite of them, and relied on their troubles to lessen our own.

Maria, Pedrito, Alberto, Adela, Victoria, Claudio, and Miguelito.

They were like extended family, with the exception that we only saw our “real” relatives once a year, and we saw our telenovela relatives three and four times a day.

To this day, I’m convinced telenovelas are one of the reasons I moved out.

The competition was too fierce and frankly, I didn’t have the physical or mental energy to battle the likes of Marianita and Juan.

As far as I was concerned, these people were in a league of their own and they’d lured my mother to the dark side.

However, in all fairness, I have to admit that it was thanks to Marianita, that I learned how to feign being sick, how to faint at will, and how to bat my eyelashes in that special “come hither” manner.

Marianita is also the reason I probably won’t make it through the pearly gates of heaven.

Taking the Daughter to Sunday school one morning, I met Father Salvador, a real priest, who was so handsome, I was “forced” to incur in impure thoughts.

Marianita had been my role model and the way I saw it, if she could fall in love with a priest, I could damn well wonder what Father Salvador hid beneath his tunic.

Yes, telenovelas.
The downfall of propriety as I knew it.

And all thanks to my mother and her addiction.

To this day, my mother still invests a great part of her day watching the newer Spanish soap operas.

Yet, she tells me they’re not the same.

The characters are too superficial and lack passion.

Luckily, the story line is still the same.

Nowadays, she’s able to witness how Pilar, who’s originally from Brazil but moved to Argentina to get to know her dying father, is secretly in love with her dentist, Marco, who’s really her brother, the son her mother gave up for adoption when she was fifteen, who’s secretly using his dental practice to launder money for the mob, who’ve threatened to kill him if he doesn’t do what they say.

So what does snow have to do with telenovelas?

Nothing.

I just wanted to share shots of today’s snow day with all of you!

Enjoy!

Have you ever watched a telenovela or soap opera?