A letter to Jojo

Dear Jordin,

I’ve been meaning to write you this letter for a long, long time, ever since your mom found out you were growing inside of her belly. I’ve waited until now, her 38th week of pregnancy because every time I attempted to write something addressing you I couldn’t stop crying. Specially about a month or so ago, when I found out I wasn’t going to be there to see you being born.

Anyway, here I am. Nice to meet you – I’m your auntie Carol.

I live in Brazil now, I just moved back home. I met your mom almost six years ago. She was so young she couldn’t even buy a pack of cigarettes. I couldn’t even buy beer. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be talking about cigarettes in a letter to a newborn, but I would like to introduce you to an idea you’ll probably be used to by the time you learn how to write your own name: I’ll probably be the one grown-up talking about subjects and saying things around you that no one else will. Not because they don’t like you, or because they don’t want you to learn, but because your auntie right here has got very little sense. I embarrass your mom very often.

So back to the cigarettes – don’t smoke, those things are bad for you and they’ll make your teeth look really yellow as if your mom’s boobs were producing coffee. Just don’t do it. And if you drink, do it moderately and save yourself some trouble. SO - when I met your mom, she was the most quiet, most fish-out-of-the-bowl person in the room. It just so happens that I was growing into a social butterfly, and I started making conversation. I took her to a party with me where she met some crazy Russian friends I had, then she spent the night at my apartment and she’s been my sister ever since. That's it in a nutshell.


You know, Jojo, you’ll meet tons of people in this life as you get older, and you’ll become close to a lot of them, but from most you’ll end up growing apart. Sometimes because of age difference, others because of geography, or maybe for things you won’t be able to explain… believe me, life will give you plenty of reasons to leave people behind. But very few of them - maybe one or two - will become your insides. And to those, Jojo, you should hold on. That's what your mother is to me.

This person will know you inside out. She will know if you are mad, or sad, or tired, or hungry, all of those things just by looking at you. This person will laugh with you, even cry with you if she has to. Your mom and I have done both a lot. Mostly laugh, and sometimes for no reason at all. You’ll laugh at jokes that no one else will understand, and those are usually the funniest ones. Your mom and I have plenty of those. We have also cried, and those times only brought us closer.

When we found out she was pregnant, I have to be honest – I wished you were a boy. You know, we girls get to an age where we become annoying and we usually start worrying too much about what we wear, about what we look like, and we may become spoiled and next thing you know, that little girl who was the cutest thing on the face of the planet becomes a monster dressed in very skimpy clothes.

But you, as you started growing in your mom’s belly, you actually started growing on me. I know that being your mom’s daughter will automatically give you an edge and I’ll end up adoring you. Your mother is truly like no other, Jojo. She’s one of the most inspiring women I have ever met, and she has so much to share with you. She’ll teach you about being different from everybody else - you will never blend in, because your mom is not that type. She’s Akira. She’s smart, she’s wise beyond her years, she has a desire to learn from the smallest things that I have never seen before. She’s also kind, sometimes too kind. I often tell her she gives people too many chances, but the thing is, after saying what I have to say – and I say a lot! – I always end up learning from her.

The day she found out you were a girl, I went out to my favorite store, Target (you should go, they are great and affordable; save your money to travel and to live life) and bought you a basket full of clothes and baby things. Not one thing in that basked was pink. I wanted to buy you blue things, and yellow things, and green things, because I knew if there was one person in the world who would appreciate that, that would be your mom. Then the baby shower came and people showered her with pink stuff, as one would expect, but I know that when she sees you with your tiny colorful onesies, she will be laughing inside thinking of the days we talked about how we know you won’t be the average girl. I know you will be different; you will be outstanding like her.


I’m sorry I won’t be there to see you the day you decide your mom’s womb is too small for you. One of the saddest days of my life was the day I had to see your mom walking out of my apartment crying, with that big old belly, after saying goodbye to me, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to feel you move in there like you always do. Your mom and I would sit on the couch for hours in a row waiting for you to move around. She would poke her belly to wake you up and that always freaked me out. The first day I actually felt you move against the wall of her belly, you scared the bejesus out of me. I had never felt a baby kick like that. But then I got used to it, and I started learning how to find you in her belly, and I would try to figure out if that was your elbow, or you knee, or your head.

Now the next time I’m there, I’ll actually be able to see you and pick you up, without the membranes and months that were between us. I’ll probably make weird noises and faces just to see you smile, and I know I shouldn’t do that, after all I am the auntie who goes against the grain. But I won’t resist, so please forgive me in advance. With time, I’ll get to know you, you’ll get to know me, and maybe your mom will let you spend some time in Brazil and you’ll learn Portuguese. I want to offer you the world, Jojo. Know that I’m always here for you, whenever you need. Whether you're five, twenty five or fifty. After all, you are the first little girl I learned to love even before I met you. You already have with you a BIG part of me.

Love,

You auntie Carol

25 Amazing Everyday Do-it-Yourself Inventions

More amazing ideas here.

Minute Maid looks different in Brazil

"Homemade Orange Juice
The first orange juice made with pulp and with love"

illustrations by Mariana Massarani.

i read today

from Ela Fai e Sai Andando

Internet Commenter Business Meeting

Click on the images to watch the videos.

The Original


The Sequel

there should be a law...

1. There should be a law prohibiting people from using Photoshop filters without appropriate knowledge of design and/or without basic aesthetic common sense. Just because you managed to download a free copy, or because it happens to be in your PC, it doesn't mean you should touch it. The fact that you are on a PC probably means you shouldn't touch it.

2. There should be a law obligating people to check their emails at least twice a day, following by a reply. Each offense should be punished by the removal of one eyeball at a time, because if you don't read e-mails, what's the point of having eyesight?

3. There should be a law against making noises with your mouth while eating. Just because digestion starts at the mouth, doesn't mean that I need to HEAR IT HAPPEN!

4. There should be a law allowing people to knock the shit out of anybody who bumps into you accidentally and does not say "excuse me". No actual physical contact is necessary. Touching my purse, crossing in front of me while I'm looking at a store window or grocery shopping, and standing in front of me while I'm getting off an escalator are all serious offenses that demand serious reprimand. Reprimand should consist of the use of violence.

5. There should be a law prohibiting people (and by people, I mean BRAZILIAN PEOPLE) from clapping when the airplane lands. This might not mean much to you, dear reader, but try taking a flight from Miami to Rio or Sao Paulo and you will know exactly what I'm talking about. I always fly undercover as an American citizen because it brings me to tears to even think that I could be remotely associated with people who would clap during landing. When the flight crew starts passing around the customs form, I always take the one for foreign visitors in Brazil and then I switch it when I get to the ground. What are you clapping for, people? For the pilot's job well done? He probably can't hear you! Are you afraid of flying? Or are you just ghetto as hell? I mean, I'm happy we got there ok and everything, but there's no need for you to express your joy by blatantly showing us all that this is your second time in an airplane and you clearly don't know how to act.

6. There should be a law stopping strangers from looking at you more than once for more than 30 seconds. I understand if you look at me for about half a minute if you've never seen me before. You might be finding me attractive or you might be feeling sorry for me because I look so ugly, but half a minute of UNDIVIDED ATTENTION to me and my beauty or ugliness is more than enough. You even have time to tell your friend so he/she can stare with you. But look at me a second time and I'll have to start acting like a nosy-ignorant-asshole, just for the sake of easier communication between you and I.

7. There should be a law against individuals who go to concerts and sing louder than the artist. If the person doesn't know the lyrics, even worse. If they don't know the words and have no sense of rhythm, that's reason enough for me to get up from my seat and find the security person who will take you to a dark alley and beat you unconscious.

(more to come)

some things are still the same

It's 4:54 on a Wednesday, I'm inside a room with air conditioner, sitting in front of my computer, designing things and watching Oprah.

Some things haven't changed at all (except that Oprah has Portuguese subtitles and I get to watch daytime TV while I work).

This is really cute

it's not like i didn't see this coming

my latest purchase

I just bought this gorgeous poster from ORK Posters. The designer is Jenny Beorkrem.

"Ork Posters began while searching for a Chicago neighborhood poster that wouldn't cramp my style and didn't scream of the early 90's. My search came up empty, really empty, so I decided to design one for myself. The project became quite cumbersome with 91 Chicago neighborhoods in all. But I finally finished the poster and liked it so much that I thought others might like it too. And so began Ork Posters."


Right now she also has Brooklyn (above). Manhattan, San Francisco and Boston will be available very soon. But I chose Chicago because that's like a second home. I miss it a whole, whole lot.

tees

Check out the t-shirts I created for my twin, who is also a VERY FAMOUS BLOGGER in Brazil. If you don't speak portuguese... well, you should. This probably won't mean much to you.

The name of his blog is Gravataimerengue (which literally means "tie and merengue"). He also has a guest writer, Isaias Camanducaia (his alter ego), who is a favorite of mine. So I designed my very own version of "I heart Isaias".

she could be on sex and the city

Cristiana is a creative director at an agency here in Belo Horizonte and she has a blog called "Hoje vou assim" (which mean something along the lines "This is what I'm wearing today").

She posts a picture of what she's wearing to work with a description of the items below the photo. That's it. Her style is adorable, I can't imagine how much money she must spend to have such a eclectic wardrobe.

Anyway, check it out. She's great.

passive aggressive note

"Do not kiss on someone else's kiss"



Note left on the window of a small toy store in downtown Sarasota, FL. From Passive Aggressive Notes

how I'm re-learning the metric system

Ok, so I spent almost 7 years living and working abroad using only the US customary units (inches, feet, etc). I've been having a hard time getting used to the metric system again (cm, kilos, km, etc) and numbers here don't mean much to me unless I compare them to something measured in inches.

I have found out that the average penis size in Brazil is 14 cm, which according to my calculations, is 5.5 inches. Regardless of how much Brazilian men are packing (or not!), I must say that that has become a good standard of reference for me when I don't have a calculator nearby.

So if someone tells me "Oh, that frame is 50 cm x 30 cm" I quickly figure that is about 9 Brazilian penises in width and 5 Brazilian penises in length, which means, in the US system that frame measures around 20'' x 11''.

Got it?

*********************

I know you are wondering, so here's the breakdown:

Brazilian............................ 5.5'' = 14 cm
Black.................................. 6.89'' = 17.5 cm
Asian................................. 5.33'' = 13.5 cm
Caucasian......................... 6.22'' = 15.8 cm
Hispanic........................... 6.15'' = 15.6 cm
Native American............. 5.66'' = 14.4 cm

*********************

The illustration above is from xkcd.com - A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math and language. Brilliant. Click here to see some of my favorites.

last weekend

To see them larger, go to my flickr.

word of the day: waxing

Lola (Madonna's daughter) is really cute and everything, but somebody should mow the unibrow or the mustache ASAP. Believe me, this is coming from a girl who had eyebrows of the size of cockroaches by the time she was 8.

*****************

UPDATE: My friend Bert said I'm very inconsiderate of other people's feelings and that ugly-sexy is his third category (pretty, ugly, and ugly-sexy). He's not trying to say that Lola is sexy. We are including her in the category of girls/women of unconventional beauty. Sort of like Frida Kahlo, who he finds extremely attractive. So Bert, here is to you. Leave me alone.

tell me your BMI and i'll tell you who you are

Illustration by Carll Cneut

If I had words for this one, they would go here.

Autobiographia Literaria

by Frank O'Hara

When I was a child
I played by myself in a
corner of the schoolyard
all alone.

I hated dolls and I
hated games, animals were
not friendly and birds
flew away.

If anyone was looking
for me I hid behind a
tree and cried out "I am
an orphan."

And here I am, the
center of all beauty!
writing these poems!
Imagine!

Beside the Point

by Stephen Cushman

The sky has never won a prize.
The clouds have no careers.
The rainbow doesn't say my work,
thank goodness.

The rock in the creek's not so productive.
The mud on the bank's not too pragmatic.
There's nothing useful in the noise
the wind makes in the leaves.

Buck up now, my fellow superfluity,
and let's both be of that worthless ilk,
self-indulgent as shooting stars,
self-absorbed as sunsets.

Who cares if we're inconsequential?
At least we can revel, two good-for-nothings,
in our irrelevance; at least come and make
no difference with me.

this is how you can find me

3 Google searches that led people to Legally Normal:
• best compliments for a girl
• make in brazil fuck
• if so glory be to almighty god

iams hates animals.

You can buy the stickers for $1 each here.

You can find brands not tested on animals here.

Now you know. Pass it on.

us three

It just so happen that life chose them for me.
But if I was given the chance I would be like "I want that dark-skinned one with the thick eyebrows and a hole on his chin, and that short one with a funny nose. Thanks."

PERSONAL BRANDING...

IS NONSENSE.

READ HERE!

another open letter

"An Open Letter to My First Five Girlfriends
June 16, 2004

Dear Holly, Kathy, Kelly, Nicole, and the other Kelly,

Look, I'll come straight to the point. I'm sorry I didn't know where the clitoris was, or, more to the point, where your clitorises were. I was a horrible wreck of dry humping, fingering teen lust who pinned you to couches and carpets and danced all around your deserving buttons of love without so much as grazing them, without even inquiring as to the location of your hidden high-school treasure, without even thinking that you might not be liking the way I was swizzling my hand around in your nether regions.

You were patient with me. You let me slip you the tongue in the field behind the shopping center. You allowed me to reach second base in the bathroom at Phil's party—you remember, the one where we drank all that peach schnapps and watched The Wall on Phil's mom's big-screen TV. Heck, you sat still in the back of Scott Parsons' sweet-ass Honda Prelude while I rooted around in your shorts like a frat boy working a couch for spare change.

While I'm at it, I'm also sorry for letting Brandon smell my fingers. That was immature and uncool, and even though you never found out, I feel badly about it. Really, I do.

To be honest, you should be pissed at my dad. We never "had the talk." I had no diagrams to work from, no explanation of the intricate workings of the little man who steers the canoe. Everything I knew about sex was gleaned from Cinemax's presentation of Emmanuelle in Bangkok and this old Betamax porno Bobby stole from his dad. I watched the latter one three times. Other than making me uncomfortable to be around my dentist, it didn't help.

I asked my father why he never clarified the finer points of clitoral massage with me way back then, but he just said that wasn't really part of polite conversation and he'd prefer not to discuss it. So I asked him if he knew where Mom's clitoris was and he hung up on me. I took that as a no.

Anyway, sorry about that. I'd have done you right if I'd had any idea what we were both missing.

Warmly,
Emlyn Lewis
Boston, MA"


Other open letters to people or entities who are unlikely to respond - here.

another Maya Angelou

Phenomenal Woman


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

phenomenal woman

another one by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

(...)

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

men

by Maya Angelou

When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

Maybe.


(nobody else could describe me so well)


illustration by The Black Apple

why koalas are some little bitches, trying to be like kangaroos and shit

This essay was written by an 8th grader in Pittsburgh in the spring of 2004. The assignment was to pick an endangered species, and explain why it's important to save it. The typos and formatting are preserved from the original.

I shouldn't do shit. I don't care about them they all could die and it won't affect my life. I know a lot about them but I don't need to think about them. They're just a waste of time koalas are stupid they don't help me with shit so why should I help them. If they all die there will be more room for the panthers and all the other hard animals. Koalas are weak a pit will get rid of their whole fucking family. That's why I don't like koalas. Koalas have sharp claws but they are weak. They all small and fat and they be climbing trees. I hope a storm just come while they just chilling up in the tree thinking they is hard and they're will all just fall off. They just break they neck and shit. When they fall they claws are going to fall off and they going to be crying like some little bitches. Koalas aren't hard they some little bitches. They start climbing up the tree soon as they see a deer from like 50feet away. They stupid as hell they should put their brain in their pouch and put the kid in they ten they're be able to think better. They try to be in the fucking kangaroo family. They weak as hell, talking bout they got a pouch a kangaroo so they their cousins and shit.

Click here to read the whole text.

open letter

An Open Letter to a Guy I Work With Who Always Comes Into My Office To Tell Me He Sent Me An Email Right After He Sends Me an Email.

by Jason

Monday, November 5, 2007

Dear Louis,

You’re a very nice man and I do enjoy working with you. The fact that you own a donkey and a rooster makes me laugh. I don’t know many people who own a donkey and a rooster who don’t also live on a farm. You’re sincere and there is not a whit of vitriol in your body. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad. Often you share your lunch with me when you can’t finish it.

That’s why this is difficult for me.

Every time you come into my office I already know what you’re going to tell me. You’re going to tell me that you sent me an e-mail. And usually, just about the time you’re walking into my office, the boingy sound that I set up to alert me that I have received an e-mail is boinging. Or it boings right while you’re standing there. Then we say the same things: You say, “I just wanted to let you know I sent you an e-mail!” I say, “Yup, just got it.” And then you say, “Great, thanks! Just wanted to let you know!”

I know you’re a bit older and not technically inclined. I know you still use words like “facsimile” and “teleconference.” But here’s the thing with e-mail. When you send me one, I get it. That’s the whole point of it. Really. It’s why they invented it. So you can send me stuff electronically, and I can get it.

I want you to know I dream of killing your donkey.

Sincerely,
Jason"

via Your Daily Awesome

i found

this gif made me laugh

my old apartment

When I left to move to Brazil, I still had a month left to complete my lease. So my friend Bert, who is recently separated, decided to stay for the time remaining. He's a New Yorker, from Brooklyn, in Indianapolis. No wonder why we both (outsiders) clicked right away. Here's what the apartment looks like with him there. That's all his art, by the way.


He'll be setting up a shop with etsy soon, so I'll post it here.

problem solved

A conversation between my sister (who's getting married in April), my brother (who's 21) and I:

- me: I'm dying to have a kid. But really what I want is for you to have a baby.

- sister: Oh, no! One "mistake" at a time. And besides, we don't even have money to have a baby now. It's gonna take a while.

- brother (serious): Well, I could do it. I did just sell my guitar.

my graphic representation of "revenge"

Click on the image to see it larger.

This a response to a post of a very famous Brazilian blogger. You all should learn portuguese and visit him.

alarm dances

Alarm dance 1
Alarm dance 2
Alarm dance 3
Alarm dance 4

an alternative for the 2012 olympic logo

by Daniel Eatock

A composite of the 1913 Olympic Rings crated by Pierre de Coubertin (representing the 5 continents) and the RAF Roundel.

"Roundels in British heraldry have different names depending on their tincture (colour)... During the Second World War, the red inner circle of RAF-based roundels on planes based in the Asia-Pacific was painted white or light blue, so they would not be confused for the Hinomaru red circle on Japanese planes, still used by the self-defense forces of Japan to this day. The roundel, especially the RAF's, has been associated with British pop art of the 1960s, appearing in paintings by Jasper Johns. It became part of the pop consciousness after British rock group The Who started to wear RAF roundels (and Union Flags) as part of their stage apparel at the start of their career. Subsequently it came to symbolise Mods and the Mod Revival."

I like it a lot. What do you think?

mr. toledano will see you now

Amazingly beautiful and conceptual photography/website of Phillip Toledano
(via Design is Kinky)

the confessions of a generic boy

"Confessions of a Generic Boy is brought to you by areyougeneric.org -- the same folks who brought you Magazine Confessions.

It's simple to participate. Draw an interpretation of yourself as a generic boy or girl confessing to what makes you like everybody else. Then paste it up somewhere in public, take a photo and submit the image (as a JPEG). If you don't have the means to sticker the graphic in a public space -- then simply submit your sketch as is."

stuff from etsy

Greeting Cards


from Petri Dish


Wall Graphics



from One Up

The Brazilian O.J.

I just got home from a quite uneventful evening with a couple of friends. Uneventful if it were not for SEEING THE CORRESPONDENT OF O.J. SIMPSON IN BRAZIL. In our case, instead of an athlete, he is was an actor. An actor in one of Brazil's record breaking, highest ratings soap operas. If you are familiar with Brazilian soap operas, you may know that they have always been an international commodity. We're know for having good soap operas. Being an soap actor here is pretty much like being a big-time Hollywood star. They are the sex symbols, they are the celebrities, the are the big deal here.




Yeah, that was him. His name is Guilherme de Pádua, and in December 28, 1992, Guilherme and his real-life wife, Paula Thomaz (right), stabbed to death co-star Daniela Perez (left), who was none other than his love interest in the soap opera. His wife at the time wasn't even 21. Daniela was 22.

In this video, you can see the story covered by CNN (I'm telling you - it was a huge deal) and towards the end, a scene where she tries to break up with him, saying that she's no longer in love. That was the last scene they shot together.





Guilherme confessed, then was charged and convicted of the murder of Daniela. That was all people in Brazil talked about for a long, long time. It was an extremely graphic and brutal murder. He appeared on TV with bruises all over his arms, which showed that she tried to put up a fight before being killed. His wife at the time and him, after trying to hurt Daniela with a screw driver, stabbed her with a pair of scissors more than 12 times. I remember vividly how the media kept showing her dead body lying on the grass, still at the place where it all happened. She had such recognizable features, she looked strikingly like herself lying covered in bloodand with wounds on her neck. She was young, and pretty. She was wearing a pair of jeans on and white sneakers.



As if this story couldn't get any weirder, her mother, Gloria Perez, was the director of the soap opera. Before the news leaked to the media, and before becoming a suspect, Guilherme met with Gloria and Raul, Daniela's husband, to offer his condolences. Nine hours later, he was arrested.

He and his wife were sentenced to 19 and a half years in prison. He served six, only to be released in 2001. According to the law in Brazil, he's no longer considered a felon. It's like the crime never occurred. He lives in Belo Horizonte, the city where my parents, and now I, live. He's re-married, and he can walk the streets like nothing ever happened. He's gained weight and he looks older, but I immediately recognized him. It was an odd experience to say the least. He was with a couple of women, one younger (probably his wife) and one older, watching them shop and being like any guy on a Sunday afternoon.

Now - who would marry someone like that? Who would sign up for that kind of life? Who could erase from their memory all the TV shows we watched in the early 90s with his faced stamped on it, followed by the dead body of the women HE STABBED MORE THAN 12 TIMES? Who could forget that, at one point, he actually tried to change his story and blamed his ex-wife for the whole ordeal. How can someone get past that?

It was like having O.J. right there in front of me, 2 inches away, for several minutes. I had time to look at him while remembering all the images we all saw over ten years ago. Except for it's in Brazil. Here, O.J. wouldn't have to say IF he did it. He could have confessed and would still be able to study at the same private university I went to, and still be eligible for a scholarship only months after being released from jail. He would enjoy his weekends as a free man, with a very forgetful woman and a criminal record that is about as clean as mine.

hooked like me

an overdose of things I want

Complete and Utter Bullshit Stamp

Reusable Bag

Helpless Sticky Notes

Shit List (the perfect gift for those who hold grudges)


"Monica Dear" Birthday Card (Reads: "monica, dear, that was precious little story. now, be a sweetheart and fix mommy another martini. happy birthday.")

Hillary Nutcracker

Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner Onesie