Reactive or Proactive

There's a marked tendency towards thinking, nowadays, that it's better and more admireable to be "proactive" rather than "reactive". A "proactive" person is one that makes thinks happen, while a "reactive" person lets them happen before doing anything. The proactive is an agent of change, who takes the world in his or her hands and makes his own destiny, while the reactive is a shell in the ocean, going wherever the the tide washes him or her off. Well, you put it like that, and you definitivelly want to be proactive instead of reactive. That's the way it is being marketed currently, mostly because so many things need to be changed in the social and economical life, that it is better if the whole herd thinks they are moving because they want to instead of realizing that they are being moved. So far I have not thought much about these concepts until recently someone made me think.

Actually a proactive person is the one that acts before things happen, and the reactive is the one who acts after things happen. SO, "shoot first, ask later" IS a proactive behavior.

Based on that, I started doing some thinking and I have come to the conclusion that being "reactive" not only works better for me, but also it is what I do. I ask first, and then based on the information I get, I either shoot, bomb, squash, smoke, evaporate, disintegrate or let it flow. It is also a very important brick of my personal philosophy: observe first, gather the info and then act upon it, don1t just throw yourself at things. The rewards of this thinking are... clear. ^_^ This way of behaving allows you to "profile", and this allows you to tackle tasks better. sure, it allows you in all kinds of good and nice things, and strategic things too, but also in "not-so-nice" things too, such as... manipulation.

Perhaps I'm just being egged by my recent smashing success, but I started considering the possibility of writing a treaty on Manipulation. Yes, what an evil thing to do, but wouldn't it be a wonderful philosophical and social work? How far to go? Well, my thesis on this, fairly sustained by empirical evidence, would be the conscious manipulation based on person or group profiling, fully upon the "reactive" behavior. Basically know your pupet before you play with it. READ THE MANUAL! The thought came to me as I was basking in my recent success, fairly boosted in the morning by yet another proof of efectiveness (he still expresses regret), which I managed again with my same strategy. So I was wondering what to do next, how to keep laying down the trap, or my recent and favorite analogy: how to keep wrapping the sixpack plastic rings around the neck ot the duck. Then, I had a moment of reality check. Well, yes, I have ease at profiling people on the emotional level, mostly because I write, and because I enjoy figuring out people. At the same time, this particular... "duck" happens to be one of my favorite, most studied profiles, so years of experience on this particular type give me advantage. Proof of it is how I needed only one lunch with him to figure him out to the point of knowing which buttons should I press to get him wrapped up in my evil web. Would I be able to manipulate him for less mean purposes? Were I not so revengeful, would I be REALLY interested (no real interest disappears after disappointment in less than 2 hours... lets get real), probably I might, but I was aiming for harm, so I would have to make further investigation and profiling for other purposes.

So, write a treaty based on one specific character and one specific goal in mind?

Hn.

The project is interesting. I think I'll compliment it first with some readings of criminal and psichological profiling.

Evil

I knew my calculations would turn out to be right. *swells with pride* I measured my words to cold perfection. I made it. JP wrote... after I banned him from my MSN.... don't know how did he do it. I'm... filled with happiness!! ^_^ I could make a victory dance! Save that this kindof happiness usually doesn't prompt me into victory dances. I'm overjoyed because the Ice Queen is back, and her evil plans are going like clockwork. Pride is intoxicating. Yessssssss... my profiling was perrrrfect. My weapon was flawless. May my other evil deeds be just as successful? Or is it still the luck from bedding three gay guys on Saturday night?

Oh, did I forgot that little detail of my weekend? Well... *pretense of humbleness* it wasn't that... "little". And the show... oh my... I think I'll never spend money on another movie again. ^_^

Then again... I guess Ivan and I will have a talk about why am I so loud during sex and how will I be banned next time I scream my head of. Well, it wasn't my fault: Jose is really talented with his... never mind. ^_^ Oh, and Gian Ca? Great kisser! But... that's just between Ivan and me... oh yes, and those boys. ^_~

The Weekend's Score

First of all, thanks for everbody for their loving messages about the previous entry. ^_^ Boy, having friends like you makes it all worth it! Second of all, here are the developments of the Fatidical Friday, which could have marked the end of my Evil Doing Days. (Okay, they were "curbed".)

That day I dressed up to party. Reduced my "regular daily luggage" to a handbag, and did me make-up and close "party-ready". Through all the day JP (also known as Faux Viktor), didn't even bother to talk to me, after being so verborreic the prior days. Well, *shrug* whatever. Maybe he has nothing to tell me. On the afternoon I had to run an errand close to the building where he is, so what the Fuck, I stopped by to greet him. Good thing I did! Fuck, that son of a bitch was looking like uncut coke: sinfully good. Waaah~... Hottie!

"Are we still up for today?"
"Yes," he said winking.
"Mac's?"
"uhhh... sure, sure. Mac's"

So, of course I came back to my office walking on clouds and ready to give up the essential of me: my capability to hurt. So I prayed for a miracle and I published my prayer. Hyne, you have no idea how full was my heart with hope! A painful yet tremendously romantic feeling. It was the very matter of good stories. Thanks Hyne I took fair advantage of that in writting. But giving up the Ice Queen Crown... that must have been it. You see, you have to embrace who you are and what have you done out of yourself. Sure, you can change, but if what you've been so far has been working so well, you had no complain about yourself, why to think of a change? I should have never offered my abdiction to my crown. Once an ice queen, always an ice queen. And isn't it so that the sky and the snow and the cold come upon my bidding on my birthland? ^_^ Jules says so, and well... So far I have never seen a winter without snow. ^_^

So, after work, I went to the bar and called him to know whether he was already there or not. To my surprise his cell was sending me to voicemail. O_O Okay, maybe he was still stuck ta the office and he had no signal reception there, but no. I called and he was long gone. Odd. I sent him an SMS asking him where he was, and the sat on the bar and order myself a coke. Minutes started running away, and I didn't have my journal at hand. Well, after all, I was planning to go to Babylon's after the date, and there I can't go carrying a big bag. Of course, nor I had my book, so it was really bad. Oh well, found a piece of paper in my bag and improvised a few notes for my journal using Runic writing, which probably made a lot of people highly uneasy. (People associate Runes with witchcraft, so imagine the shock of someone doing something like that in public.) Well, time was going by, and he wasn't anywhere to be found. I started getting upset, because that wouldn't be the first time he stood me up. So I called again, no avail, and sent him another message. Around 6 o'clock (we were supposed to meet after working, at 4:30 to 5...), he sent me a message.

'Sorry. Things got complicated.'

No shit. And he got his fingers broken so he couldn't tell me before? Or was he misteriously kidnapped by aliens? Shit! There's the minimal decency? You can't make it to an appointment, you call. That's the standard procedure. I've got fired up. Called my friends Ivan and Victor to bitch and get some comfort. Ivan promised to take me to get smashed drunk to Babylon's and my dear and beloved Victor, my handsome little angel told me to go to his place and have fun. Well, I asked for the bill and dialed JP's number with all the intent of leaving him a last message on my own voice: "grow some balls, asshole." Stragely, his phone was on now and he picked it up.

"Hi."
"Hi." he said.
"You went missing again."
"hahahaha! Where are you?"
"At Mac's."
"With whom?"

O_O Did he really ask that?????

"With people drinking. What do you think? It's a bar!"
"Hahahahaha! You are terrible! You can't stop partying, can you? Girl, you are terrible."

What the fuck??

"Dude: you stood me up. Again. What the fuck happened?"

Man, I just wanted to listen to him lie again. Again is sister-in-law's mom was sick? Come on, bitch, bring it forward, so I can laught. However he remained silent.

"You there?"
"Yes, yes... I'm.. close to..."

And then he tried to name a town in Costa Rica. He didn't nail one. Yeah, he fucker made a run for his hide.

"Uhum..." I said at his attempts, and then this coward chicken wuss hung up on me!

My bill arrived and since it was only a coke and I was going to pay with my card, I had to ask for something else. So I ordered a Heineken to cool down. Man, I wanted him dead, and when I mean "dead" I mean full Medieval Execution style. Hell, I'm all for classics. ^_^ Little after he sent me another SMS with one word: "forgive me" (in Spanish it is one word). The hell I would! My ice crown was restored, so I planned carefully my next move. I was going to get smashed and drunk like I have never been since 2001. I was going to see my friends, all of whom I love so deeply, and life was looking up again. So, what do I know about him to hit him? Not answering wasn't a real solution to make a statement. Now, JP is deeply affected by his surroundings. The world has to do with him, and he actually believes that the problems of others are his problems. He was a very bad case of being both unable to take responsability, and I mean real responsability of his actions, or realizing that there's people who just don't love him anymore. Emotionally, he needs to be the center of the Universe for people. He can't take a decision, even if the choice is clear. It's almost as if he needed to live in a constant turmoil. He attaches himself to people who hurt him, and he hates it, but he can't separate himself from them, filling himself with feelings of guilt, through a series of actions provoked by he himself. He lives with regret. In a way, and that's the weapon I chose, he is addicted to regret, and walks through life hanging tightly to it, as if in the moment he lets go his regrets there's nothing left for him to live. How do I know this? ^_^I'm good at listening and analyzing. Besides he's a piece of cake: his pattern is one I have studied extently in books and stories, so I could pretty much write him up.

I answered real slow, counting on the network to add some delay.

'Never mind, but know that you hurt me. You could have simply said no.'

Oh, that's so sad and so... "dramatic". ^_^ Each word measured, even the selection of the word "hurt" into such a feminine tone, yet framed in short statements and softness, it was bound to stab. Hehehehe... there goes a leave of sorrow for you, son of a whore. Now, if my calculations are right, he will go missing, BUT each time we meet, and we are bound to, he will feel a stab. Will he try to make ammends? That's a long shot, and I better he doesn't. I only need him to feel bad, so he gets depressed, his work suffers and so his career. And what if it doesn't work out? Well, not liek I care much for him, I actually got quite some profit from this, and it was a dipping into some feelings, which I was able to record to use later for writings, not to mention a fresh look for potential characters in future works, so the damage would be an extra bonus. You see, when you go around stuff like this taking credit is not exactly ... "desired". You could be labeled "psychopath", and that not necessarily lands you some "diazepan", but could certainly hurt your chances to... keep... "practicing", if you know what I mean. Either way, if I suceed, do you think he will realize that this or that is "my doing"? No. People who get depressed, specially but such sly things do not realize what's the source of their sorrow. And it is far better that way. He remains with the regret while I have moved away and keep the smirk, and a giftbag full of goodies. ^_^

Now comes the X-rated part. I went to Victor's and we had a nice time. I met his straight friend, yet another César and *smirk* me made out like it was the end of the world. Then I met with Iván and the other César, so I was kind of jumping from one César to the other. ^_^ pretty much like the Roman Empire. Hehehehe... Got hammered, and I mean fucking hammered, to the point of me doing really... really... crazy and unexpected things. No, not like the things people has told me I've done before, so I did not got naked and I did not start a fight, but it seems I did end up with some pictures of some people and some phone numbers. Oh, and I was dragged to the stage where all the insanity started. Of course, I was in no shape to go home, or so I believe (unless something else happened I'm not aware of) so I woke up at Ivan's. I went home, took off my party clothes, showered and hit the bed with one hell of a hangover. Shit, since 2001. I forgot what it was like to be so wasted. I thought I would not be in shape for partying on Saturday, when I received a call around 16 hrs. I was K.

"Hi... do you remember me?"

Oh fuck... so it did happen...

"Umm... yeah, sure! How do you do, Honey?"

Small chat.

"I can't meet you today at Babylon's. I've got sick."

Oh... we were supposed to meet? Fuck! Who was going to tell me???

"Oh... what a shame, Sugar. But it's okay!"
"We can meet on Sunday..."

Partying three days on a row is a bit much for an adult, old woman like meself.

"Suuuuure..."

Bye-bye. See ya. Take care.

It was surreal. Fuck, what the hell did I get into? I grabbed the phone and dialed Ivan's number.

"Hello?"
"When the FUCK was someone to tell me about K!!!?"
"Hahahahahaha!"

I swear, were he not gay and my current best buddy and drink buddy and someone I love so deeply, I would be peeling back his skin with a salt rock! Around seven I've got an SMS from Ivan telling me to go to his place. Well, I was still in my dying bed, but it was time to rise and shine, so I put on my pretty Benetton black dress and went to my friend's, thinking we would hit the bar. Well, not really. My dear and ever so beloved friend, may he be eternally blessed, was there with a friend, doing some work. Work-work, not "work". And may I say, his friend is a vision from Heaven! Oh dear. Well, Ivan is permanently surrounded by the most beautiful men who have ever walked on the face of the Earth, but this astonishing piece of work was... Well, look at him yourself! Wouldn't you love to be a laptop? I know I do. ^_^ He's nice and cool, and took all of Ivan's queer joking rather good, which put me off, because he has this "straight" thing about him. You know, gays have this "gaydar" thing, which allows them to identify each other. Well, when a straight fellow like myself starts to find his or herself quite often in the gay scene, I believe we also develop something like that, only in our case it's a "straightdar". Well, my straightdar was telling me that this dude was off, because no matter how at ease he was and how much he was participating and fully presenting himself like a queer, he had the straight aura. Well girls, he is straight. Straight and open minded. I had not much to do, except to watch them work and eventually join a line of talk or another, with which both Albert (the guy) and Ivan kept me pleasantly busy. It does was a bit uncomfortable to be in full party gear with them so relaxed. "Overdressed" was an understatement.

Well, Albert wasn't going to party with us, but as soon as he was gone, I grabbed Ivan's arm and pressed my forehead to it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Well, you have seen him: wouldn't you thank him too? ^_^ We had a talk about Albert and then some ESP things. It wasn't up to that point that I realized Ivan had in his bedroom a figure I had been dreaming with for ages. We went then into talking about stuff that has happened to us and premonitions and other stuff that really has no place in here, nor anywhere else, but between him and me. I did do something evil: I wished death upon someone (strangely while thinking also of someone else...) by using a new mantra. It would have thought that Ivan would stop me from formutaling such a hate filled wish, but he did nothing. Odd. Anyone deep into occultism and witchcraft is well aware that things come back three times, so you must remain away from ill, particularly something as poisonous and hatefull as what I formulated. Why did I do it when I1m aware of it? ^_^ Because I'm Lutheran. ^_^ Will my wish be granted? I reformulated it this morning, but I doubt it will be fulfilled. It was ... great, though. It gave me something.

So, we went partying, and this time around something came loose. I have no idea what the hell happened, but I became something like a magnet. A gay magnet. If I tell you that I was kissed by five guys throught the night, one of them my very own friend (and that felt totally like incest, and not the cool book-like incest, but the weird and "this is off" kind), I might be forgeting people. Not like I mind, but the administration did. O_O Yep, at one point the manager came down from the VIP section and told me that if I was caught kissing a GUY again I would be escorted out and never again allowed in. To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. I just went on automatic with a smile on to cover my surprise and my frozen state. It is really something hard to process, so let me guess if I can work it out right, and really, if there is ANYONE who can help me understand, please, do so. First of all, yes, I know it is a gay bar and that's why I go there: because it is safe, because I am not the target of people. I am just human, not a sexual being that must display to get fucked, nor a warm body that can be fucked. I'm left alone. Yes, I was kissing... GAY GUYS! That doesn't even count, come on! I mean, I do love Iván, César... and all the others, but like friends, so that kissing is not sexual, is... friendly. Oh well, the first time, thanks to César, I thought it was, like it shouldn't really be going on, because he is gay, but then you fall into the cycle and, well, if they are doing it, why not? Feels good, it's fun... go at it. Then it comes the manager and berates ME. Oh, she had been watching me all night.

1. If she had indeed been watching all night, and not probably just when the hottest gay guy of the bar, who became the crush of the main Trasnsvestite, helped me off the stage and smooched the sugar out of me, she would have noticed that I was the one being kissed, not the other way around -- save for two cases... out of like 20! SO, why was I being berated and not the gay guys?

And this question just bring me to my next observation.

2. "I", the straight was the one berated for doing something everybody else was doing. Or is it that I'm supposed to check my heterosexuality at the door, pick it up when I leave? There's people kissing in there, but I can't do it... well, unless, of course, I kiss a girl, I guess, unless I can't even kiss a table because I've been already pegged as straight. And here comes the thing that upset me: I was and I am being discriminated for my sexual orientation. Ain't like I was making a scene or something. No, I was being kissed like many others were, but since it was an "intersexual" kissing, namely a kissing between people of different genders, I was considered an unsuitable behavior. Who the fuck cares who am I kissing or who kisses me? Isn't that between me and who kisses me? No, it's a management matter.

Needless to say, that ruined my mood. Each time one of those cute guys came to kiss me, starting by my neck (my dress is strapless), I had to turn them down with the same phrase: "The management has forbidden it." Poor guys looked at me surprised.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

I wasn't, and yes, the problem felt entirely about me being straight and "showing it off". I was a minority that had to be repressed, kept shut like a shameful secret. "Oh my! That deviant over there likes guys! Yuck!" The guys, sweet darlings came to dance with me and hugged me. They kept telling me how pretty I was and how good I kiss and that if they were straight they would date me. God bless their loving souls!

In the middle of my anger, as I was taking the resolution to never go back there again, since a place that can't accept me as I am, may not profit from my money, I stopped thinking that maybe this is the business. Gay people is being currently discriminated from most places for their sexual orientation. Yes, outside Babylon's WE are the ruling majority. Yes, they can't be as free as we are, kissing in public places, allowed to bestowe upong our loved ones all the tokens of affection we want. Straight people would hardly keep their sexuality a dark secret at work. We don't go around showing it off, as being straight is what's expected, nor must we hide when we are dating someone... unless there's something about the person itself that must be hidden. Yes, the straight world to which I belong outcasts gay people. Gay bars start to appear more and more around the world, and gay pride parades and stuff. Gay people must have found out by now that there's a lot of straight people who support them and wish them to live in the same conditions, with the same rights we do. There are lots of straight people supporting them in their fight to be allowed to get married and adopt children. We are not the enemy: close minded people is. Well, flash news: gay people can be close minded too.

It is childish to ban us because some of our places ban you. Don't you think that if we are in your bars and drink with you, help out your business with our money and bringing friends, then we are on your side? That we do not judge you? No. You can't take it against the straight people who might not like you, though none of them have come to thrash the bar, you mind, but you take it against those inside: your trapped prey. You are taking them against those who can become agents of positive change. Or is it that what you fear? How bad would it be for the business to suddenly have all bars open for all sexual tendencies? Imagine, people going to the cooler, more hipper places to dance and drink, where the sound system ACTUALLY works, there's a larger variety of drinks, the DJ's are actually prefessionals and the place doesn't look like about to fall into pieces. Yeah, if you don't keep your market trapped by this hideous discrimination, you will actually have to start doing something good. Hmmm... that would be so bad, right? That's when I decided to go back on my decision, and come back to the bar, never to kiss a guy in there again, no matter how hot César or Victor or whom ever looks like, but in return, be the mean little witch I am, and invite them over to my turf. There are plenty of places where Babylon is, so why not to be in both at the same time? Cool, bring your date, lets go goofy, check out hot het guys... and spend out money in the straight places. ^_^ And in there, I am the Queen of the Night, I am the one with the right to kiss and be kissed on my terms.

As a coup de grace, I will go back as soon as I get a shirt custom made with a symbolic phrase, a warning. ^_^ Who said I can't turn misfortune to my very own profit? ^_^ Watch and learn. This is not over. ^_^

Plead

God, I usually talk to You directly, and I talked already to You as I crossed the Sabana with a heart filled to the bring with crazy joy. I have never written an entry in a blog for You, and really, I doubt You would check it online, but rather check my heart and mind as I write, for I know Youare here next to me, and I can feel You smiling next to me, always a comfortable presence behind me to the left, that's where You are, and smile. What I told You then, what I've requested from You, I put in written now to leave behind a proof of my determination, my need and my resolution:

Allow me to go out with him today. Allow me to keep him in my life and I'll resign to all my evil intentions towards him. I won't harm him, nor will I let harm to fall upon him if it is in my power to stop it. I give up the ill, for a chance to have his smile and his presence in my life. Please.

You know my heart and the degree of hurt it's falling upon it. I give it up and I plead You, beg You grant me this much, please.

Amen.

Statement

I hate this feeling. I hate it. I hate being rendered so helpless, so vulnerable and so... peeled. The skin of my heart has been removed and now I'm made scream and cry ever so sadly and ever so bitterly by the softest touch of air. Wrapped so tight in my pain, choking with feelings and helplessness, I tried to ease my pain by torturing someone else, rendering these same feelings of impotence to a dear friend of mine. I'm suffering and I refused to suffer alone. I picked one of my dearest friends... MY DEAREST of all friends, and slowly filled his eyes and ears with images of witnessed perfection. I had to do it, every fibre of my being, the cold, smirking, evil Ice Queen shouting furiously for blood. Insane with pain and frustration, like an incarnation of Elizabeth Bathory beating maidens into bloody pulps, an Evil Queen wishing the death upon Snowwhite. Pain made me cry, and so I had to pull the world down with me into this sickening swirl of angst. May the world cry my sorrow for me, suffering under my hand, by the brutal spell of my words until my heart fills with ice again and no tenderness, no beauty, no smile, no soul can reach out and touch me again.

So I remembered... that angel I saw yesterday and described him to my friend. A beautiful boy-man in the dark, walking in the night, shy and shrugging away from the chilly fingers of the breeze. So pale and young against the ageless darkness of the sky that leaked into the the street drinkign away the colors and soaking them with an old, independent film like graying quality. The lively colors drawned away, fashion and harsh screams of attention, limelight sent home, called to serve the other half of the world with celebrities and IN news and fashion and big names and shine, shine, shine. Out of harsh colors, only thoughts floated in the air, serenity and introspection hanging in the night in deep pensiveness of death. An angel, like a shrad of light, a piece of sun left behind, shining like a strike of moon, slid his evanescent body among the graps of so many untouchable, dematerialized ideals crowding the night, seeking to be undisturbing, goal which failed due to his extreme, untouchable beauty.

In all my evil, my desire to inflict pain, I started my description with a harsh weapon: "barely eighteen, pale, tall, dark blonde, lanky, with the face of an angel and the body of a boy. Ever so perfect, so soft, so fresh, such unblemished skin, you feel compulsively compelled to lick it, rub into it and cum all over it. Complexion so light, so white, so snow-like, the cum that escapes his supreme lips, splashes on his cheeks is never to be found with eyes." But my evil did not touch his heart, as he was comforted by the dark night promise of a warm body to roll over with, scramble sheets and howl silent whispers into breath aged air. Missing the count on the miles of skin kissed over, the lenghts of flesh pumped, the loads swallowed, no air fairy, no matter how beautiful was to dent his soul, and my anger, my impotence, my attempt to hurt, inflict pain and have someone shout loud the pain I carry inside, scrambled falling into pieces at my feet, turning into ashes, impossible to touch, far beyonf repair. I had been defeated with the ease of a stronger heart fed with the bread of touch, sated with the wine of moans. So I was left to my pain, my anger, my unquenched thirst for blood and vengeance. A feeling I can't rip out of my heart, clawing into me like a vicious falcon sent to make me aware of my humanity. A defeated Ice Queen thorn into pieces by a poet, a dreamer, a soft human being ever so beautiful in his warm fragility.

Yes, it seems that Good conquers upon Evil, that the world leaves, at the end, no place for the mean and the cruel and I fall into pieces and cry, my tears and hurt washing me away into numbness, into the wish to cold in my body, the peace of my inner drum, the silence in my veins... and I curl into myself, my stories and fantasies only an echo in the back of my head, a sad reminder of the untouchable, dangerous monster I used to be before the valiant, romantic, poet-Hero turned me much to his unaware, into a suffering, pained human being.

Oh, how I despise being in love!

Un-positive messages

A friend of mine likes to publish these happy thoughts in her blog. Though they are nice, they are not really my style. Too mushy for me. However, today I received an e-mail from Sandra with some fun, but very sour messages, and I thought I'll share two with you in the spirit of spreading the dark humor across the globe. Enjoy.

Oh come on! It's funny! Gara appreciate the irony.

You think this is cruel? Before I read the smaller letters, my first thought was: "This is a joke about Clichy-sous-Bois!". That's cruel.

A piece of Poetry in Spanish

Imperdonable

Sabes cómo me haces sentir?
No, claro que no lo sabes.
Por supuesto que no lo sabes.

Y es que cómo habrías de saberlo
Si simplemente no me dejas decírtelo.
No, claro que no lo sabes.
Ni vas a saberlo,
Porque te rehúsas a oírlo.

Tú me miras, pero no ME miras,
Me oyes, pero ciertamente
No llegas a entenderme.
Y no es que me ignores,
Es que niegas lo que siento.

Lo sé porque te he dicho "Te amo"
Y tu respuesta ha sido la sonrisa más triste
Y resignada que mis ojos han tenido la desgracia de ver.
Y después, sólo oírte decir: "Lo sé".

Mi amigo, mi hermano, mi amante,
Y tu única respuesta a todos mis millones de sentimientos es:
"Lo sé."

No Words

Yesterday... after some fucking good party.

Bitch, it's good to have good friends around you can count on with and laugh a little, smile a little, breakfast a little and watch "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" with. I have the best and hottest friends in town. Envy me, bitches.

Today...


... I guess some general meetings are not so bad, after all, now do they? (I shall remember to stand straight when my picture is taken. In any case, that's him. And we had lunch today, we talked and I've got soaken wet runing cross-"Sabana" back to the office under full rain storm... but it worth it... He kissed my cheek and hugged me!)

-- Shit, I sound like a love struck schoolgirl...

« Dream a Little Dream of Me » Supernatural

Yesterday was Supernatural night. I had seen a part of this episode in the 6 hour marathon that WB broadcasted one of these days, but I have not seen the entire thing. Dude, it was good. and when I say good I mean "slashy-good". If it weren't so late at night (or if I didn't live with others) I would have ran in circles screaming my head off in crazy joy. I mean, the boys are hot, and they are always hot, and they are always... hmmmm, Baby, you light my fire... I won't tell you what the episode was about, because you can look it up anywhere, or just log into Amazon and buy the series. Hopefully you won't have my bad luck and have your order canceled. Not Amazon's fault, you mind! I pre-ordered Brotherhood, season 2, but it seems it will naver make it to the shelves, SO the order was canceled. So, back to the Winchester brothers, in yesterday's episode there was this part where Sam and Dean had to call for Bela (some woman there who deals with occult stuff, basically by stealing it and selling it to the best bidder or on demand) for some dream root. Sam dreams that he opens the door and BEla walks in, takes off her trenchcoat and revealing lingerie and approaches him. He first backs away from her, but quite quickly gives in making out with her. He then wakes up when Dean is calling his name repeatedly. The dialog comes then is as follows:

Dean Winchester: Dude, you were out. And makin' some serious happy noises. Who were you dreaming about?
Sam Winchester: What? No one. Nothing.
Dean Winchester: Come on, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?
Sam Winchester: No.
Dean Winchester: Brad Pitt?
Sam Winchester: No!

After that answer Sam makes a pause and then answers more evenly: "No."

Well, well, well... ^_^

If I weren't engaged in my job (and a lovely conversation with JP), I would be off looking for fanfics on this... and also fanfics about what they would see in each other's head while using the Dream Root. I'm sure it must be quite some ... finding.

Invitation

This is what I call a good friend. My dearest, loveliest, most beloved friend, Iván kindly invited me this Thursday to Kashmir. Open bar, loads of rave and booze, and did I mention rave? And the booze? We were partying on Saturday, some great party, and had an awesome time! We reconnected after AGES of not seeing each other, like since high school and we are getting along so well, like you can't believe it! Then again, how could you not get along with someone tipping you of the best parties in town? Buddies in booze and buddies in crime. ^_^ Baby, I am booked! You can join me, though at Kashmir...

All Things Put Together

Dude, life is a hard motherfucker. And the first thing I do in my daily entry is show my capability of swearing. Dude, really, have I written lately a "swearing free" entry? Nope. Oh well. Deal with it. We all have to deal with stuff we ether don't like or we can do nothing about it. Yesterday I was supposed to go to the gym and have some training and some spinning, but I didn't go. It kinda reminded me of this Yaya Sisters' joke Roo sent Lau n me. Hahahaha! Good one, huh? Well, in my case it was most a matter of "period". I dunno why, but I felt I was turning into a Nile of Blood, so I wasn't risking to go to a mixed class of spinning and have an accident, and sorry, but there's only so many tampons you can shove up your ... never mind. So, I wasn't going. Instead I went home, ate chocolates, drank Red Bull and watched TV. I was too tired to even use the Internet, no matter how much I love Omi. So, like, no. My body was still aching from the Saturday's workout, which for today has lessened significantly, but which also makes me happy: it means this routine is REAL and it will have effects on my shape. It was so cool, because for once the trainer wasn't set on making me lose weight until I became a skin sac of bones, but understood, that I want to tone my body and keep it in shape. ^_^ I'll develop muscles! Well, hopefully I'll manage to get rid of some excess fat from here and there, so that my muscles show better. I'd like to develop my thighs and the lines on my belly. Then maybe my deltoids, but not too much because my shoulders are pretty the way they are, and I want to keep them pretty. I definitivelly don't want to turn into some Super Saiyan looking folk. Yes, yes, Vegeta is cool and I like him a lot, but those bulding, hard muscles look good on him, not on me. So I'm not seeking to have that body... if not under me... ^/////^

Good... now I'm horny. I should really, really do something about my mind... like ask if I can get a decent FEMALE brain installed instead of this male gay brain which keeps making a loop around two basic notions: men and sex-with-men. ... Nah, I like my brain the way it is! I've one of the coolest brains in the world! Plus it seems is one of the few brains that haven't been spoiled with this odd stupidizing vyrus that has taken over the world making it a dumber place. (BTW, I should take care of my breakfast...)

On other news, the Government has been analyzing the possibility of making all or a big chunk of the public employees telenetworkers, and so our illustruous Institution, has decided to go checking on the matter, and sent us a survey about whether we are up to taking our jobs home and work from home. Well, OF COURSE I said YES! Imagine waking up at any time I feel like, working when I want, going to the gym when I want, doing what I want, when I want, going where I want... take two weeks on the beach, working online while tanning and drinking tequila... Life would be so awesome! I had to have for it the agreement of my boss, and I thought that would be a tricky one, since we kind of had a « Tête-à- Tête » on Friday topped with me being "scolded" for being "rude" to LD when I told him that I did my part of the job and I wouldn't help him with his, turned my back and left. (I never said that, but the Lazy Dog said so to my boss, and so I was scolded on unproven evidence.) However he said yes, that I was one of the few who could do the job. Well, raise and shine Petite Étoile. Have not been informed about the results and whether I'll be sent home, but it would certainly be cool. I could definitivelly work better, specially, if I don't have to endure certain elements...

Now, the down side of the thing is that in here people don't really understand the concept of telenetworking... well, maybe the main problem is with the "working" part of the equation. So they have come up with these "rules" about the telenetworking, like you have to have an office at home, and an ergonomical chair, and probably will have to remain connected from 07:00 to 16:36 as if we were at the office, and read e-mails and so. Telenetworking-for-dummies. And probably will have to come to the office nevertheless for meetings every so often instead of really letting us stay away the whole time and making online meetings. I, for once, would like to just grab my stuff and go home, work from there and live happily ever after. Imagine: keep my job but live in Budapest. That would be heaven.

Fucking Pollito

That fucking motherfucker, may he fucking fuck himself into his own fucking grave and never fucking come out of it,k even for the Judgement Day! Oh, I hate that motherfucker! Yeah, yea, a lot of swearing and all you want, but I so fucking need to went this shit out of my system or I'll commit bloody murder and then a few things that would make the terrorists in Guantanamo thank they are not being interrogated by me, and be grateful the next time they are waterboarded. But what's the matter? Oh well, not much really. I believe you remember that I've been really upset and so fucking busy this week with this brief I have to work on about SQ, for which I had basically only Monday, Thursday and Today, and Today was the deadline. Boss gave out this task for Fucking Pollito (known also as LD or Lazy Dog, or somethingof the sort) on Monday. He said it was due to be finished by Friday, aka Today.

That same Monday I received this mail where I was summoned for this "Waste Your Time Pretending You Will Learn Something Useful About Negotiation While All You'll do iy Watch Your Boss be Childish About Games" workshop. So I was going to have TWO days less than LD to do my part, AND I had to do a summary of some semestral stuff, plus add all the stuff about what's needed information wise in three different areas. What was LD's part? One area. Dear Bossy-Boss kindly reminded me that the workshop (to which I didn't want to go) was no excuse for me to not deliever my part of the job on the deadline. So I did what I swore not to do again, and I took my job at home, worked my fucking ass off until late at night finishing my Excel files, making charts and writing my part of the report to have it done. I worked late night yesterday and sent my part by 23 hrs. I sent it as a draft. Today I finished my part entirely and and sent it as my final work. The template was given (made by me) for LD to just drop his info on it. Fuck I did it and sent it to him on Monday morning! If there was any problem with it, the motherfucking asshole should have told me.

Today Boss asks me to go ask this motherfucker how his work is going on. Why in the fucking hell do I have to do that? Ain't he like "the boss". So I go to Mr.Stinky and ask him what's the status of his job. The motherfucker, who has been here (allegedly) the whole fucking week has only A TABLE of data. Oh, but the useless asshole did "comments" on it. Endless minutes he spent talking SHIT about what he has and what has he been doing and... blah to which I didn't waste attention, only to finish with:

"Problem is, I can't open the file you sent me (it is on basic XP)... it's a problem of my computer, so I was wondering if I can send it to you later and so you help me integrate it into the final document."

I was pissed to I sought to leave telling him to talk to Boss. At my office I grabbed the phone and called my boss and reported him on the status of his work. My boss?

"Well, can't you help him?"

O_O

I was flabbergasted. So not only I had worked my ASS OFF this week, I have an upcoming monthly brief for next Monday AND the GAIS to be done sometime this week, plus all the meetings, and not only have I sacrificed my own free time with this last-minute project, but I ALSO have to do this lazy assholes work? Fuck it.

"I'm very busy."
"Buy you can do it."
"I will NOT do his job."
"No, no, I'm not asking you that."
"I can STRICLTY copy-paste, but I will no type a letter or arrange anything."
"Very well, go tell him that."

O_O

"I rather you go tell him."
"No, you go tell him."
"I already spoke with him today!"
"Just go tell him."
"I don't want to! I hate his guts and he makes me waste valuable time I could spend... combing my hair!"
"Come on..."
"Plus he stinks bad!" (He does. He soaks himself in cheap cologne.)

Silence.

"You know, that's not a way to stablish a good relationship with your workmates."

Whadda fuck!!??

"Boss," I tried to remain calm "I don't like him. I disliked him since before he got here. I have no interest whatsoever in having any kind of relationship with him. I'm keeping it cordial, but I wish to interact with him the less possible."

I know, I'm sounding much like Tati and Karol, but I just can't stand the motherfucker and I don't see why should I. I am being polite with him, but I will not let him lean on me, waste my time and I will certainly not do his job. Just because he is in this same process, I don't have to like him and be his friend. Fuck, I don't even have to be nice, but I certainly don't have to condone his laziness. He had more time that I to do his job, and if he had problems with his computer or the data or anything, he should have let my boss know as soon as problems raised, NOT the day of the deadline. Oh well, I did my part, LD is now my boss' problem. In the end he is my boss' subordinate and he has to deal with him.

Renewed Acquintances

Yesterday, after a generous glass of red wine at the end of the "waste your time and money" seminar of "lets pretend this work, you can learn this by osmosis, and so you become negotiators, though you will never really be one, so keep calling us to do the job for you", I ran into an old schoolmate of mine: Ivan E, from high school. Boy, he hasn't changed a bit! Well, he did in body, as he stopped being a toothpic and grew a full male body onto his bones (is he working out or something?). First I thought he was ignoring me, and I wasn't really sure he was happy to see me. You know, most old acquintance meetings are rather uncomfortable, so people tend to avoid them. I guess wine made me hard to avoid (I was rather insistent), and so he might be forced to talk to me, and somehow we heat up to each other and ended up totally engaged in the conversation, deciding to go out on puti-tour this Saturday at this bar which I seem I read the signs correctly and IS in fact a gay bar.

He asked me if I kept writing, and I told him I do, but lately everything I write is homoerotica. I think this warmed him up to me, since he showed immediate interest in the subject and asked me to show him some of my work. I'm kinda aprehensive, since evidently I do not possess the knowledge on the matter as he does, so I fear I might have written something totally ridiculous... BUT on the other hand, I could, maybe, get from him a legitimate beta-reading of facts.

I love having him back in my life again!

I was sent to this "Harvard Negotiation Workshop"... second part. What a joke. Me, on negotiation. Well, nogotiate this: there was a part where I was supposed to negotiate alone, paired up with no other than Vicky. I wasn't gonna go through all the bullshit. I knew my numbers, checked my position, and knew where I was willing to go.

"Lets caught to the chase," I told her at once "what do you want?"

She made me an offer that was reasonable and was within the limits I considered fair, so I agreed. Why not? And it was a good deal. So, by going forward, me knowing my counterpart and playing on my part of "look, lets just save eachother the pain, you and I are professionals, lets get a good deal for us", I just got what I wanted, she got what se wanted and all in two minutes flat, while others took thirty minutes and smacked around getting poor deals. There's one thing people should understand: paying a handsome amount of money for a "negotiation seminar" won't make you a better negotiator, or make you know hoy to do it, just like paying a seminar of leadership won't make you a leader: it's something for which you have to be inclined to, something that comes from deep inside you. You have it or you don't. Furthermore, you need that little thing called "emotional intelligence" to do it, and if you don't have it, sorry mate, but ya ain't gonna do it, no matter how much money you put down into it.

So, all in all, it's a HUGE waste of time and resources.

Fuck, I could be doing some work and then some.

Oh well, I thought I owed you a picture of my newest collectible items, so I enclose you a pic of it.

When You Can't Smoke

I love to smoke. I adore to smoke. Smoking is one of the greatest pleasure and leisure activities in the world. As some people learn to taste different wines and different teas and different coffees, I learned little by little the art of tasting the soft finesse of tobacco. I was personally hurt when countries and legislations started to shut the door on the face of smokers, placing the rights of non-smokers about those who do. If smoking tobacco isn't an ilegal activity, why should smokers be chased and their rights trashed? I fiercely advocated, and still do foir a change in the way to do things, defining locations for smokers and non-smokers so we can all live our lives without trampling each other. Forcing a part of the society to seek some seedy corner to inhale a little of hot, flavoured, spicy smoke... a product that isn't ilegal per se, but making the act of consuming ilegal due to location, is an act of discrimination. Oh dear, did I say "discrimination"? Yes, Discrimination. So yes, people can get sick and can get lung cancer and enfisemas and heart diseases for being near smoking people, BUT truth is that other stuff also gives you that. I don't have the data for sure, but if I'm not mistaken, more people suffers from asthma and lung related problems due to smog and other contaminante present on the environment. But of course, it is far easier to blame the smokers than blaming the drivers. However, trying to talk in favor not of smoking, but on behalf of smokers is currently a Sisyphusian job (as we say in Hungary) since people, in their "big illumination" don't want to hear anyone talking about such heretic notions as "smokers' rights".

Anyway, I'm one of those poor souls who have been banned from smoking thanks to a disease: asthma. If you ask me if I regret it, no, I don't. I enjoyed every cig I smoked, and I hope one day I can go back to it. You don't have to agree with me on this, but Hyne if smoking wasn't the best thing ever... So, now I can smoke, and I look longingly at those who can. The funny thing is the other stuff I do now that I can smoke: I have taken to collect lighters. This has taken me to think, what do people do when they have to give up something they loved? Make it a vice, a person, a job, an attitude, a place... when you had to give up something that has grown deep into your being... what do you do?

O_O

I've... been proposed... Not a joke! I really... was proposed. Wanna know the best part of it? It actually left me... thinking.

Man, at 32, I was proposed... again. Not by the same guy! Oh no, dear no! But by a guy with the same name. Dude, I sure must have an "Andrew" magnet. Well, I did had this "vibe", this... instinctive notion that I would marry a guy whose name started with an A, either an Andrew or an Alexander. (The word "man" in Ancient Greek eerily present in both names...) Now, anyone who knows me knows also that I am mysogamist: I don't do "commitment" or "relationships". Anything that tempts against freedom and independence is my natural enemy. So what happened this time around? The perspective happened. That's all that happened.

Unbelievable, first time I actually post almost identical posts here and at my Hungarian blog, something I carefully avoid. However, I'm... shocked, not only by my proposal, but also by my reaction, by the things it brought up in me. The "potential". So, what do I want to do of my life?

Threat to Omi

Each year I travel to Hungary, if nothing else comes in my way, such as held up vacations or running short of financial means or others on this line. Each year I call Air France and order my plane ticket reservation going over dates, making last minute vacation calculations to see if I can squeeze in one extra day, and then always, always telling the lovely young lady at the other end of the line that 1. I will spend the night in Paris when I'm coming back and that 2. I will take the AF 2694 flight when I'm going because I would like to see Paris during daylight "now this time for real" ^_^. And each time the only moment I lose my smile is when I cathegorically insist that I'm flying through Caracas or Bogotá. All South, nothing North. Put me on Taca, never on American Airlines. It's my thing. I don't care that flying through the U.S. I can carry up to 40 or 43Kg of baggage while goutn through Caracas or Bogotá I'm allowed only to 20 Kg. I don't care for times and schedules or the fact that I have a valid American Visa, which I have used only twice in my life, and it was to, yes, do transbording from Miami to my plane going to Paris. I don't like the Airport, and don't even care to know its name or code. People is rude, from the custom officer to floor sweeping dude. I don't want my passport to be messily stamped without any order, with a seal oozing so much ink it stains several pages. I'm used to the neat Costa Rican customs that orderly open the passport, go through the pages and angle the stamp in such a neat manner that it takes little space, it is nicely visible, the ink is rightly measured, so it doesn't stain and other stamps are allowed in the other pages. Like it should.

I don't like the fact that custom officers look so shabby. I remember the first time I stared in horror at this guy, MORGUE-WHITE, skin so translucent I thought he would glow in the dark, with HUGE tatoos, close cropped bond hair and camouflage uniform worn in almost drunken disarray. I was shocked, and back then I was quite a vision of carelessness myself, I cut my ouw hair and wore baggy, male clothes. (I was in the University, so I was allowed to live my "hippy" style.) Yeah, yeah, ugly guy... whatever... who cares? Well, try not to care when a dude like that glares down at you because you slipped him a Costa Rican passport and you would like to smile and wave your Air France ticket and say: "Worry not. No money would make me stay here..." The flux of mean people actually start at the plane, where the flight attendant SHOUTS at the passangers:

"Seatbelt! Seatbelt!"

Well, yeah, forgive me for being so delicate and expecting EVERYBODY to be like the flight attendants of Taca, Air France, KLM and Malév, who silently walk up and down the aisles with their hands neatly behind their backs and then politely lean forward to the passanger who has not buckled him or herself up and say:

"Madam/Sir, please fasten your seatbelt."

Odd... I can't remember the English word for ... when the airplane leaves the ground. The word always comes to me in French: "decollage".

So, mean people. At the Airport of Miami people bark at you and pointedly ignore you. Not a smile. If you speak to them in English, they will force Spanish on you, and if your speak to them in Spanish, they force English on you. They should walk around with a billboard disclaiming the language they are willing to speak. The stores have NOTHING your would like to buy, and talk about "selection", the same useless Revlon lipstick in EVERY store and the same Disney sweat suit. Coke cans are HIDEOUSLY expensive, and Dude, I have had coke at Paris, so I KNOW expensive, restaurants are STINKY and conveniently located next to the bathrooms, which STINK so fucking much, nor angels or idiots would venture into its stench-soaked guts. You rather wait for the plane and take a leak there than venturing into those torture pits of stench.

So, in a nutshell... through the U.S.? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Never.

Well, more to the point, in today's Washington Post (which is neglecting to send me the full newspaper and is sending me only sections) I came to read this article that says that as a new order from the DHS (the folks that will be now in charge of spying instead of the good ol' CIA), all travelers Laptops will be detained for unspecified time. The contents could be copied and the computer searched away from travelers all they want. This applies also to U.S. Citizens. You know, more anti-terrorist measures. Geez, might as well do as the Chinese and censure the Internet! I mean, what the fuck? They can't do that!!! I mean, loads of people are not terrorists, but they do have WORK files in their laptops, for mostly laptops are carried around for working purposes, and a lot of that information is classified. Financial statements, contracts, sensitive market information, agreements... Just to give you an example: when doing the Roaming agreements, operators keep in secret the discounts they offer to some counterparts. You can know the "face value" fee charged, known as IOT or Inter Operator Tariff, which must be disclaimed and can't be changed, but you can't know the agreements which operators do with each other to stablish a discount or some arrangement based on this fee. If executives have to surrender their laptops at the border, what would stop the DHS from copying the contents and then blackmarketing the information among interested corporations? Or let's go less conspicuous. I'm Company A and Company B is messing with my market share. I take a group of my executives and infiltrate them in the custom office. I have them copy the contents of the laptops of some Company B executives and the CEO (why not?) and then forward it or deliever it to me and my analysts and so, smack Company B out of mah turf... and while I'm at it, take his old turf as well.

I don't keep company secrets in my beloved laptop, Omi, and sure the custom officers would have a hell of a time starting him up, since I still haven't fixed his DIM card problem (but he's such a sweet, he still works for me and does everything just perfect!!! My baby is simply PERFECT!!! ^_^ I love him so much!), but once they get there they will gauge their eyes out due to the brutally large amount of NC-17 slash fics and stories, as well as my ongoing novels, which are, really, so hard to read due to my overly tight-packed style. (A lot of introspection, which makes the reading heavy.) In other words, they would gain nothing by copying my laptop. No secrets and certainly no terrorism, only slash, economics, letters, downloaded legal codes, all kinds of projects and procedures... old homeworks, drafts upon drafts, more drafts, loads of music and the history of Internet searching which will invariably go on a loop of: Amazon.com, Yahoo, Gmail, Google, Cuil, Mail.com, Facebook... and the blogs on Blogger and Freeblog.hu I religiously check. Hehehe... this reminds me of this tee shirt I want to buy. Hyne, I swear, I'm so close to buying it!! (If I can talk Jetty into getting one too, I'll SO BUY IT!!!) The tee says: Get a Taste of Religion, Lick a Witch. For a Lutheran like myself that could be too heavy, specially because I adhere to my Lutheran church for tradition and family reasons, but as I was telling my good friend Márton over the Facebook, God, religion and church are not the same. The last two are man-made. So, why not? Plus, the tee really looks so cool! and it looks awesome to wear at the gym.

Where was I? Oh yes, U.S. customs plotting to take our laptops. The way I see it, this whole "anti-terrorist" strategy has actually achieved the goal of the terrorists. I don't know any terrorists, nor I follow conversations with them, or know what are their goals, but as I look around, what have they achieved? If they did what they did because they hate the U.S., well, now the Government have finished the job for them and made the U.S. unlivable. Would anyone like to go there? No. What sense of security will the population have? Which foreign executive would risk to go to a meeting or a seminar in the U.S. or give information to any executive who would be flying to the U.S.? People travel with their WORSE shoes because U.S. customs are known for ripping shoes off, destroying them and not paying any compensation. Now working isn't possible either? And if you fly in today at 5 am and have to give a seminar at 8 am and your laptop his held up? Then what? When will you get it back? Will you get it back? Are you sure it will be in pristine conditions? Can you be certain it hasn't "developed" some vyrus, maybe files have been damaged... you never know... maybe it was opened, closed and now it won't work. And if it was new and the service won't take it, the warranty won't apply because it has been opened by unauthorized people? You know how it work! This could void a whole fucking lot of very, very important warranties!

The abuse atthe borders isn't something new, and while anywhere else custom officers are nice and polite (you should see the ones at Charles De Gaule! The smile, and are so extremely polite! In last December this lovely Custom Officer paged through my Hungarian Passport when I gave it to him.

- Quelque probléme, monsieur? (Something wrong, Sir?)- I asked.

He smiled and gave it back to me.

- Pas du tout! J'ai jamais vu un passport hongrois. C'est jolie! (Not at all! I have never seen a Hungarian passport. It's beautiful!)) in the U.S. you have to endure being treated like a Jew in the hands of Nazis. Your belongings are destroyed, you are held up and delayed and your humam rights are trashed. This is just icing.

I can avoid it, and I systematically do my traveling through South and avoiding any visits there, whether by job or pleasure reasons. I don't go visiting my friend Roo, who lives in California, and I just make sure my boss don't consider me for seminars in the U.S. I guess I would go to the extent of denying to have my visa to avoid going, and if they send me to get it (can't because I already have it) I might take the morning off, go shopping and then say that it was denied because I .... "popped up on the system as a Nazi Officer sought for war crimes"... or something of the sort. But now, with Omi in danger, when my first thing after getting my boarding ticket and locating my gate (it's always THE SAME, so I don't have to do much locating), the first thing I do is locate a power outlet, hook my beloved Omi and sit either doing some work (because, really, I'm such a natural workaholic), or composing on word the entry I'll publish in the blog as soon as I get in the vicinity of Internet. I can't and wouldn't survive if Omi is taken away from me. Hyne, the first thing I do is carefully unpack Omi from my hand baggage and tell the customs:

"It's my laptop... are you sure the X-Rays won't damage him? It's very, very important for me!"

And then, when he comes up the other end I hurriedly pick him up, kiss him (yes, I'm a looney who kisses her laptop) and carefully pack him back into the handbaggage. I even bother flight attendants when they try to help me put the luggage in the overhead compartment.

"No, no! My laptop is in there, and he stays with me."
"It will be safe up here, Madam, and it will be more comfortable for you too during the flight."
"You can put the luggage up, but the laptop stays with me. My peace of mind depends of that."

I guess I'm not the only one who feels this way. After this, I'm sure I won't be the only one avoiding U.S. customs to avoid the extra pain of traveling, and also to care for what little privacy and personal posessions I have. It's kinda ironic that in a world where all State assets are being "privatized", private individuals are being deprived of their own privacy. "Private" is something allowed only for those who have the capital and political means to afford it. Now, it not only a matter of money, but a matter of corruption as well.