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Saturday, June 17, 2006
Something smells fishy
I went to the salon after work yesterday to get highlights. What better way to welcome summertime and its easy living?

The salon wasn't very crowded. There were probably three women there getting their hair done and one getting a pedicure. All of them very distinguishable white, Jewish girls (there's a point to me mentioning this). The stylists are walking around the salon, joking with each other. Three of them are Puerto Rican (two women, one gay man) and glide between English and Spanish like it ain't no thing. Whenever they want to insult each other (or the patrons) they switch to Spanish and start cackling. They are, at this point, convinced that no one else in the salon can understand Spanish. They know I'm Egyptian and that the closest the other women have ever gotten to Spanish was by listening to La Bamba. While I find Puerto Rican and Dominican Spanish the HARDEST to understand (dropped s's, slurred r's), I've been surrounded by enough Dominicans to easily follow a conversation.

A handful of cackles later they decide that they're hungry and start arguing about which restaurant to order their food from. One of the women wants Cuban, the gay guy wants Italian. The third woman suggests a small seafood restaurant around the corner.


Fernanda: Cono Jose! Que es la problema ahora mismo? (Fuck, Jose. What's the problem now?)

Sandy: What the hell is wrong with the restaurant?! We eat there all the time!

Jose: I am NOT eating from that restaurant. The food there smells like chocha (pussy).

Fernanda and Sandy in unison: How the fuck would you know pajaro loco?!!!!!!!! (crazy fag)

I've never really understood why people think pussy smells like rancid fish. I mean, I've had the privilege of smelling my own, and I know for a fact that there's nothing fishy about it. Is this just an American thing or is this a universal notion??
Thoughts shared by Carmen at 8:57 AM
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Who: Carmen

xx-something egyptia-yorker who's spent over half her life stuck in two worlds not of her own making. unable and unwilling to fully embrace one identity over the other, she created (is trying to create) her own place in the world where people love each other unconditionally, irrespective of artificial boundaries, and where dancing merengue is as necessary to life as breathing air.

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