who hasnt seen me in such a state? this is from that night out in BA
Peep the slide show.

10/24 day 8 the morning after
We went through the border in the night. I’m in brazil. When I wake up the scenery is different. I got out my camera to take some pictures of cool haciendas and forest covered hills surrounded by a mist of fog. Everytime I took a picture the camera made a simulated shutter sound, so annoying. So I get to the menu and turn the noise off and adjust a couple other preferences. I’m all proud of myself and then “no image” pops up on the LCD. I deleted all my pictures. Everyone I saved from July. My trip to the Oregon coast, Kirsten’s shower, Julia’s shower, Kirsten’s babies, Stacy’s babies, Julia’s baby, Melissa and Pastevia’s going away party, my going away party, my boyfriend, Argentina, Plaza de Mayo, Cops walking around dressed in riot gear, Evita’s grave! Gone. It’s already not my day. I’m hella grumpy now. I turned the camera off. Put my eye mask back on.
I reclined my chair and went back to sleep. I hate the bus. Whoever thought of this anyway?
Arriving a total of 26 hours after departure. The bus pulled into the Camboriu bus station and I saw Sonia, my step mom, right away. I jumped up and was the first one off the bus. I straighten myself as best I can while I wait for my bag. Here she came! Hugs and kisses, then comes my dad. I’m so happy to see them. Not much time to talk Sonia rushes us outta there and we head to the car. First thing I do is get a shower and put on some clean(well cleaner) clothes. Off we go. The end of the block my dad’s lives on is on of the 4 major roads in the town. It is full of shops all pretty much selling the same shit. Most of the buildings look to be new construction a very different view than argentina. There is quite a bit of practicality in the architeture and design of the buildings here. The walls and doors of a lot of the businesses are huge glass sheets that run on independent tracks so you can position them however you need to allow for appropriate ventilation. Most of the buildings are 5-15 stories and they are all condos, apartments, or hotels. The bottoms stories are where the businesses are. i was happy to find 2 mexican food restraunts here. The easiest way to get to the beach from my dad´s house is to walk through 2 malls. Yes you can shop your way to the beach. It´s very beautiful here, my step mom calls it paradise. It has a postive energy and everything you could need(except for cheddar cheese) I was so happy to see the ocean I skipped across the sand and walked into the surf. The sidewalk along the coast is a mosaic of black and white with wave designs and sea horses and other ocean stuff. It´s a little bay, a very little bay and there is this tiny island in the middle of it that is covered in trees and it´s lit up at night. Every few hundred feet there is a kiosk selling corn on the cob(which is gross its old and dry, but doesn´t give me gas like our corn) and churros filled with chocolate frosting looking stuff. These kiosks line the entire beach and they all sell just that, nothing else. My dad took me to their favorite watering hole. we had capirenias and pastels. Caperinia is vodka sugar and lime and a pastel is a fresh made hot pocket. and fresh bread straight out of the over from the bakery. Went home at passed out, i´m a cheap date. I miss my ipod. :(
The driver wished me a good trip and thanked me for the money. Perhaps his drivers training took place in a war zone, but a very nice man indeed. He was so warm I felt a little bad for entertaining the notion of the dock murder scene. I found my way through the station. Got through security. Everything is done. I have my ticket, my passport, I made it on time with just the right amount of money! J I sit down…relax. The lady next to me tries to be nice and start a conversation, but I don’t know what she’s saying. Could be Portuguese. We smile uncomfortably and then turn back to stare at the buses coming and going. Other people are saying goodbyes to their families. Some men and women are crying, well sobbing. I try not to stare and wonder about the reasons for their travels and if maybe they are saying goodbye not knowing if they are going to see each other again.
Well I didn’t figure you would so here it is…I grabbed my bags and jacket, but not the single most import thing (besides my passport). I left my fucking ipod. IN A HOSTEL! I left my fucking ipod in a hostel. Shit shit shit. Should I go get it? No, no time. Do I change my bus ticket and leave tomorrow just so I can retrieve it and have no way of getting a hold of my dad to tell him of the change, unless he happens to check his email? Fuck, what if I do go back and someone has already nabbed it? I have to stay. Shit. I still have my shuffle, but my charger is this my ipod and my earbuds, shit. So here I sit, pissed and mourning. Not mourning the loss of some family member heading on some sort of mysterious journey full of opportunities for peril or perhaps merriment. Nope. I grieve for Sigor Ros, which would be perfect right now. I pout for Damien Rice, Ray Lamontagne, Iron and Wine, ODB, and 30Rock. Oh, tina fey, I’ve been falling asleep to the first season of 30Rock since April. No more Sublime, no more Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, no more save a horse ride a cowboy for those moments I just need to remember something funny. No more. Maybe, when I get to brazil I’ll call the hostel and they can send it to me? Yeah, totally no problem, right? With this thought I begin denial. I’m grieving, it’s a process.