It's late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow if I want to finish my Literatura Latinoamericana midterm before I go to Jujuy on Thursday. But I haven't posted in a while, and why sleep when I can blog?
That question is only halfway facetious. I've been in my new house almost a week now, and one of the many perks of moving is that I now have wireless internet, so I can post from bed. My room is small — bigger than my dorm room, but not by enough to matter — but comfortable. I have two closets, a desk, a bed, a shelf, and a TV I've only turned on once. The decor is pretty much white, but with my stuff all over the shelves (and sometimes the floor) it has a decent personality.
The girl who lived here before me warned me that my host mom, Mónica, sees her job as "strictly a business relationship." That's partly proven to be true: I get breakfast and dinner, but I'm on my own when it comes to lunch and snacks, I wash my own dishes, and I take my laundry downstairs to the laundromat even though Mónica does her own in the washing machine. But she's friendly and corrects me without judgment when I do something wrong (like put the matches for the stove back in the wrong place or eat the dinner she was preparing for lunch). I don't want a mom who's going to obsess about where I am or ask about my feelings. I already have one of those.
The big thing is that there's no such thing as a family dinner here — I think Mónica likes her personal space. Still, she's pretty chatty when I ask her questions about Argentina, and she lets me know when she's going out. She usually eats dinner in her room, and leaves me out a portion to serve myself when I want to. The food is pretty good — she makes a delicious shepherd's pie with olives and Argentine beef — and I like being able to eat what I want when I want it. Today for lunch I made myself a lentil-and-squash stew that turned out surprisingly well.
I also have a brother, Mariano, who never fails to make me laugh, although I'm pretty sure he's not trying to. The key details to know about him are: he's 27, he's in the family business breeding racehorses, he only speaks to me in thickly accented English, and he hates life. He thinks Buenos Aires is too big and ugly and wants to live in the countryside, and whenever he's home he stomps around looking angry at the world and not wearing pants. (In the week I've been here I've only seen him in pants once, and that was right after he came home from work. He even answers the door in boxers when the grocery delivery man comes.)
Apparently there's another son who's in Europe right now, "testing turf" for racehorses and bumming around in Monaco. He's supposedly nicer, but I like Mariano fine. He's not mean, he's just grumpy as hell. I can see why the girl who lived here before me moved out: this family is weird. But so far I like living here a lot. It's weird in a way I can get used to.
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