Daria Daria Daria
Sunday, 30 May 2010 | 1:05 pm
Ladies and gents, I am now back to my Spanish Phase, but that's not me saying the Football Phase is over. Oh, it's not. It's far from over, I'm afraid, seeing as how the Spanish Phase returns because of the Football Phase, though the egotistical moron that caused it isn't Spanish.
But hey, if you're Latino, you're Latino.
On a serious note: My adjustable bag strap snapped yesterday. I just got out of the cab, walked up the asphalt slope, past the barrier and then snap! I am. Not. Happy. At 8:30 in the morning, still drunk on sleep, annoyed by the hot weather, it was a big WTF moment. Now I'm going to have to buy a new bag and treat it with extra care.
I've learned my lesson.
I've been craving for spicy food this past weeks. I'm talking about the insane kind of spicy, the one that makes you sweat over your plate of food, the one that makes you grab your glass of water every few minutes (or seconds). I find that consuming a non-spicy food doesn't make me a very happy girl. I won't feel hunger-satisfied. I won't feel, I don't know, alive. Spice is flavour. Non-spicy is just boring, diluted and mute. Calm and collected. Weak. But spice! Oh God.
Spice is a fucking Godsend.
I'm hungry.