Blast from the Past: My Favorite Rants

Unfortunately I have the organizational skills of a prepubescent boy. I am sure you guys can all tell by the fabulous organization of my billions of blog posts.

So I figured that I'd be a total narcissistic and assume that you would like me to point out some of my favorite posts.

By the way, I have heard that when you assume you make an ass out of you and me. I guess that makes us all asses! At least I'm not alone.

Without further ado, some of my favorite rants (in no particular order):

Neurosis of Carioca

Are You Calling Me Fat and Other Handy tools

Yes I'm Writing About Penises

Great Grandmother

Breakdown of the Brazilian Family

The Brazilian Family Lunch

Coffee Realizations

Which ones are your favorite?

Coffee Wishes and Caviar Dreams

I didn't love Brazilian coffee from the first sip. Hey, in my defense, it was a bit alarming when the full chest hair popped in right after. I was very Miami Vice cool.

But, not only did I get used to it, I started to like it.  Hell, I can even make a mean cup of it.  Oh yeah, Mother-in-law stamped and approved.

Now that I'm home, I'm left unsatisfied each morning. It's like my coffee has erectile disfunction and, while it meets some basic needs, lacks the tools for the grand finale.

Like any good woman, I'm left attempting to make this relationship work.  Because I love coffee. Because living in Brazil has already ruined my relationship with Starbucks, yet strangely that improved my relationship with my wallet.

And yes, I still drink it like an American.  Big cup with a little milk and sugar.  I am American so, the more the merrier. Yes that phrase also works with food and drink.  But when I do this with American coffee, it's like drinking stale water mixed with slightly soured milk. Sure, that'll wake a girl up, but not in a good way.

I know what you are thinking, why didn't you bring your own Brazilian coffee. I did. I swear I did!  But once I arrive, I am enthusiastically patted down in search of the ground Brazilian goodness.  I wouldn't put it past some of my family to shake out my clothes in hopes of finding some lost droppings.

So I am trying to make the best out of the situation.  My Father was a bit alarmed with the amount of coffee he saw me use. And I was being good knowing he was watching.  As I told him, it's about quality, not quantity.   If that means that I have to use half the bag of coffee he bought, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

And while the coffee here may never make me spontaneously grow body hair, but it can be made so it doesn't make me want to cry.  That will be my goal for the day.  

Coffee realizations

My Mother-in-Law came over today.  I thought she seemed emotionally tired.  As always, I asked her if she would like me to make some coffee.

Note, if your Mother-in-Law is Brazilian and drinks coffee, always ask if she would like some the moment she arrives at your place.  Coffee is almost as important as the kiss on the cheek.  If she says, "no, it's ok. I don't want to cause you any trouble." The correct answer is, "It is no trouble at all." Yes, there is a right answer and no, it really isn't a big deal to make a pot of coffee.

If she should say "Only if you are making yourself some or only if you are going to have some", there are numerous answers but it all ends up with you making coffee.  I usually opt to just drink some. There's about a tablespoon in that tiny cup and it saves me from using up my allotted Portuguese words for the day.

I have found that after a certain number of Portuguese words, my brain stops producing them. You'd think after 5 years my brain would stop going on strike but it persists. I think it's as stubborn as I am. Go figure.

Anyway, today I asked her if she'd like some coffee.  She looked at me, sighed, and said "yes, yes I would."

I didn't know what to do with myself at first.  A direct answer from someone down here?!  There was a little fizz and a bit of smoke came out of my ears.

After all these years, I thought I would be so happy without the typical hoop jumping, but instead it saddened me.  First off, I had my jumping shoes on and ready to go. Secondly, I missed the social norms, the prearranged opening script.  A huge red flag started waving over her head, warning warning something amiss.

And honestly, there was. It sucked to see someone I love hurt and so emotionally worn. 

Of course, coffee was served and emotions started to flow, venting was done, and everyone was a smidgen lighter.  Not only is coffee a great Brazilian crop and a potential social landmine for foreigners, it's an opportunity to sit and share.

Coffee anyone?

Coffee: The Key to the Brazilian Heart

It was very serious going into the ICU to visit the Grandma. We all had to wash our hands and turn off our cell phone. 

And then we didn´t even get offered a coffee! 

Coffee?  In an ICU? Well, they had just taking the incubation tube out of the Grandma´s throat.  She needed something to sooth it. 

It was the last confirmation I needed to show that coffee is the center of the Brazilian life.  I would never have thought that a doctor would allow a patient in the ICU to have a cup of the good stuff. 

But now that I think about it, what´s the harm in it?

And that´s the thing.  I think coffee is to adult Brazilians as a warm breast is to a baby.  It´s comfort, home, and the only way to pass a decent stool after eating all that rice. 

You have it for a snack, you have it after lunch, and the day doesn´t begin without it´s presence.

Why wouldn´t you have it at the hospital?

So if that´s how things work, please note that if I should ever end up in there, I want Pop Tarts and licorice.

The Cardinal Sin of Brazil is not what you think it is

I have just committed the cardinal sin in Brazil. No, not murder.  So not stealing.  Think simple.

I reheated my coffee! 

Maybe it´s just my husband´s family but I think my MIL would have a grande mal seizure and end up in the hospital if she saw me do it.  They won´t drink coffee that´s been sitting for an hour. It´s old. Best to make a new batch... that is, if any of the coffee actually manages to survive after being made. 

Ah Poo Poo, I made too much yesterday and I can´t bear to throw it away!  That and I´m lazy. Who wants to take the extra 3 steps in the morning to make a fresh pot when you´ve got some good enough already sitting on the counter.  Shocked? Why? I just said I`m lazy.

In my defense, I only do this kind of thing during the week.  Weekends deserve fresh coffee.