Writing on my blog everyday might be a challenge, but I'll try to keep up. Wasn't exaclty a new year's resolution, but I believe I wrote something about writing more. Or was it reading more? Can't remember. I have this personal tradition to write my resolutions and seal them in an envelope, which I can't/won't read 'til next year starts. That way, I can totally forget about them and be disappointed in myself every year. Yay.

Did I tell you I'm a kindergarten teacher, by the way? Yup. Two years now. Second grade. My kids are both awesome and psychotic. One of them jumped on me today like a gorilla and probably broke my cervix. Or cervical. One of those.

I'm still an amateur. I just need one of 'em to look at me with that doe-eyed face of theirs to fall into their evil plots to eat my cookies and creamy strawberries I bring for lunch. That or let them paint my face with permanent markers. Yes, it's a true story. No, I didn't know they were indelible. They were Sharpies!

The most wonderful thing about being a kindergarten teacher is that I end up every night taking a nice warm bath to get rid of all the glue, boogers and all kinds of shit they get in my hair. Also, I get the flu every other day, but at least –for the time being– my classroom is lice-free. *sigh* I love my job. Plus, it's great practice for when I'm a mom. Won't let them take control of me with their cuteness by then. Gosh. When that day comes, I'm gonna be so well-trained I will get my own kids to do their yoga while I change their diapers in 30 seconds. While stoned.

Is four really that big a number? I come from a family of six and I'm used to the noise and the beatings. Certainly worked for us. Every person I drop my apparently big number to, goes into shock. Then again, they're always either workaholic deep-pockets or dumb trophy-wives-in-the-making who couldn't possible function without a maid, cook, nanny and limousine driver. You know, boring people.

I'm just realizing (yes, on the second post I write in who knows how long) that I'm being really agressive now that I've come back to my blog. Maybe it's my alter ego letting itself go after being extra nice at work to my kids, boss and deeply obsessive mothers, so I come home and sweat it all off on you. But in real life, I'm really very sweet. I kiss my mom in the morning, I hug my 5-year-old rug rats until I suck the very life out of them, and I go to church when people die. I'm a goddamn princess!

I even dressed up as one at work this past Halloween (well, not really Halloween, but this "Carnival" crappy name they came up with because we mexicans don't celebrate the awesomeness of witches, ghosts and zombies who should be rulers of the world). I dressed up as Princess Merida, from Brave, and a very improvised one with stuff I had laying around in my three closets (seriously, there's three of them). Of course I was defeated by all the pretty girls who were wearing the exact same costume. Damn them.

Some of them even came up to me –with their big fake wigs and starry eyes, I might add– and said with their squeaky voices: "Are you the real Princess Merida?" (this belief coming from my provisional redheadness). Omigah, so cute! I felt a clear warmth take hold of my heart as they fulfilled my long-lost wish to be finally recognized discovered as a real live princess. "No", I replied, "I'm actually Madame Medusa, only I grew my hair out." They laughed and ran off, totally not getting the reference.

...And for my young readers who were born in the nineties and didn't get it either, The Rescuers is an awesome 1977 Walt Disney Animated Classic in which Madame Medusa is an evil red-headed (hint!) pawn shop owner who kidnaps young 4-year-old orphan girl named Penny. If only the music or gym teacher (only two male teachers in the area) had played the idiotic Mr. Snoops, I would've scared the living crap out of those girls. I know they used to freak me out when I was their age.

Ugh. Once again interrupted the exact same way I was yesterday by jumpy boyfriend at my door. (Just kiddin', hon, I love you). Don't hate him as much when he adorably brought back the shirt I bought last sunday in a flea market, El Corredor del Arte, off a man who hand-paints Lautrec on his T-shirts. Had to buy one.

Anywho, wedding planner mode. See you soon.

Hello again. So, this blog I abandoned for some time, I didn't really start it out just to be interesting (I know that I am without trying). I guess all I wanted was to test myself in the art of the written word and came out sucking at it a bit.

(My apologies if I have a tendency to change languages at times, but my mind works in three different ones, and some days I communicate myself better in one or another. Bare with me.)

I was tempted to create a whole new blog to try a new way of writing, but I was instantly hit with melancholy and couldn't get myself to do it. It's true that some years ago I may have published stupid things here (and they're still here), but it's a part of me and one should never be ashamed of their past, even if you've got terrible taste in men, adore girly-like bands like Coldplay and may or may not have shared weird, erotic dreams about ninjas.

Far off my point.

I'm getting married! *ahem* We're getting married. (Must remember to go plural every time.)

I scattered the news to the four winds of the world on September 14th, but hadn't written that down here, so I had to come and tell my faithful 17 followers (15 really, 'cause two of the accounts belong to my dear big sister and I can't really count her as a fan, though she means well and I love her) that I'm getting hitched this summer! Sergio, the lucky dude, proposed quite like Ryan O'Neal in Arthur Hiller's Love Story (except the 25-year old girl doesn't die, I hope), and made me say yes. Bastard.

In the first two weeks or so, after breaking the news and causing a lot of jaw-dropping, we were caught in the what-should-our-wedding-theme-be query (other than awesome, of course) and after long hours of brainstorming and cheetos, we were there. Oui, it shall be a glamourous vintage french-style wedding.

As it was expected, my father's pants dropped instantly when I revealed the idea. I do believe his french je ne sais quoi rubbed off on me much more than it did on my sisters. We've been talking about placing it at the turn of the 20th century, when Toulouse Lautrec and Henri Matisse were the soul of Paris' Art Nouveau movement, and La Belle Époque decorated and gave life to the streets of la ville-lumière with posters and paintings of beautiful Can-can dancers (if you are not familiar with any of this, that's what the links are for, you ill-educated beings).

Ideas for decorating and coloring the wedding have been pouring out of all three of us (the groom, myself and my maid of honor). From the lovely Gothic-style church we've already booked, the only 1912 parisian-designed Gran Hotel Ancira we've picked for the soirée, to the Art Nouveau posters, the antique artsy centerpieces, the vintage postcard-like wedding invitations, and the somewhat themed wedding dress I can't say anything about here. Yet.

So fun!

Anyway, more on fabulous wedding later. Must pay attention to weary fiancée after three days of work travel. I promise to return soon this time.