Just say no to noquis!

So I’m looking for a new place to live. It’s been super being able to stay with my host mom and all, but it’s also kind of like having the overbearing invasive judgmental grandmother that I never had and better yet sure ain’t never want. So Tere, my soon to be ex-host mom, has some how got it into her head that she is going to single handedly take control over my life. She tells me when to get up in the morning, what to eat, and is constantly in my biznass yo. Now she’s started this new thing where she invites men in their forties (not that there’s anything wrong with that) over to the house and try’s to arrange for us to hang out. Oh god. It’s definitely getting to be a bit much. We had a major blow out the other morning due to the fact that she thought that it was completely unacceptable to eat noquis for breakfast. And by “had a blow out” I mean she screamed demands at me in Spanish while I sat at the table with my steaming freshly microwaved plate of noquis, ashamed. Apparently I missed the memo on the “no noquis for breakfast” rule in the house. Point being, I gotta get outta here asap!!! Which so eloquently transitions me into my next segment.


So I made a new friend the other night. His name is Max…well Maxamiliano to be exact, which is a Spanish-tastik twinge on the more popular American version Maxamillion. He’s a Scorpio like me and he just so happens to have a fabulous apartment right in Palermo, the hippest of the hipp neighborhoods in all of Buenos Aires. He says that I can stay with him as long as I want, which is an amazingly generous offer…but perhaps just until I find a more suitable place is a better idea.