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And I ask myself, how can I be 30 and recieve this kind of messages on my email:

"Patricia, about party again in that place I must say it's not a good idea. The last time, if I remember well, your friends started dancing naked in front of the bar and freaked out most of the usual clients. Plus they had to call the police so they could get out of the bar. In front of the entrance there is still a picture of all of you and it says : Banned to enter!"

Ps: Blame it on the Vodka.

Snow, NOW!

I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow, I want snow...... NOW!

no flowers

So, everyone is asking me what I want for my birthday. Well, I want snow, not sure if you can bring it... still, ice for the caipirinhas is always welcome! But if you think that snow is too much to ask, you don't want to check the full wish list, since it has things like plenty of love, to a private island in Greece, or passing by for lots of good sex; it could be a never-ending list of gifts you are not able to give to me. So instead of letting you know what I want, I'll tell you what I don’t want: Flowers!

And no, it's not because I’m pro-Mother Nature and I don't want to be responsible for the massive killing of flowers every October. No.

The thing is, every birthday I drink huge amounts of alcohol. I also say goodbye to the previous year. I always feel fulfilled and happy to have my most beloved ones close to me. I always end up dancing in the creepiest club in town, and I never remember how I end up in bed.

So it can't be good, when you wake up next morning, you can barely move, you stink, you don't remember dressing in those clothes (actually you remember nothing) and all the information your senses get is a white ceiling and a lot of flowers around you.

wishlist for my birthday

To make it clear, not the girl, the snow!

the chair of torture

Everyone knows that anything new I do here in Latvia turns into some kind of an excitement.

So this time when I went to the gynecologist it was no exception.

So there I am, lying down in what I call the "chair of torture" and the questions start:

Doc - Are you a homosexual? (!)

Me - Unfortunately not.

She looks at me as if I were a pink elephant. Looks again to the papers and continues...

Doc - So what's wrong with you?

Me - Hopefully nothing!

(this is getting better and better, I think)

Doc- So you are 30... any pregnancy or abortion? (I love when these two come together in the same sentence)

Me- No

Doc: Really?! (pink elephant face again)

Many awkward questions later while she is checking me she says: "I think everything is just fine. No need to come here."

So far, lesson nº 1: When in Latvia don’t go to the doctor if you are feeling fine. They don't like it.

So the check-up is finished, so let’s decide which blood tests I should do.

She says I don't need anything, that I look okay.

Lesson nº2: Don't use any kind of make-up, not even blush on your cheeks before you go to the doctor. They will immediately decide you are a colorful, healthy person.

Among the tests, I ask for the herpes one.

Doc- Why do you wanna know? Like, 70% of the population has it. (!!!)

Me- (really really scary face) Well, I don't, but it’s good to know that 70% of the population has genital herpes. I think I’m really lucky since I only had sex with people who belong to the lucky group of 30%.

I ask for tests on HIV.

Doc - Why? Did you have sex with a drug addict?

Me - Unfortunately not.

(Let me explain my answer, since weed is considered a heavy drug in Latvia, the so considered "normal" people don't use it. They prefer to drink liters of vodka a day which is much better. So the chances I can actually have sex with someone I could also share a joint with are pretty small).

Doc: If you are not homosexual, not a drug addict and didn’t have sex with a drug addict why do you want to make the test??

Me: Look, I'm going to take blood anyway, so let's just do it, like, why not?!

Doc: You know that in Latvia heterosexuals don’t have AIDS. Men here never make the test and women only do it when they are pregnant. It’s only in that situation that the Government supports the costs. If you check the statistics only drug addicts and homosexuals have it.

Me: Obviously, if the heteros don't test how could they show up in the statistics?!

Lesson nº 3: So, if you are not on drugs and you are not gay then you are clean.

I'm so much more relaxed right now.

Because of that and because I had a pen and I just put a cross myself in all the empty boxes for the tests.

the only reason women want you to sleep over is because they love morning sex

Bacon rolls

When did men stop being awesome and started being weirdo instead?

SERENDIPITY

3 AM in a surprisingly quiet city.Finished my drink and called it a night.Time to order a taxi... Ten more minutes and it will arrive behind St. Peter’s Church. One last cigarette outside the bar. My hands are freezing. Promise my feet sneakers for tomorrow. High heels are killing me.Saved the walk to the taxi until the very last minute. Open the door and exchange a few Russian words with the driver. When we are about to leave, the door opens: "Where are you going?" I turn my face and see this tall stranger with the most insecure and astonishing smile. He is Latvian. Wanted to smile but my traveler senses tell me to be suspicious so I replied: "Where are you going?", "Embassy neighborhood" he says. That’s my neighborhood. So I asked: "Where exactly?". "Pulkvēža Brieža" he said. In that moment I just forgot everything I have been told about not to talk to strangers and I said: " You must be kidding me, that’s my street".He entered and the taxi started his way. In the backseat we exchanged a few words... What's your name, where are you from, same old same old when you meet someone. The taxi arrives in Pulkvēža Brieža. Asked where exactly. He says: "number 6". That’s my building! How can it be? He pays the taxi arguing that today is a good day. I left my portuguese.temper.on.women.rights.evolution.com somewhere far away and just smiled. We walk to the building, I went to my door. I gave him my "Hope I'll see you again" smile and said good night.

If this had been a film it would be raining and he would kiss me.