16 B-days in a row

Yesterday was Chicken's birthday. 34 springs on her record, although she hates that fact. She had to work as usual and told nobody there about it. In any case, it wouldn't have made any difference 'coz in these lands people are really soooo different from latins (and, funny, but I feel proud of being a member of this hot minority here). In my last birthday, I remember telling my co-workers about it and the only response to that was 'Ah! Oh! Well, great! Mhhh... so, what are you gonna do tonight?', and things like that. I guess only a couple of 'Happy Birthday's, but not a hug, not a single hand shake, nothing, nada! In Mexico everybody hugs you and congratulate you, and even at your job you may receive some lolly pop or something, ja! Ok, so Chicken decided to skip that embarrassing hope and just avoided mentioning it. So, we went to dinner to the 'Hell's Kitchen', a nice place in Kitsilano and had a pizza and couple (terrible) mojitos. These guys really need some lessons on this cuban sweet stupidifier; I've been trying different places and nobody does them the way they should be. Better if I start making my owns. Anyhow, we were chatting last night about birthdays and stories and so, relaxing and in peace. We counted the years we've been celebrating her b-day together and found out that an impressive number 16 was the final countdown up to date. That is, almos half of our life as a couple. Speechless. And I remember that before meeting her my personal record on long-lasting relationships was 4 months, ja! We just kept on looking at each one right in the eyes, with an empty expression of mixed amazingness, nerviousness and happy resignation until we laughed out loud about it. What else could we do? ja!
Also we spent sunday evening with Chicken's friend, Grace from Honduras, and her 24 year old victorian-born husband. We had dinner at 'Baltazhar', a funky place in downtown, listening to a very gray DJ and his chineese percussionist who pretended to play latin rythyms (kinda surrealistisc). I don't know why, and I don't have anything against them -other than korean bad breath after a night of garlic and alochol, but oriental guys are the copycats of the society. For me there's nothing funnier than a chinese lady with an afro or with blonde hair, or a japanese cholo, or as in this case, a thaiwanese TitoPuente... They want to be like everybody else, except as their parents. And that reminds me another thing, who are the ones that can push farther the limits of bad and/or ridiculous dressing: oriental or black? But that's a topic for another post...
 
Daylight brings out the good in me
Night-time casts its spell
Am I still the stranger
Who runs hopin' to find something
That blinds me
Confines me each day

I'm as old as I was born
Livin' is my only thorn
It binds me confines me

Somewhere back in memories
Lifelines linger on
I can feel my spirit
It cries throw the lives behind
That guide me
To realise each day

I'm as old as I was born
Living is my only thorn
It binds me confines me

I can feel my spirit
Crying through the years
Behind that guide me
Deep inside me each day
I'm as old as I was born
Living is my only thorn
It binds me confines me

I'm as old as I was born

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