How to get an open air gym for free.

– Aunt Amaya?
– Yes?
– Are you seriously picking that up?
– Seriously, yes. Stay here, I´ll bring my car.
– But aunt Amaya?
– Yes?
– What if the owner comes?
– Well, this is a park, I just see an Egyptian temple around, and an old stationary bike totally abandoned under the rain. So unless it belongs to the mummy in the temple, a more than probable option considering this BH model, I am picking it up with me.
– Your house is too small, where are you putting it?
– I am doing an open-air gym at the patio. So I can exercise for free and avoid visiting terrible big cans of sweat and muscles, designed by psychos who place mirrors everywhere, where I can´t help watching my beer belly at all times.
– But your neighbours will watch you training
– They will.
– You are weird
– And you a droopy drawers.
Once in the car
– Aunt Amaya, I think the bike is very cool. You know, I had a BH California.
– I had my first, my second and my third bike from BH.
– They rock. But I still don´t understand why the owner would leave it here.
– Some people think other people can reuse. See your grandfather, his country house is all about abandoned furniture, that he restored.
– Aunt Amaya, what I don´t get is WHY they did not sell those things on the Internet. I just exchanged my broken bike for a PSP.

So this is my 13 years old nephew Dani: naïf when it comes to finding and picking up cool abandoned stuff retro , smart when it comes to get an Internet deal.
He will rule the world.
I will keep on cycling in my new open air gym, where I am currently reading the original English text of Alice in Wonderland, every morning as I get up.
And the drawing is about the above story, and about Alicia getting smaller in time to my pedalling.

It  is a drawing for Dani.
Also because Dani is beta tester for Happy Thing, making lots of drawings for me whenever I need to test a workshop (hahaha, I´m evil). He recently decided to call his brothers and himself: “Happy Thing Studios”, because he believes whatever coming with the word “Studios” in it needs to end up in movie theatres screens being admired by everyone.

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Personal reminder

This is a pencil, and it´s mine.I think that entitles me to use it everyday.

It is late in the evening, I am playing SIM Social. I am playing SIM Social because I can´t sleep. I can´t sleep because I had some beers. I had some beers because months ago I met Iván and he told me about him joining Dibujo a domicilio. Drawings home delivered. They come home, you pose, they draw, like you are the queen sorrounded by your court painters. He told me about this awesome group of artists, and I inmediatly asked to volunteer as a model for them at 53 squaremeters. But the list was huge and it was not possible. So I forgot about it. Till they suddenly wrote me about it and we agreed on them coming today.

I will tell you more about them soon, as I have a deadline in 7 hours, and need to sleep my beer dose. But I couldn´t stop thinking how beautifully they draw; how wonderful did I feel with them, even if posing in my insecurity was all a challenge, and even if i just gave them 5 poses and too much giggling. Also a girl came to write a note, Manuela, and she really behaved not jumping over the wine (they even brought wine!) and the cheese while the guys were drawing. And I just decided to quickly draw and post this personal reminder to myself before I go back to sleep and wake up in Adland again. To remind myself that I do also have beautiful pencils, and it is all a matter of USING them. They belong to me. I am their master!

I promise to post Daniela, Ron and Iván drawings in my blog as soon as I get them. They use pencils as laser sabres. I feel so special now. Good night.

Wanna get extra Z power??? True story!

Excessive daytime sleepiness is a disorder I suffered for a week. Because I suffer from many disorders: one per week. I am a proud true lover of self diagnoses by stumbling upon them. And got really professional at it. Like last week, I suffered from this sleepiness. Then, today I found this package of decaf coffee in the fridge. Open. Apparently Mr.53  has been making me decaf coffee in the mornings for a week. Not his fault, it´s me who got it at my shop for white brands.To have some decaf at home. But Mr 53 takes no coffee at all, and inferred that I wanted to go decaf. ME! And so the charming prince brewed his sleeping beauty coffee with no coffee for a week. Yes, I am lazy and get my coffee done in the mornings. Yes, I rock. And sleep like a rock. Since I got my extra Z power.

The cure for my many diseases usually come by Mr53 ignoring my efforts to convince him that I really, really but, hey, I mean really, could die from napping too often or from having that last drink on a friday night. For example, I once called him years ago, cause I believed to have found a melanoma on my skin. It happened to be a cigarette burn from the previous crazy night. But before I remembered the how, I even sent a pic of it to Mr 53, to make him feel superworried for me, which, frankly, he never does. Mmmm. Another time I called him cause I believed I suffered pancreatitis, one morning I got an intense pain in my abdomen. Home alone, my  diagnoses was that I had reached the age of 36 having consumed my lifetime alcohol share. It was not pancreatitis, but I had a parasitic infection in my stomach. Mr 53 never came to visit, as he already knew I would no die that time either. He is lucky I came back to live with him. He skipped the phone calls bit and kind of got a VIP pass to watch my multiple i-am-going-to-die moods unplugged on stage 1 (bed) while he watches the races on stage 2 (the couch). Welcome to Hypocondrestival!

Doctor said I was too hypochondriac when I was 6, and I left the place convinced that the word hypocondriac meant some serious illness and that was the end for little child Amaya. Seriously, I don´t want to die. Not without my coffee.

Muertitos Muartistas

While the world celebrated All Hallows’ Evening, we celebrated the Day of the Death, where pumpkins and candy treats are featured by “Bones of Saints” (marzipans) and Buñuelos (fried dough balls). No eye friendly pics available in the whole internet. In the whole Google, I mean. I ignored the costumes thing and went for eating buñuelos as if Death herself was visiting me at any moment. But 53squaremeters is at an area where people comes from many countries, and in the end you can´t help mixing up with witches and zombies in all races and shapes. To be honest,  all Madrid goes for costumes today. I´m just too stubborn. The coolest I saw was an old short latin woman in mummy disguise heading to the underground, with the attitude of just going to the market to get some yuca and fresh mangoes for dinner, aware that she might kill half the neighbourhood on her way, by scaring them to Death. Occupational risks… And I loved to live here, feels exotic. You know, Chinese witches, East-European zombies, Latin mummys (but any yummy mummy) and buñuelos aplenty. Who needs travelling to get a weirdest combination?

And I felt like drawing something in the mood of Mexican Día de Muertitos (Day of Dead), all cheery and sweet and full with good memories. And my sweetest memories of my favourite dead person are very alive. Memories of  my grandfather. From now on, Paco. We never called him abuelo, cause he hated it. He was Paco. He was a lawyer and a politician, he was a deputy for the Spanish artisans at the Court. He was this, he was that. But our piece of the pie was the juicier. We, all his grandchildren, were the ones who better shared his inspiring funtastic personality.  I could spend days speaking of him, as I can spend nights remembering his words to teen Amaya. Like  “draw and write, and do the crafts, because those things are your only real patrimony. You can loose all money, death will steal friends and couple away, but as long as you know what to do with a pencil, you will find support in your inner self” . Or like “draw whatever you have in front of you, so you get better at it”. Also “you need to wear a mask, don´t expose your fragile self to the world, so it doesn´t get hurt”. This last “don´t exhibit yourself” one was useless. As you can read.

He showed me how to use watercoulours by taking me to draw donkeys, and cows, and ancient villages walls; how to melt metals to make jewels; how to craft baskets with reedmace; how to get exquisite mayonnaise using just the yolks and olive oil, whipping it up with a wooden spoon, while breathing pure air under the trees shadows, and after we had picked up the salad tomatos and potatos from his ace veggie garden; how to paint glass; how to mould ceramics; how to mend broken things with different glues and tools (although I break things so wildly that I usually need to go for replacing) ; how to enjoy together every single minute I spent with him. Me, or anyone. Fairness in treating family members was another virtue. He was Paco for all of us, and he was so special you could never get angry at him. I never had a fight with him, even if my opinions were just the opposite than his. He cracked it. Till really old, like 92, writing and drawing everyday. Well or bad, he did it for fun.

Paco was very generous. When I liked a pen or a brush, he would give it to me, if I would use it. He used to ask for it back if I did not. He gave me these things in my drawing. Conté pencils and a funny brush, hand-made, with a plastic holding the bristles to the stick, and a wire tying them both together. Could be crafted by Japanese or by Paco. And these blades to sharpen pencils and do crafts. Giving you the right tools was vital for him.

Muertitos means “little dead” and is used by Mexicans. Muartistas means muy artistas, “very good artists”, and I made it up. Paco taught me to. And we had a great day of Muertitos drawing together.

Here the black and white version. Considering this is a special long post, I would also like you to tell me which one you prefer.