Pues bien, me gradué, me quede a vivir en Querétaro con Mi Muñequita Linda. Tengo una gatita que se llamaba Gwen, y ahora se llama Mininoka.
Trabajo, gracias que Pali me consiguió una entrevista y me apoyó como el amigo que es, en Televisa Queretaro, donde coordino la infromacion nacional de los noticieros y escribo los prompters de la mañana y de la noche. Mucho trabajo, muy divertido, casi todo el tiempo. En los munitos que me tomo al terminar mi chamba, me encontré una maravilla de texto esta madrugada. Enjoy, y espero escribir pronto.
"You are a bad kisser"
By Barbara Mather
I stared blankly at the black Times New Roman letters staring at me from the white background of the email message I had just received and did not understand why it felt as if those words had actually been cast in stone. Engraved almost, they felt unchangeable, immutable, as if a divine proclamation had been pronounced upon me.
I sat frozen, unable to pull my eyes away from the screen and as the realization of the meaning dawned on me, I felt unsure whether I wanted to burst out laughing or scream out howling in pain. I wish I had chosen the former. In any case, I controlled myself. I got up, closed the offensive message, took a short walk and said to myself, “Breathe, damn you.” I did. In two minutes, I was back at my desk, keyboard in front of me, the reply button clicked. But my fingers would not move. My mind would not think. I knew only one thing. That the reaction this email was meant to provoke should not show in my reply. That I should do the exact opposite of what he had intended me to do.
I replied slowly, cautiously, meticulously going over each word so that I could at least sound dignified. “That explains a lot,” I wrote back and proceeded to compliment my ex-boyfriend on his kissing abilities, highlighting the fact that the only thing I felt now was embarrassment that I had not realized this at that time itself when our lips had been so busily interlocked with each other.
But then, that had been a different time. A different place. A different feeling. I'd been so much in love. He had leaned over towards me one night and said shyly into my ear, “I want to kiss you.” And I had kissed him openly, lovingly, without the slightest thought of how I was kissing him. I remembered it fondly as the most passionate kiss I'd had in my entire life. The thought brought a smile to my face. Then tears. I knew it would be months before I could see the humor in this one.
I didn't wait for his reply. I thought there wouldn't be any. But he must've thought that he too would do the opposite of what I expected. His mail contained four short lines the next day. A question, an apology, a clarification (as if he needed to justify his remark) and a patronizing remark.
“What does it explain? I didn't mean to be rude. But your technique is all wrong. I hope you've improved since then.”
I could reply no longer. I spent hours going to dozens of websites trying to figure out what was wrong with my technique. At one site in particular, I read the words, “There is really no bad way to kiss,” and I sent a mail to the Webmaster saying, “Ya, that shows just about how much you know.”
A week later, I found myself deep in discussion with my girlfriends over the different methodologies that could be employed and also asked them what their respective boyfriend's said about their style. I wasn't surprised to hear that each had been complimented on it.
“So it's just me,” I thought to myself and jumped deeper into unraveling the mysteries of the kiss.
It was almost an obsession. I would talk to anyone I could, read shady books and even search the net while trying to stay away from pornography sites. It's truly amazing the kind of sites that pop up on google when you dare to type a word such as `kissing' in the search box. Nevertheless, my quest continued for several days, at the end of which I could probably have listed at least seven different techniques, but would not have been able to implement even one effectively.
It was time to practice.
He was the quintessential boy next door and he'd had a crush on me since sixth grade. He'd been my best friend all through college. “Perfect,” I thought to myself as I ran to ring his doorbell and, flashing my eyelashes in as flirtatious a manner possible, I asked him out on a walk with me. I explained briefly what I wanted to do and why and he seemed remarkably open to the idea. I guess he really didn't have anything to lose. I put all my learning into that one short kiss and when I finally stepped back and asked him, “Well?” he was almost reeling over. “Amazing,” was all he could muster. The poor guy didn't realize then that it would have been more to his benefit to tell me that I needed more practice.
In any case, I felt satisfied. I thanked him and went off to reply to an email that had been lying in my Inbox for over a month.
“I've worked on it. You need to give me another try.” I pressed Send.
It was months before I finally met him again. I'd almost forgotten the entire episode as we laughed and chatted, enjoying each other's company. We'd remained close friends so it was easy to talk about old times and good memories. Until he reached out, held my hand and smiled at me. “This is the moment,” I thought to myself. I don't think I'd put in that much effort in my college exams, but there I was, with the man I had always been in love with, giving it all I'd got.
He pulled away first. “I'm impressed,” he said smiling, and he kissed me again.
I was so pleased that night that I called my closest friend and told her proudly that he'd liked it. “That's great,” she said to me and asked cheerfully “How was it for you?”
That's when it struck me. I had no reply. It was terrible for me. Too much effort, too much anxiety and way too much pressure. It was like a bulb going off in my mind at that moment when I realized that it was awful because it's not how you kiss, but how you feel when you kiss.
I burst out laughing. “What's the matter?” she asked me.
“Nothing,” I replied still chuckling at my wasted hours, “I finally see the humor in it.”
