Getting fucked, hard

**A fair warning that a lot of cursing is about to proceed.**

Upfront apologies to MawMaw, PawPaw and Nonnie.  It’s who I am and I need a release.  Dad, don’t act surprised.  Mom, you’re use to dealing with crazy people (hello, second husband), so I’m sure you’ll relate in more ways than one.  Sister, I love you, buy your plane ticket already.

Today was suppose to be the beginning of a new chapter of life.

A chapter I’ve been wanting for far too long but for many (good) reasons got pushed on the back burner.

When I arrived to Buenos Aires nearly four years ago Ticol and Marce (boyfriend + his brother) oh so kindly took me in.  They opened their flat to me, showed me the Argentine ways and luckily the three of us get along very well.  Living with others, is not always easy, but it was for the three of us.  We were are a family and I’m so blessed to be with these boys.

As the years passed and work became real work, Ticol and I thought the time to get our own space had arrived but we decided big travels + investments + insanely cheap rent were more valuable so we stayed put.

Yes, living with two boys and a nonstop shedding cat is hard for a young woman, but when it comes down to it I’m simple. I don’t care about materialistic shit and impressing others with ‘what I have’.  To me, comfort and happiness rank higher.

As Nola Gastropub grew so did our working hours.  Since the day we opened back in July Ticol and I have worked 12-16 hour days 6 days a week.  We get home around 1-2am, are in bed by 4 and sleep til 11:30 if we’re lucky.  Marce is more of a 9-5 guy so Ticol and I hide in the kitchen or back patio to try and not to wake him.  And it fucking sucks. But it’s the right thing to do, so we do it.  The kitchen is ghetto as fuck, everything is falling apart, the landlord doesn’t give a shit, there are no chairs, Ticol ends up sitting in the sink and me standing.  Even if there were chairs in the kitchen, it’s the last space I want to be in after service.  I WANT OUT OF THE DAMN KITCHEN.

After a massive work day of dealing with clients and purveyors who are beyond fucking incompetent, prepping & cooking over 200 portions of food, nonstop cleaning, setting a positive example for our employees, keeping a fucking smile on my face which luckily is authentic 99% of the fucking time because amazingly enough I love my work, the good and the bad I do it and I do it well.  I don’t stop moving.  But when the curtain closes I want to go home, turn off my brain and sit my hard working ass down.  Preferably somewhere comfortable where I can rip off my fried chicken clothes and put on some tranqui music.  Have a moment with Ticol, my boyfriend, not Ticol my business partner.

By August we agreed we were moving out for September, October at the latest.

Then magic happened!

At Nola one night, through Ale & Julie, one of my favorite NOLA couples, I met Heloise, a dashing real estate agent.  I tell her what I’m looking for and two weeks later she returns with – I HAVE YOUR NEW APARTMENT.  It meets all of your requirements, however it’s not available til the 1st of November.

Ok.  Can we see it?

We go and see it and truthfully it wasn’t love at first site.  They were knee deep in construction with horrific humidity issues and the move in date was just 6 weeks a way.  And for those of you who are unfamiliar with Argentine ways…. shit moves incredibly fucking slow here.  Like, wracking your brain because you can’t comprehend just why it takes so long to get shit done here.  I’m not sure if it’s because I was in NYC for five years prior, or if it’s my high energy, but generally most Argentines move at a chameleon pace.  Which is really fucking slow for those of you who aren’t aware of chameleon speed!!!  (Obviously, not 100% of Argentines, but the majority, fuck yeah).

Knowing the Argentine way + having learned by lesson about having zero expectations, I was hesitant to agree on the place but after weeks and weeks of no luck, desperation took over and we agreed to wait til November for the apartment.

We went back to the apartment to meet with Silvina, the owner of the apt, and the three of us along with Heloise hashed out any and all details.

Silvina guaranteed a parrilla on the terrace, a sink in the wash room, a new sink in the bathroom, a desperately needed paint job, a fridge, all for November 1.  She seemed confident and surprisingly moved at a fast pace.  She even allowed us to pick out the paint colors and negotiated the rent.  Deposit was paid, formal reservation completed with Heloise, signatures, smiles, we were in.

Little did I know then that Silvina is a fucking lunatic.

Throughout October we sent Silvina emails checking in on the progress, asking her about the utilities so we can start organizing the move.  The place was coming completely unfurnished so we bought a bed, a washer machine, a cursed couch, organized the wifi installment, the movers.  We were on it.

The third week of October we send another follow-up, checking in as a date hadn’t been set for the transfer of keys nor lease agreement.  We ask about a few details, whether they’ll be ready for the first, and she guarantees us all will be 100% on her end.

The final week of October we spent what little time we have out of Nola packing up our apartment.

I was the happiest girl on the planet.  The excitement was oozing out of my pores I literally had a ‘we’re moving dance’ that I just couldn’t stop with.  In the mornings before I opened my eyes I’d think, I can’t wait to wake up in our new apartment.  Every night that week while heading home from work I’d tell Ticol, “It’s the last Wednesday we go to the old apt.” or “The next Tuesday we have off, WE’LL BE IN OUR NEW APARTMENT”.  I danced with excitement, the happiness was out of control.

What seemed like the longest week of my life, Friday finally arrived.  Friday was the day we get the keys and finish the contract.  Friday at 3pm.

Ticol and I go to lunch beforehand and I tell him that I feel like we’ve hit the lottery.  Our own apartment + a trip to Brazil in February, I feel on top of the world.  What did I do to deserve this much happiness?  My heart was exploding with love.

We walk to the new apartment after lunch and wait in the plaza for Maria, Ticol’s mother who is are obligatory co-signer.  I love Maria.  I look up to her so highly.  She is a strong hard working independent woman, my favorite kind.  We spot Silvina, the landlord, on the corner and begin to head to the apartment together.  Maria calls, she’s around the corner, so I wait quickly for Maria and agree to meet Ticol and Silvina at the apartment.


As my finger reaches for the apartment buzzer Ticol swings through the door, phone to his ear and he tells me, “I’m calling the lawyer”.  WHAT?  WHY?  “It’s not ready, she’s fucking crazy”.

Maria and I march by him and enter the apartment where we find Silvina, the contractor and two men sanding a wall.

They ask how I am and I respond with, “A bit confused as I was under the impression the apartment would be ready!!”

And Silvina responds oh so ignorantly, “Well, when do y’all plan on moving in??”



Remember 6 fucking weeks ago when you swore up and fucking down that the apartment would be ready for November 1??  REMEMBER THAT?

And she retorts back… “I didn’t plan on renting the apartment til after the new year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  All I know is that I was in Brazil and Heloise calls me that she found tenants for November 1st and I was sick this whole week”.



Maria and Silvina start going at it.  Silvina starts to get hysterical at this point, and Maria calmly says that we’re all adults, we can handle this more calmly, we need to talk it out.

“Why would you not notify them that the apartment isn’t ready?” Maria asks.  CLARO, em ring ring, hello logic!!

And she says, ‘they pressured me’.


THIS IS OUR FAULT??????  From day 1 you have told us that the apartment is available for rent as of November 1.  We have emailed you multiple times throughout October checking the progress because we were doubtful that you would follow through.  LAST WEEK we sent you two emails confirming the key transfer and you guaranteeing AGAIN that you’re holding up everything on your end of the deal.

I stood in silence, completely shocked with what was happening.  And Silvina starts saying, “Fine, I don’t have to rent it to them, listo”.

NO!  That’s not an option, we have our entire fucking apartment in boxes, movers arriving in less than 24 hours, bed being delivered, washer machine being delivered, the fuuuuuucking couch, Fibertel, not to mention a person who is taking over our fucking room TOMORROW.


Silvina gets so consumed BY HER OWN FUCKING GUILT that she runs out of the apartment screaming she’s going to get our deposit money to return to us, and I’m chasing after her begging for her to please reconsider, tears falling down my cheeks.

Ticol gets on the phone and starts canceling tomorrow’s deliveries.


I’m in the kitchen and start taking photos of the poor condition of the apartment.  I email Heloise (who was fortunately in NYC) letting her know that we’re not taking the apartment.  Afterwards the contractor tries striking up a conversation with me.  NOT THE TIME, BUDDY.

Which just infuriates me EVEN MORE.  Especially considering a week ago we stopped by the apartment and talked with me, and him declaring that him and his crew would be done at the end of the month.


As far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking guilty too, so shut the fuck up and walk away from me.

30 minutes go by and Silvina still isn’t back.  Ticol calls her and she says she’ll be back in 20.  45 minutes later she walks in and her and I get into.  BAD.

The amount of hate and anger that was going through my veins… I’ve never felt that before in my entire life.

The only person I’ve had such little respect for have been cheating boyfriends, I’ve never had to deal with this kind of trash before.

And she’s standing there with her fake tits, blonde highlights and thick green shimmery eyeliner telling me to lower my voice that I CAN’T raise my voice at HER.

SO WAIT.  You can scream at me like I’m a fucking child, but I can’t raise my voice?  Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, cunt!!!!!!

At one moment I stepped right up to her, inches away from her face, and I tell her in a strong yet calm voice, “you’re a fucking bitch. I hope you realize that this is all your fault.  The fact that you couldn’t pick up the phone and call us letting us know that the apartment wouldn’t be ready for the first.  What did you expect to happen when we walked in here and saw the condition it’s in?  How on bloody fucking Earth could you ask us when we plan on moving in?  Do you think we don’t have lives??  Do you know how much energy we put into making this happen?  How many times did we email you throughout October BECAUSE WE DOUBTED YOU FROM THE FUCKING BEGINNING?  How many times did you respond guaranteeing us that the apartment would be ready?  Do you have any idea how much of our fucking time you have wasted?  Time that I don’t FUCKING HAVE.  Do you get THAT YOU are responsible for all of this?!?!?!”

She looks at me shocked in silence.  “Nobody has ever talked to me like that before.”


I yell for Ticol to come in and for her to give us the deposit money so we can fucking leave already.

Her and Ticol get into, we finally get to break away, I take one look back and say, “By the way that green eyeliner looks like shit on your face” and slam the door.

We walk to work in silence.  My brain spinning, what the fuck just happened?  What the fuck?  Is this fucking serious?  WTF WTF WTF??

Now what?

Now what, Liza?  Now you start all over.  But how can I move forward if I’m broken?

Someone put a dagger through my heart.

Why did this happen?

I sat outside of Nola trying to figure out how I can let go of the anger and hate that was boiling throughout my body.  I gotta let it out.  HOW?

Then I look up and see one of my favorite people walking towards my direction.  I scream at her to stay back, I’m fucking serious, I’m in a bad mood and you don’t want to be near me.  She laughs, which makes me smile, a feeling I had quickly forgotten about, and we sat there and she let me rant and rant trying to find a solution to ‘let out the negative beast inside me’.  She asked me what I’ve done in the past when I’m like this, and I’m like I HAVE NEVER BEEN LIKE THIS BEFORE.  This is totally new for me.  The only couple of other times that I’ve been soooo mad in my life (b/c of stupid fucking boys) I tend to throw coffee mugs.  Unfortunately I only had my Casa Fad mug at Nola, and I didn’t want to throw it.  It was a birthday gift from two of our clients, and they’re such nice people, and then it made me think of how meaningless all of this is.  Nobody died, it’s a fucking apartment, Liza.


This move represented so many things.  So many things I’m working my ass off for.

And to have it taken away, so close to the finish line, and by this stupid fucking cheta bitch.

Does she even realize the impact she has had?  DOES SHE CARE?

Friday night service distracts me for a few hours but as soon as the kitchen closes I transform back into zombie Liza.  Sad, broken hearted, I don’t want to be around people, I don’t want you to try to make me feel better, I want to feel the pain Liza.  And I escape to the office, lay on the floor, fighting back the tears, refusing to let our employees walk in on me ‘crying over an apt’.

I get my shit together, take a massive shot of tequila and tell Ticol that I can’t go back home tonight.  I want to sleep out.  I want to get a hotel for the week.  I can’t go back to that apartment, with all of our boxes, and Momo.

Momo, who I have been promising for weeks that we’re taking him to a new place.  A better place where we’ll all be happier.

And now I can’t give him that.

And I feel like such a fool.  Such a fucking fool.

So now, I will attempt to enjoy my day off.  A pathetic attempt that began with sad eyes and a hurting heart.

And last night as I spoke with my good friend …. I realized… this is going to change me.  This is going to make me ‘harder’, ‘colder’.  And I resent that woman for making me feel this way.  She took away my light, my smile, my happy dance.  It wont be forever, and maybe I’m being a massive fucking drama queen, but I can definitely see a difference, like the way I walk down the street with hate in my eyes, no more spunky Liza.

So thanks, Silvina.  Thanks for fucking us, hard.  Do you have any compassion for what you’ve done?

I know something better will come out of this situation.  I’ll find a bigger and better apartment.  I know I’m beyond fucking grateful that you’re lunatic ass isn’t going to be my landlord for the next two years.

I also know that I’m gonna be okay, and this is life, the good and the bad, the ups and the downs.

But ultimately, I know that karma is a fucking bitch.