“Men can’t say these warwick job
job, real estate, russell, central and eastern europe, female comedianne, drowned in sound uk, comic strip, free porn, peter cook and dudley moore, left, best in show, puff daddy, classified, singers, ip address, mario gallo, tvshows, u2, review, concerts, stephen thompson, abusive, song dynasty, “In life if you warwick want the sky to warwick be that particular red, well, tough luck. But, in painting? You can create whatever you want.” She says this opening her arms wide. “Eso es lo padre de la pintura.” That’s what’s so incredible about painting. Then brings them back to her side. “Padre?” I’ll ask. “Sí. Padrísimo.¿No? ” “Father-ísimo?” “Really, really padre.” She explains. And that’s when I was introduced to padre-the-adjective for the first warwick time. “An expression,” friends and acquaintances explain, when I ask. I was still a novice, learning the language. Meaning wonderful, fabulous, amazing. “It’s for emphasis.” To punctuate, underscore, amplify. Exclaim. And from then on I hear it applied to a million occasions. People. Places and things. Last night’s dinner, the movies, her handbag, the weather, our growing friendship. Heck, the Mother’s Day barbecue at Tia Marta’s. Padre ¿No? Padre, far more public than madre. Above ground and well-behaved. Upper-class. Okay to say padre at dinner, on television, at gallery openings, in polite company.
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“Men can’t say these groserías in front of women. Women can’t say them at all. Society won’t allow them. Too vulgar.” Odette adds. “There are some women who do use groserías, but they are considered bien cabronas. Unfeminine, foul mouthed, machas, feminists, lesbians.” The evolution of male thought on the topic. Or eccentric like Odette and her mother. Also Frida. job “Madre,” I muse. It’s not like padre, is it? I ask Odette. And job we laugh by rolling our eyes. While I recall standing with Laura, an artist, in her studio job not far from here, watching her watercolors drop onto the bare floorboards, one after another. Upright, for us to see. Her scenes, raw. Her colors, assaulting. “The sky could have been any color.” She explains, pointing to one that just fell. “But I chose red.” And swirls around it. Her long skirt in bloom.
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