March is loco and Abril an intzt wintzy más

Believe it or not the snow refuses to part. It’s been a crazy marzito, como decí­a mi abuelita, Marzo loco y Abril otro poco, but men! this is going too far. Ah, what the fuck am I babbling about anyways. Sun never makes a good impression, the next thing you’ll be hearing from me is that it is too fucking hot and that the weather hasn’t been this strange, well, since last week. Fuck, my body does really need to be attuned to mamá naturaleza.

Humbug. Must be the grey weather. The fizz in blogsphere is dwindling, like there is no tomorrow. Hardly anyone is blogging nowadays. So fucking what. Oh, yeah, I finally caught up with a thought that escaped me a few minutes ago. I want to nag about los pinches gíüeros here in Sweden.

It turns out that many here refuse to see my gringo side. They seem to have this godforsaken odd thinking that to be american you have to be gíüero. Fuck, this really tends to piss me off like there is no tomorrow, yes, I wrote that phrase two paragraphs ago smartaleck. Eitherways, I feel robbed, ultrajado, desposeido. I have no other way of being but the Xicano being. I have days when I am more mexican than others and I have days when I am more gringo than others, why can’t the pinche crazy monolinguals get this? But that is diverging the gist of the message towards another venue.

I know I have dark skin, cafe con leche, black hair and pretty lovely sort of hazel eyes [yes, am talking nice about myself, gotta a pro with that?] but that doesn’t automatically mean am not a gringo though I be hard pressed to have someone tell me, hey, aren’t you a gringo? ah, what the fuck, no one seems to know what a Xicano is in Sweden eitherways, so what the fuck am I grumbling about anyways.