CURRENT MISSION

travel, travel, travel.

ABOUT ME

My friend recommended couch surfing to me, so after being hesitant at first I figured I give it a try. I love to travel (like everyone else on this website), being exposed to new cultures, and foreign languages too.

I love politics

I'm a vegetarian

I DON'T like to argue.

I love tea (Earl Grey especially)

Biking everywhere.

I'm a city girl at heart because you can walk everywhere usually, so show me your city!

I love practicing Spanish and French.

PHILOSOPHY

Dime con quién andas, y te diré quién eres.

Why I’m on Couchsurfing

HOW I PARTICIPATE IN COUCHSURFING

I love meeting people, especially in different countries. So when I'm in your neighborhood, please invite me!

COUCHSURFING EXPERIENCE

I met some people in Argentina, through a couch surfer and also have a attended a couch surfing party or two.

Interests

• make up
• vegetarian
• partying
• politics
• traveling
• socializing
• cycling
• surfing
• teaching
• languages

Music, Movies, and Books

Crooklyn, City of God, Flashdance, Santogold, The Bell Jar, Kill Bill (vol 1).

Anything 80's....

Teach, Learn, Share

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet. ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7