La Pata Criolla

Sunday night, with the most anticlimactic goodbye ever (an unceremonious handing over the keys and a complete lack of eye contact), I left the Buenos Aires 371 and moved into Bahia Blanca 430. Thank god!
Now I'm living with Paula, a Cordobesa translator, and her bunny Pepito (exhibit a). It's only for a month, until I move into another house with a gaggle of Argentinas in a slightly better location (here I have to cross a semi-sketchy bridge to get to the centro), but I am super content. Paula is friendly, female and not psychotic- three great things I didn't have with my previous renter. She also, I found out on day one, is patient. And boy did I put her to the test.
In Argentine, a common phrase to refer to a human disaster is a "pato criollo," or "farm duck," because, with "cada paso, una cagada"- shits all over with every step. On Monday, day one in the apartment, I was a complete pata criolla. First of all, while helping me with my lunchtime lentils, Paula got a third degree burn on her hand. (Exhibit B) Later that evening, when I went to flush the toilet and couldn't get the thingamajig to work, I ended up opening the top and accidently breaking something inside. P and I thought we fixed it, so we went to chat in the kitchen. MINUTES later, I walked to my room and stepped into a GIANT puddle. I had somehow caused a flood that extended down the hall to Paula's bedroom and deep into mine. Paula insisted on mopping up, but had to stop when her burned hand started to throb with pain. 3 days later we are still flushing with a bucket of water.
But she hasn't kicked me out! Tuesday I successfully cooked twice, and today I made homemade bread!(Exhibit c) Hopefully I won't prove to be such a disaster.

My address for the next month:
Bahía Blanca 430, departamento 30
Juniors
Córdoba, Argentina 5000

Adults are CRAAAAAAAAAAAZY!

So, looks like I was right about the "for now" stuff re: the apartment. In the last couple of weeks, I have watched ol Clau head towards a complete mental breakdown (as evidenced by his simultaneous amassing of cigarettes and nicotine patches). On Wednesday, after I calmly complained about his cancelling the cleaning service we are paying for, he told me, "Abby, dejáme la pieza al fin de mes." Translation :"Abby, leave me the room at the end of the month I AM PSYCHO." After the typical Loomis hysterical crying, I decided to take this as an opportunity to get to know another living space in Córdoba (I have officially given up my dream of stability and getting settled). Right now I'm choosing between two different options (and STILL not talking to Claudio, awkward! The only things he's said to me in 5 days are "clean your room" and "take your feet off the table") that are both pretty sweet. Update soon!