Saturday, July 23, 2016


I was good... at least, I thought I was.
I was almost done with my jog, when I finally lost my composure, and ruined my streak of "Days Without Crying." The song's lyrics struck my heart... and I lost it.
If you go away, as I know you must
There'll be nothing left in the world to trust
Just an empty room, full of empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
I'd have been the shadow of your dog
If I thought it might have kept me by your side
If you go away, if you go away
If you go away, please, don't go away

I ugly cried.
I sobbed... I almost toppled off the treadmill because my tears were blinding me.

My brain betrayed me, and flashed an image of Baby Tyson, wrapped in a towel after bathing him... I was holding him tight to keep him from shivering... he was impossibly cute and vulnerable and perfect...
... and the mental image fucking destroyed me.

I've been extremely absent minded these last few days... dreading today.
There has been nothing but bad news in my life-- again, not concerning ME or MY health, but damn near everyone in my life. Cancer is... fucking infiltrating my circle... and it has been so hard to keep hearing a new person tell me they've been diagnosed. Yesterday was just the latest diagnosis... and I couldn't even sleep from the sadness.

Please don't go away...

I guess it all just... became too much.

My abandonment issues are so bad right now... the thought of Tyson being gone for four years now gave me the final push needed to cry everything out.

... Not being able to hug him is the worst.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Cliff Hanger

(Been working on this on and off since the first week of June. ...Life.)

Damn, this change in altitude beat my ass.
It's not that I had difficulty adjusting to the sudden spike in altitude, but coming back down has made my brain feel like it was left in the clouds.
However, I am back to 100, coherent enough to continue discussing this Peru adventure.

And in quite possibly the best segue ever, let's talk about health.

I was scared out of my mind as I prepared for this trip. I thought I'd be a nervous wreck in the airport, but there was so much bullshit to wade through once AT the airport, I barely made my gate in time to board.
Nerves once again began to enter my system upon arrival to Panama City. Everything up until that point had been a complete mess, I felt unwilling to test the boundaries of my luck, so I stuck around the airport... just shooting the shit with other passengers, listening to some very fucking shallow and ignorant conversations (little did I know I'd only hear more of this entitled bullshit throughout my trip).
I met up with my two travel buddies and all was well. I listened to these well-travelled, adventure nuts (I mean that positively, no shade)... hiking aficionadas... and they let me know that while the hike would be difficult, it would be manageable. They came to the conclusion that Bone would most likely be leading because she's speedy, Spence would be last because she felt so out of shape, and therefore, I'd be in the middle... because I'd just pick up on everyone else's cues.
And I was cool with that assessment... because the only "hiking preparation" I did was my weekly treadmill stroll where I'd walk as long as my CandyCrush lives permitted (usually about three miles. I'm a fucking Candy Crush savage).

This is where I kick myself in the ass for not following my personal TOP travel rule:
Travel with those of a similar fitness level.

I have observed, repeatedly, that travel SUCKS BALLS when I go about it with someone who is drastically below my fitness level. When I'm too fit for my companion, I spend my days frustrated as fuck because of the slow pace I'm forced to follow. I will be a fucking caged lion-- aggressive and resentful as shit towards EVERYONE.
For the most part, I'm fast paced, as much as EVERYONE cares to NOT believe this. I can take down the fittest little bastard out there... because I can go for extremely long periods of time without eating OR drinking thanks to my ghetto, anorexic start in life (from 6th grade up until college, I never ate breakfast OR lunch. I'd fast my way through school. Always. Elementary school I'd only have lunch, except for 4th grade, when I couldn't even do that because of those horrible girls who'd kick my ass every day. Good fucking times, growing up). I have a difficult time identifying my "hungry" signal... so I will plow through my day without having a bite to eat for an ungodly amount of time. This, I've noticed, will bring down even the most physically fit brute of my clan... because they're fucking normal and never starved themselves for a decade or so... also, the healthy, fit folk's energy will start to wane because their muscles will start to demand fuel. I have my fat storages all over my body... I'll be fuckin' goooood. It's like watching my biochem book come to life.

Ok, so with that preface, let's continue with the Peru trip.
Let's move on to Spence, the "out of shape girl" (in her own words)... but Jesus Christ, more like "the injured girl."
Before the hike, we had been walking around Cusco for a few days, becoming acclimated to the altitude. I was good... I wasn't even suffering from shortness of breath. The natives were surprised, constantly warning me that while I may have felt great the first and second day, the third day would be the real test-- they were correct.
I was feeling great! My companions? They were hammered with massive headaches, fainting, and barfing all over the place. We went out to purchase altitude sickness pills, and they started to take their dosages. I pranced around Cusco, pushing my lungs to see how much activity they could handle (I was slightly scared, because I've suffered from cardiac arrhythmia since birth... neither side of my family has a good ticker).
So I was the freak of nature, while my company was getting scared. Our last dinner before the hike (which was by far, hands down THE BEST meal of my trip, top five EVER in my life), Spence came clean with her health issue.
"So, I really didn't train for this trip... I came down with plantar fasciitis... so I found training nearly impossible," she said.
We were all silent.
"Well... I broke my foot like two years ago... and it still acts up once in a while, so I'm not too excited about how my feet may react to five days of hiking," I tried to commiserate with her.

We packed our  bags (good god, the drama on this subject. I'm a night packer, they are early-morning packers. This caused so much fucking discord among us, I still feel my intestines twist with rage), went to bed, and the following morning (5:30AM), we were picked up to start the first day of the hike.
Within the first five minutes of the hike, I realized my CamelBak had a leak-- my left side was slowly becoming wet with each step I took. Instead of getting upset, I laughed... because the water was acting as a coolant, since the heat was so intense, my shirt would never get beyond moist before it was dried by the sun. The ONLY downside was that the fucking CamelBak was heavy as shit.
Anyway, there I was, the newbie hiker, at the end of the line, waiting on Spence, who was dead last. I figured someone had to stay close to the girl, in case she injured herself or... suffered a medical emergency... it was the fucking morally correct thing to do, I tell you!
Bone moved ahead with the group (we were three groups, each group with no more than 15 people. My personal group had 13. At the end of the day, all three groups would rest at the same camp ground. In total, we were about 50 people), group which was growing increasingly frustrated with the incredibly slow pace of Spence (I was lumped with Spence because I was waiting for her... and since the group wasn't aware of HER injury, they automatically assumed I had something to do with it too. I mean, I'm no tiny lady... I am fucking enormous, and if I've learned anything in my life, it's that my body type is QUICKLY underestimated/dismissed as FAT, slow, and useless).
Each day, we'd have two breaks-- lunch time around noon, and resting time at camp at the end of our day, around 6PM. Our first day, due to the unprecedented SNAIL pace of Spence, EVERYONE took the lunch break for about an hour and a half. Upon our arrival (Spence, Bone, and I. YES, that's how far behind we were. I definitely do not blame those kids for being pissed at us), they picked up their shit and jetted for our camp site of the day. Spence, Bone, and I had TWO minutes of break time... a time I had been looking forward to because I REALLY needed to shit (TMI? Too bad).
I don't know if everyone is like this, but the moment you keep me from emptying my bowels, I will fucking resent you... and use every last bit of self-restraint to not choke you to death.
I was angry at Bone and Spence for dragging me back, angry at the group for being angry at us, and angry at the hiking guide for not allowing us to use the fucking toilet.
I was being considerate of my injured teammate, I felt it unfair to punish me in such a way. It's one thing to keep me from shitting after sitting around the house for hours, but hours of hiking... your goddamn bowels move... they move a lot.
So... at around 11AM, the group was moving towards our first campsite, my group of friends were busy taking selfies at the ass end of the group... and I was angrily stomping up the mountains (hiking boots, while being lifesavers, are HEAVY AS FUCK), wishing the worst on everyone for not allowing me time to shit like a civilized human being.
Angrily stoping through up this fucking beast.
So we keep hiking. Within five minutes of continuing with this hike (I believe I said this happened within the first half hour of the hike, but in reality, I meant first five minutes of "THE hike" aka, the rough, real part, away from civilization), I see a body drop like a fucking sack of potatoes. I believe I discussed this traumatic sequence of events in the previous post.
I saw a blue shirt plunge past the bushes and the group gasp. This is where I cry, as I speed up to join the group to see who the fuck just killed themselves.
I saw the littlest of the group, T, was down at the bottom of the mountain, five meters below us, assuring us all she was ok. Her man, Dave, was pacing back and forth, clearly worried and saying "T, I told you not to walk so close to the edge."
(T fell because she took the outside edge of a cement barrier used to divert the brook we were following. Naturally, it made a cascade on the curve of the mountain. The rock T chose to jump over--instead of carefully climbing over the cement barriers, hugging the inside of the curve-- was wet and slick, resting on the outer edge of the barrier/moutain. She slipped and tumbled down the rocky mountain side, to the next cliff which was five meters below)
Our even tinier tour guide, Will (He was about five feet tall... no joke), scrambled to the bottom and helped push T to the top.
The group was urged to continue with the hike along the babbling brook we were to follow to our camping site. Will stayed with T and Dave, providing first aid to little T and her scratched left thumb, while the rest of us continued with our trek.
After about two hours of hiking quietly, the rain started to pour. This was where T and Dave caught up to us, then passed us. I looked behind me and hardly saw Spence in her hot-pink vest WAY THE FUCK behind us... and I threw my morals out the window.
Fuck this shit. I'm cold, everything's wet, my boots are sticking to the mud, everyone's impatiently waiting for us... and I REALLY need to take a shit. FUCK waiting on people.
I fucking gunned it and walked towards my goal-- the end of this fucking brook.
When I thought my hike was over, what appeared to be a flat trek toward a blue tin barn... I was met by rocky hills... rocky, muddy hills. This is where I almost cried of frustration.
At my absolute worst... most homicidal I have ever been,
and will probably ever be.
"WHEN IS THIS GOING TO END?!" I almost broke down.
This is where I see Will walking up to me, and he tells me I just have one more hill to climb, and that when I get to camp, I should tell Washington the cook to start serving dinner.
Exhausted, pissed off, and with tears building, I reached camp.
Bone and Spence had yet to show up, and the rest of the group glared at me as I entered the hut.
"Are the other two girls and Will close?" asked Veronica, the second tour guide.
"Yeah, told me to tell... Washington? that he could start serving dinner... that they were close enough," I said.
I took off my drenched back pack and tossed it towards the other bags. I grabbed my walking sticks (goddamn poles are life savers) and tossed those muddy bastards on top of my bag.
Like the disheveled asshole I was, I glared at the rest of the group, already having a great time with their personal discussions at the far end of the table.
The promised land.
It's gorgeous. And has a toilet.
I sat down at the other end of the table and tried to control my trembling legs... and tried even harder to keep from breaking into sobs. I realized I was hungry... but I also really wanted to go to the bathroom. Just as I was trying to make a choice between waiting for my food in the company of these hostile backpackers, or storming out of the shelter in the middle of the rainstorm, in search for a fucking toilet, in came Bone... this fucking... never-ending ray of sunshine... as though she had just stepped off a cruise ship.
The hostile group increased their negative vibes to an insufferable level, and I decided I had enough. I went in search for a toilet, and quit giving a damn about the rest of the group... let Bone take care of that shit.
After hauling ass through mud, I found the very clean toilets.
I almost cried from the relief I felt (obviously, I did a lot of "almost" crying. Even when I find myself completely alone, I still find it hard to release my tears because I know the moment I let them out, all hell is going to break loose and controlling me will be damn near impossible for a few hours).
Upon my return to the dinner table, I noticed everyone was in better spirits, siping on their coca tea and munching on some popcorn. I served myself a cup of coca tea... and all was well with the world.
I sat in a somewhat catatonic state... drinking my hot tea... not giving a shit to say a fucking word... and waited for my food.
After meal time, we were walked to our tents, were we each chose/settled (as was my case, because I was the last one to "choose" my tent, which obviously, doesn't involve much "choosing").
The group was to make a "quick" hike up to a lake, but considering the mental exhaustion, I chose not to participate. Spence was physically incapacitated, so she was unable to partake in the lake hike, and Bone had no desire to go "alone."

Considering it is now mid-July, I'll stop right here... clearly where I never intended to end when I began typing this... but if I don't post now, I probably never will.
There will probably be two more parts... because this fucking five day hike had so much bullshit to it, on all aspects, "Health" being only one of them... and I promise it has a somewhat redeeming end... and there will be less commentary on my bowel movements.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

The players

I suppose I'll jump right into the hike portion of my trip (as opposed to my favorite part-- the motherfucking delicious food).
I'm still amazed over how a situation like HIKING for five days can make a disparate group of 13 foreigners bond stronger than 13 years of grade school.
There were laughs, tears, plenty of vomit, falls, foreign language lessons, dance lessons, bruises, political debates, slips, broken nails, toilet paper drama... all sorts of shit.

Let's start this series of posts with an introduction of the newly formed family.

First, we had the father-daughter duo, ze Germans: Daddy Post and Jo.
This group was precious, and was where we acquired our adoptive father. They were from Hamburg, with the daughter residing in Dresden before she left for Lima on some study-abroad program. Living in Latin America made Jo realize she loves the family life and the tightness displayed by the culture. She now has plans to return with her folks and siblings to Hamburg, and be more open with her feelings. This of course, has made Daddy Post incredibly happy. They took this trip as a way to tighten up their bond before the big changes occur in the Fall.
From them, we learned our team mascot of sorts: the morgenmuffel. We were ALL morgenmuffels.
Just... angry, irritable, non-morning people.
"WHY ARE YOU TALKING?! We were all woken up at 3:30AM!"
Best. Word. Ever.

Second, we had the Dutch-Australian couple: Dave and T.
This couple had been traveling around the world for a year. Dave is a biology teacher, a year older than I, and the girl is a tiny pistol of a woman who... I'm not sure what her job was, but I do believe she has a kid or two? Anyway, they are a very well-traveled couple, super adventurous, and curious about the world. Dave was very friendly from the get-go, very quick witted, and T was a go-getter, brave woman. This couple had our adrenaline pumping within an hour of our hike when T FELL OFF THE MOTHERFUCKING SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN. YES. From the angle I saw her drop (completely different form everyone else, because I was a good chunk behind them. She fell at a bend of the road, while surrounded by 10 of the members. I had yet to reach the bend), I thought I had seen someone plunge to their death like a sack of potatoes. I literally started to cry, tears uncontrollably rolling down my face... the thought of reaching the horrific scene overwhelmed me. However, resilient little T made it with only a scratch on her left thumb. Had I taken the fall down the cliff, I certainly would have broken my neck with my bulky-ass-self, but she rolled like a pro and managed to climb back out of the ditch.
From this couple, we learned our motto: watch your fucking step.

3. The Iraqi siblings: Sam and Lita.
This brother-sister due was adorable. Sam, the young brother, is a recent college grad. Lita, his older sister, was joining her sibling on HIS grad trip around South America. I was surprised to learn she's only five years younger than I, her baby face made me think she was a recent high school graduate.
These two were always at the head of the pack, taking a wrong turn on the first day of the trek, needing to be rescued by our tour guide before they burned too much time (they burned about an hour and a half with their detour).
From this duo, we learned our second important lesson: ALWAYS listen to your guide's directions on where to stop.

4. The college grads: Casey and J.
These two boys were... boys. They were part of Sam's frat family... and it showed. Warming up to them was difficult, because they were stereotypical American youngsters. They always pulled too far ahead of the group, and hardly gave a shit to converse with the rest of the crew. It wasn't until the third day where J's love of rap music and basketball (the basketball was obvious, since he is well over 6'2"... but the rap thing was totally out of the blue, since he is as geeky, lanky white boy as you could ever imagine) came up in conversation when I mentioned NAS that he suddenly perked into life. J and I became pretty tight after that conversation, often catching him smiling sheepishly when I'd call out to him by his name... that was cute. Casey... that guy... he was the cold one. We had moments of warmth with him, but he'd suddenly revert to being that rebellious, somewhat unlikable American frat boy.
From this duo we learned: not all is what it seems.

5. The scientist couple: Cat and Alvin.
I fucking LOVED this couple! They were the most endearing Filipino-American couple who were initially hard to crack. Cat would speak up during lunch/dinner time, but in the shiest manner... we could hardly hear her. I would watch her gather courage to speak... and it would warm my heart. She always had awesome contributions to conversations, but she had to wind herself up in order to spit it out... or would have her boyfriend interject "Oh! Cat has something really cool to say about this subject. Go ahead Cat, tell them." Alvin was very stoic at first... finally cracking when he realized we had much more in common than we imagined-- he grew up in the same California town as where my uncle, we were both med school drop outs, we both liked Atmosphere, sports-team loyalties... and same level of sarcasm. After day three, we were like siblings.
From this duo we learned: quiet people are usually worth the patience (well, everyone else learned that... I've always known this, considering I'm part of that tribe).

6. My two friends: The Muppets.
These two ladies have known each other for a while. One of the girls... let's call her Bone, has been my friend since high school, and the other I met on this trip. Bone and... Spence have been friends for something like ten years or less. Anyway, they definitely have more in common with one another, since their friendship is fresh, and they live in the same city. They had many inside jokes, and a very similar sense of humor... really loud laughs. People in the group would often... sort of exclude them, because these two girls would be in a world of their own... not to mention, always the last two on the trail... by at least half an hour. The nickname was given to them by our hilarious German dad of the trip, and he meant it as a compliment.
From this duo we learned: quick wit can make tense situations into laugh-fests.

7. Me: The narrator.
I was given the title by the dad, since he said I was more of the calm portion of the trio, responsible for translating the humor of The Muppets to the rest of the group.
I was the tallest female... as well as the meaty-est (the "chubbiest" was Spence, but she is about 5'5" so it wasn't as... intimidating as my corpulence). Trust me, this will play a mean role later on.
From me they learned: having someone capable of translating from Spanish to English and English to Spanish is goddamn priceless in Latin America.

And so, add our magnificent five-foot-tall trek guide to the mix, and you get a group of 14 folks who endure all sorts of shit and form a peculiar bond.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Poor wittle baby

Aaaand I'm back!

I managed to climb a fucking enormous mountain at... 6000+ m.a.s.l. but the part that kicked my ass was getting on a plane ride back home.
I managed to revert to toddlerhood and puked all over myself not once, but TWICE on the ride back home yesterday.

A five day hike across (more like around) the Andes didn't do much to me besides burn my skin to an unrecognizable toast (my Mexican tan and Greece tan are vastly different to the Peruvian tan)... but shove me onto a plane at four in the morning, and watch as I randomly barf my way out of sleep.

I should probably preface all that shit by saying I spent my Sunday afternoon and night in hot pursuit of some good Peruvian seafood. We drove up and down the city of Lima looking for our favorite eateries... which all turned out to be closed due to Sunday hours (super Catholic country... they definitely beat Mexico in their fundamentalism). Our tour finally ended with us defeated, settling for a local sandwich shop (sandwich shops are the fucking shit out there. Just like we Mexicans go for late night taco stands after a night of dancing and debauchery, Peruvians rush the sandwich shops). Since we had spent about eight hours searching for food, ONE of the girls in the group had bigger eyes than stomach... and since I'm such a penny-pinching cheapskate, I force-fed myself the dish homegirl left untouched. The dish consisted of chorizo, a fried egg, aji sauce (SO FUCKING DELICIOUS), tomatoes, lettuce, and thick-cut french fries.
I ate the fries after I finished my enormous sandwich (chorizo, sausage, three kinds of cheese, thin french fries, aji, and slow-cooked pork). THEN I went back to my hostel and drank a bottle of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon with the homegirl... and by 11pm, I was ready to run into oncoming traffic.

Homegirl felt guilty after watching me grimace my way through the airport... and was relieved when she saw we would not be sitting together on the one leg of the flight we'd be sharing.
It was about an hour into the flight when I was woken up by the heaving of my stomach... too late to grab the barf-bag, but fast enough to avoid the more projectile portion of the puke-fest. I was lucky enough to be sitting in the aisle seat, so I saved myself (and my fellow flight companions) the disgusting outcome of a puke-drenched row 8.
On the second/final leg of my trip, I once again woke up as my stomach was gearing up for round two, and I managed to maneuver my blanket (provided by the airline) into a puke-basket, and barfed into it. People on this six-hour flight were much more compassionate, and adopted me as the sickly baby that I was-- wiping my face of barf, and feeding me ice cubes to relieve the nausea.

I was feeling slightly better by the time my mother picked me up from the airport, and randomly fell asleep around 6PM as I tried watching game 7 of the OCK-Golden State game.
I woke up this morning tired as fuck... feeble as fuck... and highly confused as to my whereabouts.
I have yet to eat anything, I find that I'm still scared to add anything to my gut. Luckily my head is no longer in the clouds, so I'm just waiting on my stomach to give me the hungry signal any minute now.

I need to find a cure for this fucked up odor-induced plane-sickness. 

Monday, May 16, 2016

Jittery Broad

So, after much planning (that was not done by me), I'm finally heading out to Peru Wednesday night.

I'm fucking shitting bricks right about now.
This trip has been in the works since November... when May seemed like a fucking lifetime away.

Up until two weeks ago, I was the chillest of chill cucumbers. I had ZERO fear. I was downright careless.
Then I had to inform my work-out group I was leaving for Peru in two weeks-- THEY freaked out.
They have managed to embed all sort of doubts into my brain. I'm now thoroughly convinced I'm going to fucking die in the goddamn Andes.

"Do you have waterproof spray for your hiking boots?"
Me: I... don't have hiking boots yet.
"Do you at least have gel?"
Me: ... I need gel?
Me:... no.
"Do you AT LEAST have the Altitude Sickness pill?"
Me:... uh...
"Altitude Sickness can kill you!"
Me:... but... I'm... Native American... I think I can handle the altitude...

Everything is wrong, I'm going to fucking die, I'm a fucking idiot.

But GUYS! My mitochondrial DNA is Native American... My father's mDNA is as well. My motherfucking ancestral background is that of groups of human beings who fucking PLOWED through harsh terrain and fucking survived. That has to count for something, right? AND Hometown is located at an elevation of 6100ft... AND I've chilled in Mexico City, even RAN there, and that place is at 7,383ft... like... I'm going to fucking handle this shit.

I'm angry that despite all of these reassuring FACTS about myself (alongside the fact that I hit the gym 6 days a week... and I don't just fucking ride the goddamn elliptical for an hour-- I go hard), I have still allowed these hating-ass women to stress me the fuck out.
This past week has been horrible for me-- I have been restless as fuck at night, and my anxiety level is THROUGH THE ROOF. Saturday morning I was on the verge of a panic-attack... shallow breathing, trembling limbs, tears ready to burst any second. I had to force myself to take a nap, fearing I'd crack any second.

I've never been this uncomfortable before a trip. I'm not afraid over the fact that I'll be completely alone for the first leg of the trip, hanging out in Panama for 8 hours... I'm scared of actually BEING in Peru... with the other two chicks that will accompany me on the trip.

I HATE the fact that I allow others' doubt of my capacity and abilities seep into my mind, casting the self-doubt.
It SUCKS that others have such a low opinion of me... but it's fucking worse that I fall into the trap of believing them.


Monday, May 9, 2016

Jumbo Card

My sister made a surprise visit on Saturday for Mother's Day.
I knew of my sister's trip since Wednesday, when she purchased her tickets on a whim. My job was to remain quiet and make up a lie for when it came time to pick her up at the airport Friday night at 11:30.
So... I was dying inside keeping this lie from everyone. It took me about a day to decide what I was going to do (say I was picking up Kelley from the airport... Sorry, Kelley! hahaha), and next thing I knew, it was Friday and I had to put my acting into play.
I decided I would spend time with a friend, so as to avoid both my parents, come home just in time to head out to the airport, then surprise the folks.
As I was making the trek out to my friend's house (about 45 minutes away), I received the frantic, furious texts from my sister-- her flight was cancelled. "Crew issues" was the reason given.
After calming the kid down, she purchased another flight for Saturday morning-- 8:15AM.
I had to lie for ANOTHER day. That shit was killing me!
So... I put on my best acting face and... my folks believed it.

Saturday morning came around, I hit the gym at 5:30 in the morning, came home, had some breakfast, then casually rolled out to the airport.
In the car I had a giant Mother's Day card my mom had thrown a tantrum over WEEKS ago, thinking I hadn't purchased it, and I made my sister sit in the back with it so she could sign it.
I came home, made Sister stand behind the giant card, and surprised the fucking SHIT out of my mom.

"How did you... you... you little jerk!" Mom said.
And she cried.

"Oh my god, how did AnoMALIE do that? Why did she do that?" asked my mother's employee. "Had it been one of my kids, they would have thrown the card at me the first moment I complained about them being bad kids by not gifting it to me."
"That's just who she is," said my mother.

You see, for the last MONTH my mother had been hounding me, taking digs at me, after a tantrum she threw at a Walmart when she saw giant Mother's Day cards for three dollars.
She wanted me to buy her a card, right then and there, but I thought it would be tacky... thought it would be a better idea to buy it when she wasn't around and surprise her with it on THE ACTUAL DAY we're supposed to celebrate mothers. I was very much pulling a Santa Claus on her.
This, for some reason that day, made her go into the pettiest of tantrums, where she verbally insulted me in front of the Walmart cashier and other patrons.
HOURS later, I returned to Walmart while she was at work, and I purchased the fucking card... and I hid it behind my blank canvases.
For the rest of the month, I would not hear the end of her rehashing of the goddamn CardGate... she told the fucking story to ANYONE who would listen. I would stand there, quietly listening to her berate me as she went on her dramatic spiel of "NO ONE HAS APPRECIATED ME! All you do is GIMME GIMME GIMME! NEVER EXPECT ME TO GIVE YOU A DIME EVER AGAIN (this was a famous phrase she used at Walmart, that woeful day I turned down her request to purchase the card)!"
Mom took the bitching up to this past Thursday, when she recounted her story of woe to her sister as we all sat at work, killing time. I had to sit there and listen to both my aunt and Mom rebuke me for being so cruel and heartless... as I took my eyes off my phone's screen only to roll them with each self-pitying comment from these women.

Now Mom is going around telling everyone the story of how I'm a sneaky jerk... who quietly listens to people trash-talk her in public, just to smile the moment she gets the chance to prove EVERYONE WRONG.
'Cause I'm a sneaky bitch who LOVES teaching mean motherfuckers a lesson... uh... not that I'm calling my mom a "motherfucker" or anything.

But yeah, watch yo mouf, muthafuckaaas... I'm actually a nice, thoughtful girl. Most of the time.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Early 30s is too young

People retelling their "Where were you when 9/11 happened?" by now is downright annoying, I'm sure.
I've told my 9/11 story multiple times, almost every year... because it was so eerie.

Back when it occurred-- the day of-- I left school early because I had to drive out to Oklahoma for my brother's graduation from Basic Training.
I was scared out of my mind, because I had no idea what it meant for my brother's future. I remember my friends trying to calm my nerves, and the one that managed to do it the best was my "first HS friend." She was the first girl to bother to get to know me, and include me in her circle-- spoke to me in 10th grade, added me to her circle in 11th. Her father was in the military, so she proceeded to answer my very weird, nonsensical questions.
High school was a time I clung to her because we had six out of eight classes together... she comforted me. College came around the corner, and we parted ways-- she went off with architecture stuff, I went to science... we spoke two times in ten years.

Though we grew to be very different people, I will never forget the role she played in my life during the most excruciating moments.
I will always appreciate the kindness of this friend, the compassion she showed this quiet, awkward, timid girl.

Her oldest brother died today... and... I have no idea what to say.

This year is the absolute worst for the people in my life-- I'm so sorry, guys.