Macho, macho men!

Eghh... it really sucked to find out that the dude I've been crushing on for the majority of the semester is quite dull.
I'd stare each time he sat by me... and I even saw his Myspace once (because we have a friend in common). I really dug his presence. However, after today, I must say he has WAY more character on a webpage than he does in person.
Boring.
He's also a monotone... yeah... I guess I was too busy in class trying to decipher what the sleepy professor was saying to actually sit an pay attention to the guy interact with other humans.
He's just very... dry... I don't know... I didn't like it (and for me to say that, wow, that's BAD. I like almost every guy... or at least I find something to like in any guy. This poor dude... not even his military experience helped him out). What a bummer.
At least he made lab exams bearable (kind of. He'd ask so many stupid questions and drive the poor lab TA insane... but I got to stare. He only showed up to exams though, so I saw him maybe 6 times in lab).

Anyway... off to more important stuff:
I miss Mawmaw (She's in Zacatecas now! Grrr...)!

My Dad is driving me freakin' insane!
We fight so much...I'm surprised the neighbors haven't called the cops yet (maybe because my neighbors are fucking felons themselves... trashy ass Californians).
It's crazy how Dad acts as if he's the only person living in this house. He drinks/eats my stuff... things I personally shopped for... things he's previously said "Man, that stuff's disgusting!" to. Why?

"Because it was right there... in the refrigerator."

Well, no shit, Sherlock! It has to be in the fridge. What? Do I have to start making cubbyholes in the fridge to hide my shit, now? Where am I? Prison?!
He ate the world's best cheese already (Mom and I called it that because we've never had such good Queso Ranchero in our lives. We decided we'll never have anything like it again)... and there was about 2 pounds of it left last week. Once Mom left for Mexico... it disappeared! And Dad's lactose-intolerant... which... only baffles me.
He has this thing, where instead of following directions and, say, gently ripping the perforated top from the tortilla bag, he'll go all He-Man on us and just rip the entire thing.
Grrr! By the power of Grayskull...I have the power!
What the hell, Dad? Was it taunting you or just threatening the safety of the world?
He'll carve into things... like cheese or fruits... as if he were going on some sort of gold excavation. He'll leave us these lopsided-ass blobs that we're supposed to be compelled to eat.
He'll leave the sloppy, used dishes at the table, and he'll cook smelly food inside the house (a big no-no with Mom. BIG, big no-no with Mom) only to have my sister and I chocking to death in our rooms.

We had a sweet ass argument last night thanks to PBS:
(On TV: Show about Mormons that I happen to be listening to because I thought of that one South Park episode. I also need a diversion while doing my pre-run routine, so I was sitting in the living room stretching and watching PBS)
Dad: They're "sick pups" (I HATE that term! HATE it).
Me: Why?
Dad: Aren't you listening? There's something wrong with their heads.
Me: Well... if anyone were to walk into your church and see all you guys jumping, and dancing, and talking to yourselves--I mean, Jesus-- I'm sure people would think you guys were "sick pups."
(Dad scowls at me)
Me: I'm just sayin'... we're all weird.
(Dad looks at me over his reading glasses... à la Santa Clause making a list, checking it twice)
Me: You can't just go around calling people "sick pups," because we all have different beliefs. Whatever gets you by, gets you by. If it makes you a better person, even better.
(Dad's still looking at me as if I have a serious mental disorder)
Me: Do you think we (Mom, Bro, Sis, me) are sick pups 'cause we're Catholic?
Dad: ... well...
(::gasp!:: You Pentecostal Poo-Poo head!)
Me: You just sing, and dance, and talk to God to your heart's content.
Dad: What the hell is wrong with you? Is that what they teach you in school? To be blasphemous?
Me: Yep. And biochemistry, too!

I hate that shit. I absolutely hate it. I love my Daddy, but when he goes off on his religious tirades, I just want to jump off a bridge or something (he later came in to the computer room, where I was, and put the television on one of those evangelical channels... only to chime in with "Amen to that!" and "Praise the Lord!" whenever someone said something he liked. "You hear that, Mija? The Bible's alive!" Cool, Pa, now can you please take that to your room and let me finish Googling slides of the male and female reproductive systems?).
I thought he would stop being that way after this one Pentecostal "sister" of his came up to my mom, brother, little sister, and me to tell us that we were all going to hell for being Catholic, this when I was like... 8.
And while he hasn't said we're going to hell, he still thinks we're basket cases for crying when the Pope died (he was adorable and funny and artistic and cool and old and sympathetic... and... who wouldn't cry?!).

Mami!! Venga pronto, que este hombre me esta volviendo loca!