No more holes

So... when was the last time I wrote in here?
I've lost all sense of time... especially now that they've changed their clocks because of... daylights savings time (fuck, I'm forgetting English again).

Anyway, I haven't really had time to surf the internet because connection here sucks balls. I usually do the myspace thing, but I get cut off after about three minutes... so blogging's out of the question.
Internet's behaving today, though, so let's hope this entry makes it.

On Saturday TravelinDin got us FC Barcelona tickets... then we watched as the team slipped to third place in the Spanish league.
We're lucky like that...

I also watched Manchester kick major ass.
I love those guys.

Also... I think it may have been Friday when I almost got in a fight with the sibling and her friend because they were trying to force me to get a piercing against my will.
See, piercings are unbelievably popular in this part of Spain... and they've done their part by getting pierced (TravelingDin and Clemson).
When I said
"Nah, dude, I'm too old for that shit..."
They got all angry at me and they tried tricking me into going on the metro to the piercing shop... but I'm not THAT stupid.

I've also seen the cute 19-year-old. He was standing at the metro holding a surf board...
I must say... he looked... not "hot" but... straight up beautiful.
Super out of place.
6'whatever giant blond boy with a surfboard with the sun beaming down on him... amongst short Spaniards was just... odd.

Anyway... I will shut up now and hope this shit posts because... well, this internet thing is unreliable.

HOPE YOU GUYS ARE DOING GOOD OVER THERE.

...and don't forget:
FUCK FRANCE!

I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

So I'm finally out of France!
YEAAAAAAAAAAAH!

That last post I wrote as fast as possible because I happened to be in an inernet cafe that was run by middle-easterners... and while I definitely don't have a problem with middle easterners... they seem to have a problem with me.
They were very nice to us when we walked in... and spoke to us in English.
Once we told them were were from "the US.." they changed in attitude and were mean.

I would mention why this place sucked balls... but it's so long, and i don't have the time. I have to go home, type it out, then load it next time I get on-line.

Point of this is to say:
I'M HOME! Ok, I'm in Bilbao... but I'm in a country where people speak my language... and while they're a little eccentric, they're nice.

I'll be writing some more later on.

I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIVE!!

FUCK FRANCE.

Peace.

HELP ME JESUS!!

So I've been in France for 3 days... and it's been 3 days too many.
People are so fucking mean here... I've cried about 4 times... especially on the first day.
We arrived at 1 in the fucking morning... and not in Paris, but Sarcelle... look it up and you'll see why I've been crying my entire stay here.
London was fucking AMAZING.
ROME was a dream and I'm definitely doing that multiple times.
Spain... what can I say about Spain? If i could live anywhere else, it'd be there.
France?

NEVER FUCKING EVER.
I'd rather get stabbed... repeatedly... in the face... with a prison made shank.

Little Steps

I take back ever mentioning that kids here are cute.

The little punk upstairs has been running a fucking muck since 6 in the morning.
He entertains himself by throwing a rubber ball at the floor, then running after it... all done in the room directly above mine.
He's about three feet tall... so his little steps are frequent.
I thought it was cute the first hour... now I just want to go up there and confine him to a crib (or a parrot cage!!).
Fuck.

I was trying to sleep as long as possible... for the next three days are going to be a giant pain in the ass.
We're headed out to London at 4:30 after the first half of the Manchester/Derby game (I'm so stoked... they show SO much Cristiano Ronaldo here... I'm in heaven!). From there, we're taking a two hour bus ride to the airport... then getting on a plane at... I think 10? then we get to London at 11PM. From there... and since we have no room... we're sleeping in the damn airport.
Then, at 8 in the morning, my bro is going to pick us up, take us to his apartment so we (me, TravelinDin, and Clemson--that's what I'm naming her, since she goes there) can put our stuff away, then we're going to "see the sights"... even if it's raining and 40 degrees.
Hooray...
Not.
Fuck London, man, fuck it.
I'm just gunning for the possibility of seeing a Chav in his natural environment, once that occurs, I'll consider this trip successful.

On Monday, we're off to Rome, where we DO have a hotel to stay.
Ye-haw!

Greeeeeeen!

DAY 3!!

God, times goes by QUICK.
Today I really liked.

Travelin Din decided to take me into the city (I guess we live in the "tiny" town).
Beautiful 30 degree Celsius day.
What we do?
Walked around the city... sat behind the Bellas Artes museum... with some ice cream... in front of a park:I wanted to sit there for hours.
Those fountains were everywhere and they were huge!
So fucking amazing!
We stared at some emo girls (too many fucking emos), dogs, old people holding hands... it was just... god, I could have sat there forever.
Will definitely be one of those moments in my life where I'll be thinking back to for the rest of my days.
Then we went off to the shops...
So... SO nice.
Totally going to buy stuff before I leave.
While tons of people dress emo here, they do have other styles.
Anyway, we then went to some candy store, where the little old man that ran the place was nice and sweet... and called us "Chicas" which I like.

I was going to take pictures of the city, but TravelinDin wasn't cooperating.
She did cooperate when we were in the grocery store... of course, she did it unknowingly.

Lovely.
(A kilo of avocados is 4.99 Euros! I just had to complain about that).

Anyway, I'm off to the beach.
:)

Dia numero dos

Ha, yesterday I forgot to mention how I had a tiny bit of drama at the Bilbao airport.
It was totally all my fault, for being a retard tourist.

Ok, so this area of Spain is notorious for being the breeding ground of the ETA movement… you know… the so called terrorists in Spain… the ones responsible for blowing shit up in Madrid and all that dramatic stuff that occurs down here…. Something about them wanting to be a separate nation and whatnot (they speak Basque, which I had originally believed to be simple to learn—Catalan isn’t bad at all—but shit, the more I try to understand the language, the less logical it seems. I find no traces of root languages… like with Catalan, I see the mix of Spanish and French).
So things down here are pretty tense (not to mention how every fucking teenaged person is angsty up the ass. You think emo kids in America are bad… wait ‘til you meet some of these kids! I asked myself “How the fuck can you be angsty when you live in a place with such a gorgeous beach… and such green grass… such picturesque homes?! Be angsty when you live in the industrious city of Detroit, for fucks sake! WHY are you emo when you live in David the Gnome’s land only with slightly larger homes/people?!).
Well… I brought my phone with me from Vegas even knowing that once I left LA, I’d be fucked. I brought the charger because I plan on charging my phone on my last day in Bilbao so I can use it upon arrival at LAX (I have a 4 hours gap between flights… I have to kill time in some way). I packed my charger in my suitcase—along with my ipod charger and a calculator—and then I put a TSA lock on it.

Everything seemed fine up until the moment I had to pick up my bags at the Bilbao airport.
I noticed the release of our bags was taking some time… plenty of the passengers were becoming annoyed.
Once the bags began coming out of the back area/customs… I noticed the passengers kept staring at a bag.
Whose bag was it?
MINE. Of fucking course.
Customs officers had ripped the zippers off the bag where my chargers and calculator had been placed.
The bag was wide open, with my i-pod charger dangling off, like some sort of suit case visceral organ.
People stared at the bag until I grabbed it… and they then went as far as begin to whisper amongst one another…
Good shit, good shit.
I sat there and then noticed my phone charger was rolling down the belt on its own.

My poor calculator ran no such luck.

I then said “Motherfuckers!” and walked out of the airport… semi-escorted by some sort of cop guy.
Best part of my day, really…
To be thought of as a threat to a country is just funny to me… taken I’m such a quiet, shy, innocent, idiot girl.
But that’s what I get for being an imbecile who packs a calculator and chargers in the same spot of a suitcase.

I had to laugh about it later as I thought of the customs officers urgently attacking my poor 45 pound bag… ripping the zippers to inspect a huge block that serves as a cell phone charger.
God, how freaked out they must have been… because to rip up a bag on a suit case? Jesus Christ.

Anyway…
Day two in Bilbao… and I’m still in love with the place.
The kids here are so cute, that even I want to have one. Their little accents make me want to squeeze them… and that says a lot since I’m not very touchy-feely.
Yesterday night, as TravelinDin, her close friend, and I went shopping for a screw driver at the “Chinese store” (I find it charming and terribly endearing to see a Chinese guy speaking Spanish… it just makes me smile like a moron and stare in amazement), there was a small child walking next to us with his mother. He’d stand there and point at things at the store and say their name. He was learning… so he didn’t really have the Spanish accent… he sounded like TravelinDin and me. Anyway, it was strange… since the kid and his mom scene was so cute, then if you panned a little to the right to see TravelinDin, me, and TravelinDin’s Friend, you’d have 3 girls looking at hardware, two of them with screw drivers in their hand (long story… involving the ghetto ass dual voltage blow-drier I brought TravlinDin) and the third checking out crowbars (I then made a quip about “If anyone asks, I’m going to say ‘I really like your cars here in Spain…’ then hold up the screw driver and crowbar”). However, we did spend about five minutes humoring the little boy and “awing” his word for “dog” (something along the lines of… gello—“g-eh-yo” instead of “peh-Rrr-oh”—we thought aloud “I don’t see a rooster around here…” Rooster=Gallo).
Also, their metro system is BADASS!
If Vegas had a metro system… yeah… it’d be horrible… considering all the bad shit that could happen down there. Sad to see things you could never have.

Thing I don’t like: they put egg on EVERYTHING!
I had a sandwich yesterday that surprised the shit out of me once I saw yolk leaking out of it.
Also, their eggs here seem to have problems concerning cell division. The yolk seems to go through some freak double cytokenisis. It doesn’t fully cleave, so you get double yolks.

P.S. I love their internet cafes!

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?!

Spain....

La madre patria...

La cosa mas hermosa que he visto en mi vida.

I'm madly... absolutely madly in love with Spain.

Oh yeah, I'm alive.

I could have been telling another story though.... London was fucking horrible. The plane had to circle around the airport for thirty minutes because it was "unsafe" to land due to high wind speeds.
So, we're circling, right? Next thing you know, the plane just dives... and we all scream... yes... I used the all inclusive "we."
I added to the drama by holding on to my arm rest and then screaming.
It did this for a while, each time less people would scream.
Then came the finale, when we landed.... that was a bitch.
The plane tilted to the right (I was on the left... and couldn't see how close the wing got to the floor), and all the people on that side screamed.
The lady to my right was "persinandose" i.e. making the sign of the cross repeatedly on her forehead.
When the plane got back to normal position... a ton of folks clapped (not inclusive this time... because while I felt like kissing the pilots, I refrained from clapping because I think that's tacky... and it was already done by those one passengers in that other plane that actually did touch the surface).

Other than that story... everything went... eh. Oh! On the London-Bilbao flight I was so exhausted and incoherent.... that I became a somewhat belligerent idiot.
They were playing this techno-ish music as we were boarding. I thought I was only thinking this, but apparently I actually mumbled "This is so gay..." as I was streaming in and out of consciousness in my seat.
I also woke up one of the times with a smile across my face...
Another time, I was hunched over my armrest and in the way of the aisle.
I guess it bugged the guy sitting next to me (he was window seat) because he actually got up and traded seats, far far away from me.
Yes.
I'm an imbecile when working with only 10 hours of sleep... I'm an absolute, grade-A pendeja working on only 3 (You see, the British Airways flight I didn't sleep because the motherfucker in front of me decided he was going to spend the entire flight leaned all the way back. I had the urge to ask him if he just wanted to rest his head on my lap... but I decided to stay quiet and only glare at him... which worked magic because the sweet, angel, flight attendant was VERY rude to him. I wish I could buy her flowers... or gold, as a sign of my gratitude. Also, I was so into the movies... that I found only 3 hours to sleep... I watched No Country for Old Men, Into the Wild--SADDDDD! But I loved it!-- and some Atonement. Then I listened to the entirety of a Brahms album, Beethoven album, Frank Sinatra album, some Ella Fitzgerald, Rascal Flatts, and Manu Chau... would you sleep knowing all this shit was available to you for free? Fuck that!).

Anyway...
I think I'll post often... sometimes even with pictures... this place is like a dream.... so tiny... green... undoubtedly wonderful.
Plus... I'm popular here... the kids like me... they say my name correctly (it's so strange... I feel like I fit right in! But I also have to correct MYSELF when introducing myself to someone... because I'm so used to saying my name like a gringa)... and the boys... they all wanna know me... hahaha!
And which boy did I like? The blond, blue-eyed, 6 foot 4, nineteen year old Lake-Tahoe-Native.
That's right... I'm a cradle robber.
My sister's roommate, while admittedly handsome (tall, dark... with dimples. You know, very Mario-Lopez-Like... if Mario Lopez were half Indian)... is just... too into drinking and smokin' weed for me to swoon over him (Last night, when I first met him, he was panting--from riding his bike so fast home-- drunk, and slightly high. He told TravelinDin and I a story concerning his new gang of friends... at 1 o'clock in the morning. Then he caught himself in the middle of it, and wondered aloud "Wait... why am I telling you this?").

I'll stick to the tall, cute, has-been-legal-for-only-one-year boy who makes me laugh...

I LOVE SPAIN!!!!
(I saw the ocean today!!)

I'm ready!

In case I die...

It's been fun...
Sort of.

<3

Butterflies, my ass!!

With my trip a little over 24 hours away, I find myself:

-Constantly thinking twice about my duffle bag selection (white Burberry duffle bag). Why? Because Ryan was kind enough to introduce me to the term "Chav" (and "Chavette"). Now I constantly wonder... "Will this make me appear too Chavvy when I'm off running around in London? I don't want to befriend Chavs... or be mistaken for one..." Thanks Ryan... thank you very much.

- Worrying about getting question about the copious amounts of junk food in my luggage (You guys, I kid you not, I have about 10 pounds worth.... it makes me think of all those fat camp episodes/movies... and how there's that one little bastard who takes mounds of junk food to sell to the other fat kids... it's so annoying! I feel like damn Cartman right now...)

- Worried about getting mugged by Gypsy kids... I hear they're a major pest.

- paranoid over my recently outted gum that I have stashed in my carry-on, that I also plan on offering to people in case of bad breath (I'm joking).

- worried about dying...

Yeah...
OK...
I should be excited, right?

Then why the fuck am I so... nervous right now?
I'm such a fucking baby.

Ode to Verizon

Dear cell phone carrier:
You suck dick.
Without you, my life would be merrier.
You make me sick.

You make me think
My friends are mad at me...
Perhaps on the brink
Of getting disowned to a degree.
:[

I take the phone with me,
It doesn't leave my side...
It's in the bathroom as I pee,
As if it were my pride.

I wait for a call
Or even some texting.
I stare at the wall...
This silence is vexing.

Should I blame the phone?
Maybe, who knows?
I turn it on in search for the tone...
Still there... this blows!

Is it the Moto Q
Causing all my woes?
It wasn't mentioned at its debut...
Guess that's what I get for trusting "Bros."

Here's to you, Verizon,
You bunch of worthless tricks!
Here's to another horizon
I have spent shitting bricks!

WTF... this fucking phone is ALWAYS messed up!
Yesterday, it started acting up since the early morning...
I kept getting upset thinking my friends were pissed at me... or that I was pissing them off.
I couldn't send or recieve messages... or phone calls (of course, I didn't know that... I just presumed people were giving me the silent treatment, so I left all dejected to Wallmart to buy my travel supplies).

Shit... as if the damn 50 bucks I cough (ok, I don't, Mom does) up every month isn't enough...
Even when the bill was 100 bucks a month, it would do this to me at times, even causing me a nice little argument with Lucky Soprano... and I think it drove me to call Native Minnow a jerk around the same time.

FUCK YOU, VERIZON!!
(P.S. I can't even get picture messages from people... that's how fucking lame my service is... I need to get on-line to check them... and media messages? Shit, forget about 'em. Choke on a dick, Verizon... choke on a dick)

Keep it indoors, lady!

I just...
caught my neighbor lady getting... banged... out in her backyard... hard...

Oddly enough... I was the one mortified... for being caught in my green pajama bottoms at nearly 2 in the afternoon....

MY NEIGHBORS ARE THE FUCKING TRASHIEST NEIGHBORS IN ALL THE FUCKING ENTERPRISE LAND (because we all know there are plenty of other crazy neighbors in Vegas communities, I just didn't know my hood was as trippy as my old central Vegas one)!!
(no pun intended... or is it? I don't know!! Now I must go and wash my eyes out with some chlorine)

Diplo...monadida.

OH HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ok, March, we've made peace.
:DDDDDD

Oh no...

Well...

Saturday's birthday ranks in my top 5 of worst birthdays... nah, let's call it a top 3... because I've never really had HORRIBLE birthdays... most often, they're pretty rad... I can only think of... two other bad birthdays (surprise, surprise, they both landed on Ash Wednesday)... then there's my 20th birthday. It's not top 3 because I did have fun until the last 20 minutes of it when I totally lost it and started bawling due to the incredible exasperation I felt.
So... here are the reason (if anyone cares.... oh fuck, did I turn Emo with this new birthday?):
1) My Dad didn't wish me a happy birthday.
2) My siblings weren't home (I'm used to not having my bro... finally... but being sister-less sucked balls)
3) Mr. Darcy forgot. First time in 3 years. (a ton of people forgot, but who gives a shit? I wanted him to remember, and that's what matters. He's always so creative when it comes to wishing me a happy birthday...)
4) This thing never seems to end. (no matter how much I tell daddy to not hold off getting tested, he won't listen. He's unusually chill about it all. He went to this place... I think it was October... it might have been September? This news, while it no longer upset me, does still piss me off... PRIME example of why I said FUCK IT to being a doctor. Too many stupid motherfuckers who only see dollar signs in patients instead of caring for their actual well-being... it drains the fucking life out of you)
5) I had a terrible headache the entire day... and it decided to last an extra 24 hours onto yesterday.
6) This wonderful birthday gift dad gave me as I headed out on my birthday:

Dad: Mija... so have you heard the news?
Me: (Smile) ... no...
Dad: Ok... well... don't tell anybody, it's a sensitive matter.
(I STILL smile... I'm such a retard. He always talks about money with me--that's what I thought he was going to do, since recently, it's become a very serious matter-- because I'm the one who'll pat him in the back or jump up with glee. I dare you not to smile when someone gives you an eight-digit number... I DARE you!)
Me: O...k
Dad: They kidnapped Walrus'* youngest son in TJ.
Me: ... so... they finally accomplished it?
Dad: Yeah... Walrus paid the ransom... but they didn't give him his son back...
(I'm gaping... I can't shut my mouth no matter how hard I try)
Me: Oh my God... that's awful....
Dad: Walrus' brothers and sisters know... and His-Snitch-Sister-In-Law told Dad'sCousin who then told Mom'sGoddaughter... who then told the world.
Me: Oh my God...
(* Not actual name, duh)

Instead of going out like I had originally planned... I just went to church... dazed... and came back home... dazed.
I've been handling this bad headache... and I've been sort of nauseous since getting the news.
I'm in awe that anyone would do this... to ANYONE. It's... so... terrible.
My Dad brags WAY more than Walrus when it comes to money... so the news was like... a double whammy. I've reminded dad about three times since: YOU see what happens when you let people know how much money you have?!
Jesus Christ... as if I wasn't paranoid enough.
Anyway... my heart goes out to the family... and I can't help but frown each time I think of the pain they must be facing right now, not knowing where... how... their son is.

March, baby, why so fucking... weird? I love you, don't you love me? We had enjoyed 22 years together in perfect harmony (ok, I'll admit, when Selena got shot and killed in 1995, I was pretty upset with you)... and this is what you give me in 2008? Thanks, bitterass bitch...

P.S. Lovin' the wind, slut.

23

I didn't even like the idea of turning 1 (I love how the crying progresses from "Boo-hoo," to "FUCK YOU! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOOOOOOOO! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaami!" I tell you guys, I was anti-social since birth. Poor Godmom, I must have messed up her hearing real nice)... How the fuck am I supposed to feel great about turning 23?

I hate it.

Birthdays stopped being fun after 21... although my 21st was... pretty freakin' LAAAAAAAME.
23...
Man, pardon me... I'm off to cry in the corner of some room... this sucks (and I have a meanass headache to accompany this heartache.... gah).