Wednesday, August 26, 2009

La Diferencia.

Aunque malgastes el tiempo sin mi cariño,
Y aunque no quieras este amor que yo te ofrezco,
Y aunque no quieras pronunciar mi humilde nombre,
de cualquier modo yo te seguiré queriendo.

Yo se que nunca tu podras jamas amarme.
Que a tu cariño llegué demasiado tarde.
No me desprecies,
No es mi culpa,
No seas mala.
Porque tu eres
de quien quiero enamorarme.

Que daño puedo hacerte con quererte?
Si no me quieres tu, yo te comprendo.
Perfectamente sé que no nací yo para ti,
pero que puedo hacer si ya te quiero?

Déjame vivir de esta manera.
Yo te quiero tal cual y sin condiciones.
Sin esperar que un día tu me quieras como yo,
consciente estoy mi amor que nunca me querrás.

Talvez mañana yo despierte solo,
pero por el momento quiero estar soñando.
No me despiertes tu,
no ves que asi yo soy feliz?
Consciente estoy mi amor,
que no eres para mi.
No hay necesidad que me desprecies,
tu ponte en mi lugar, a ver que harias?

La diferencia entre tu y yo
talvez sería, corazón,
que yo en tu lugar si te amaría.


Sunday, August 16, 2009

Attack of the wedding, once again

Yesterday, my good ol' cousin officially jumped into the "I'M MARRIED, MUTHAFUCKA!" wagon.

And yes... I was a bridesmaid... and YES, my day was not... the greatest.

Here's why:

(Hairdresser's place, 9AM, four of us are getting our hair done at the place)

Hairdresser number 1: AnoMALIE, come with me.
(as I walk up to HDN1, to walk towards her chair)
Hairdresser number 2: (in Spanish) HDN1, do you know how to comb hair?
Hairdresser number 1: (pausing) ... yeah... I think I do.
Me: (internally) Grrrreat! I'm FUCKED!!!

(a little later, same place)

Hairdresser: So, who's the bride?
Me: None of us... she's related to the bride, the rest of us are related to the groom.
Hairdresser: How old are you?
Me: 24
Hairdresser: So when are you getting married?
Me: (internally) So I can be the ex-wife, mother of five, to some ex-cholo like you are? (spoken) Never!

-When I went to get my make-up done, my sis and little cousin had the awesome make-up artist... while I got the one who looked like Marylin-Manson-Phase Rose McGowan... No need to discuss how I turned out.
-Church time rolled around and I was the last one to be told who I was partnered up with (I don't like ending my sentences with prepositions, but I'm in a hurry to finish... but it's fucking killing me!).
-I was the tallest girl, and my poor godfather (my partner), was down to my ear...
-After church, I came home to change into flip flops for the rest of the wedding.
-I watched my godson treat OUR cousin like his girlfriend all night. It was... awkward as fuck.
-My brother got HAMMERED... I mean... fucking trashed... and was going around making an ass of himself with all the family members he could find, no matter their age (toddlers to 80 something year olds... he did not discriminate).
- The bridesmaid dress was a piece of shit. It kept rolling off my shoulders... to the point where the front of my bra was showing, in its entirety, when we did the traditional dance in which all the bridesmaids hold hands, single-filed, and run around the entire salon. I could not do a thing about it, since both my hands were busy, and I was in mid sprint... NOT COOL. I might as well have gone to the wedding in a skirt and Bustier.

More things occurred... but the thing that ruined the night, by far, was my drunken brother. We had to bring him home, with the help of 4 guys and a girl, before the wedding was over.
I'd be a little more pissed had no one else at the party been drunk...
but you see... it was Open Bar... and... well... boys and girls (alike) were shit faced, left and right.

Oh, the memories!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

all ten fingers, all ten toes

I survived.
By a hair.

No, I'm not saying that because I almost fell of a cliff... or even had a gun pointed at my face (I did have a gun pointed at me, but it was at a military checkpoint, so it doesn't count), but because there were plenty of circumstances where I felt I'd die of a heart attack.
The vibe this summer was... surreal, to say the least.
It was a war zone, plain and simple. The law vs. The criminals... and the criminals are winning, CLEARLY.

I spent a majority of the time crying... ok, not crying (I only did that at night, maybe four times in all), but I whined a lot. And I almost got on a bus to come back to Vegas 3 times.
My day consisted of: waking up as late as possible, that usually being 11AM, playing Guitar Hero World Tour (and mastering all 4 "instruments," including the vocals... where I learned I could probably replace Chris Martin in real life without anyone noticing... well, up until we'd have to go on tour or film music videos, where they'd see that no, I am NOT an emaciated British man) from 12-2PM, watching my soap opera from 2-3, studying for the GRE from 3PM to 6PM (I looked FORWARD to this! Can you believe that?!), preparing to go out to the park from 6-7, going to the park and sometimes playing volleyball (when the dumb cunts would let me... my God, was there hostility towards me this year!) from 7-9:15PM, moping around the house until my brain couldn't take it anymore and gave up the fight against the sandman... which would be around 1 AM.
I avoided going to the "cities," out of fear of bumping into the "Zetas."

All in all... it was terrible.

And no... it DID NOT help me forget the June Cancun Debacle.

(However, coming home sure felt great... my friends are the shit!!!)