Friday, February 28, 2014

Give only to take away

I've dreamt of Tyson for the last week or so.
Impossible not to get weepy about it... especially after the week mark. It really sucks to continually feel so happy in A DREAM only to wake up to an empty house, no Tyson to be found... just me in complete silence, sitting at the kitchen table at eight in the morning, alone.
Of course, I cheer up as the day continues, but each morning, I can't help but feel an awful sense of melancholy.

Let's not get things twisted, I DO enjoy solitude and silence; I get all crazy when not given the adequate peace and quiet. It just feels like a slap to my face to-- night after night-- remember the one little creature that I allowed to keep me company, the little dude I loved with all of my heart and who actually loved me back... to remember that happiness, and then wake up to such stark contrast, MY reality-- he's dead, I'm alone. Kinda makes handling shit, this dealing business, difficult.

I go to bed each night and never fail to say, out loud, as though he will hear me "I miss you..."

Tomorrow would have marked 13 years of my little dude being in my life... so this whole emotional shit is a little heavy.
I promise I'm still a happy girl... it's just some days are harder than others.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Hit a fist

Word on the street is that my "face hit a dude's fist."

The correct way to phrase that would be:
The side of a dude's hand smacked me on my right temple as I stood distracted by conversation.

There's a difference... though undoubtedly I WOULD do such a thing as walk into someone's fist. But I didn't do that this time, this time I was really just distracted when I should have ducked.

It was not serious at all, only messed up my hair a little... but it did remind me how LONG it's been since someone physically hit me hard.
Hilariously enough (I'm being somewhat sarcastic here... it's actually kind of sad), the spot I got smacked on is the same spot I was last punched.
That last punch was nearly seven years ago. Now THAT was a punch. I couldn't hear a thing out of my right ear for a good two hours.
My brother punched me that morning before my ecology midterm... that was lovely.

I guess I'm a good actress when it comes to getting injured.
Maybe I'm just so shy and timid, so eager to be invisible, it's just automatically assumed I'm terrified of getting hit... or something?
Maybe I'm not intimidating at all... just really pathetic? I look fragile and scared... ready to break at the slightest touch?

It's strange to see others concerned after hitting me-- concerned not because they fear I'll strike back, but because they fear they hurt me.

That's a first.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

In dreams

Those who think the violence will end in my hometown after today's actions are dreaming.

I am... somewhat shellshocked, to be honest.

The dude was responsible for turning my place of refuge into a living hell. My slice of heaven turned to a bloody war zone.
And nobody gave a shit, or cared to BELIEVE it, because we were all just a bunch of little "villagers" who were coming up with fabled stories of severed heads, pools of blood, golden assault riffles, lavish parties, hundreds of armed men in black. A bunch of bored little villagers who had nothing better to do but come up with stories.

I'm reading all these articles on the guy, and laugh.
No, they were real. They happened. And often.

He may be caught, but honestly, I think the violence is only going to get worse. I don't think the heads of the other groups are all going to amicably meet in some secret location, and evenly divide the territories. Hell no.

I don't know what to think. I'm sad, and I'm scared.
This problem isn't going to go away, and now I'm left hoping it doesn't get any worse.

I'm gonna go vomit now.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Legs for days

Last night I had a very vivid, somewhat disturbing dream.

I was in Mexico, excited and sad about being in front of my abandoned house.
As I approached the front door, I saw the window was open, and through the mesh cover, I saw what I thought was Tyson, happily wagging his tail (looking like he's about to bust at the seams with excitement, my baby) as he stared at me from the middle of the living room.
"TYSON!!" I screamed and ran at the door. I started speaking to "Tyson" in the voice I typically spoke to him... the voice I used to baby him.
As I babied Tyson, I saw he was really a slender boxer dog, whose brindle coat made me think he was my little Tyson.
I felt embarrassed for having been stupid enough to think Tyson was still alive, and to have confused him for this boxer. The embarrassment turned to sadness and heartbreak, remembering he's really just dead.
Instead of fearing this strange dog, I proceeded to open the front door carefully, still talking as sweetly as possible to this dog. The dog licked my hands, then ran outside.
As I stepped into the living room, I was quickly horrified into stillness as I saw two perfectly dismembered feet (cut directly below the knee. Intact calf muscle, and feet) in the middle of the room. They were young feet, still in the strappy platform heels the unfortunate victim must have been wearing. The toes were perfectly manicured with white polish... but the toes were horribly curled into each other.

I stood in the living room, trying to breathe as quietly as possible, panicked at the thought that the ones responsible for the dismemberment could still be in my house, hearing me.
I darted my eyes around the room, and after seeing no one was in my immediate quarters, I ran for the front door and ran into the street.
The day had started to turn to night, and as I kept my eyes on my front door, my neighbors startled me as they bumped into me, laughing.

I then woke up, saw it was five in the morning... and my heart was beating so hard, I could feel it in my throat.

As is customary, I looked up the meaning of this jacked up dream online... because I like that shit... especially when the dream is so vivid and refuses to leave my mind.

Apparently, to dream of dismemberment: suggests that some situation or circumstance is falling apart in your waking life. You feel cut off, isolated and disempowered. You may also be experiencing some great and significant loss. You are feeling a loss of power, potential, or identity.
To see feet/legs in dreams: feet represents mobility, independence and freedom. Perhaps you have taken a step in the right direction and are contemplating your goals or your next step.  The sole of the foot may be a pun of being or feeling like the "sole" or only support of some person or situation. In particular for the people of India, to dream of the feet may symbolize divine qualities since the feet are considered the holiest part of the body. To dream that your leg is broken, wounded or crippled signifies a lack of balance, autonomy, or independence in your life. You may be unable or unwilling to stand up for yourself. Perhaps you are lacking courage and refuse to make a stand. If you dream that someone has one leg, then it refers to some sort of failing relationship.
My faithful dog, who turned out to NOT be my dog? To see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. The dream suggests that your strong values and good intentions will enable you to go forward in the world and bring you success. The dream dog may also represent someone in your life who exhibits these qualities. Alternatively, to see a dog in your dream indicates a skill that you may have ignored or forgotten.
To see a happily barking dog in your dream symbolizes pleasures and social activity. You are being accepted into some circle.

And to be scared at sundown? night may be synonymous with death, rebirth, reflection, and new beginnings. To dream that it is night time, but it is still as bright as day, indicates that you now have clarity and insight into a once unclear situation. Something that was previously hidden is now being revealed to you. To see the sunset in your dream indicates the end of a cycle or condition. It is a period of rest, contemplation and evaluation. To dream that you are scared indicates that you are experiencing feelings of self-doubt, incompetence, and lack of control in your waking life. Perhaps you are having second thoughts about a decision you have made. Anger often masquerades as fear, so also consider issues about which you are angry about in your waking life.

That's nice. Yeah.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

La Felicidad

My happiness-- it's an accumulation of events and decisions.

1. I have health care AND dental care.
I finally feel a little bit more normal. I am that Mexican-American kid, child of immigrants, who never had health care coverage... well, once for a brief period of time in 4th grade, but other than that, I was shit out of luck.
Cut myself? Suck it up! Don't look at the injury and wait for it to heal on it's own. Stitches? Come over here, bring me the sowing kit, I'LL sow that shit up for you... what? You don't think that's a good idea? Then shut up.
Broken bones? Bitch, you know better than to fuck around with something capable of breaking a bone-- don't do it. Break a bone, heal on your own. (Never did break a bone)

Fun times, growing up.

2. I joined a legit boxing gym with my bestie.
Not only do I get to take it back to our college days by hanging out with my best homie on a regular basis, but we get to pummel the shit out of stuff. I can't begin to describe how relieving this all is for me.
I sweat so much, and get worked SO HARD, each night I drop like a sack of potatoes on my bed, more than ready for lights out. I sleep like a fucking baby.
The chill time with Kelley also gives me much needed laughs... or gossip time, because MAN, can I fucking talk shit without getting judged when I chat with her. She also gives me good advice. And if shit-talking or problem solving isn't involved, I always learn SOME sort of fact from her, and my vocabulary increases by at least two words-- new words or ones I forgot in a ten year time span.

3. Nutrition coach.
This Christmas, my sister gave me the weird gift of a nutrition coach.
Sister originally hired him for herself, but since she's quite fond of beer and ice cream, she exasperated him with her lack of discipline. Sister then told the coach about me, how she may lack discipline, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm militant about shit when I set my mind to it. SO, the coach gave Sister a two for one deal, and that's how I got myself a coach.
First thing he did? Force-fed me some carbs... lots and lots of carbs.
And I. Am. Happy.
Within three days of the twelve week program, I felt a shift in mood. I'm a fucking ray of sunshine, no lie. Life is fucking beautiful and brighter and all that shit.
The program isn't built to thin me out, it's made to build me up... which I am TOTALLY game for. Bitches always feel compelled to share their opinion of how muscle on girls is ugly, but that's not something I give a single shit about. Muscle is gorgeous. Muscle is strength. Muscle is intimidating. Muscle I WANT.
No frail little chick here, thank you very much.

The sense of happiness and serenity I feel is indescribable. It makes me go to bed with a smile on my face... a genuine, carefree, involuntary smile.
I am so much kinder to strangers, and I only really scowl maybe once or twice on my daily commutes.

Shitty things have happened and STILL happen, but it's so much easier to release the crappy stuff and move on. It's not that I'm ignoring them, I just ask myself what good the feeling does me, and I have a much easier time carrying on with my day and life (I actually had a nasty incident a few weeks back that I was going to vent about here, but I wound up falling asleep before I posted it, and so, the moment passed. It WAS hilarious, now in hindsight... maybe I'll post it some other day, when I find the photo I was going to add before knocking out).

I feel like a hippie. Am I being creepy? I'm a different girl, and it all happened over the course of like... ten days. I'm all zen and whatnot, but I still have my incredibly dirty mouth, so no, my mind wasn't hijacked or any of that shit... I'm just very happy and pleasant. It's pretty cool.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Mains ripping out Manes

Ahhhh, Valentine's Day aftermath.
I don't know about you guys, but I had a decent day... except that my "aftermath" sucked: woke up at 3:30 AM to vomit my chocolate cake overindulgence. I now can't think of chocolate without feeling my stomach kick the shit out of me... even typing the word produces an involuntary gag reflex.

But enough of that, I'm trying to keep my food in.
I noticed a lot of hate, as expected, but also an unnaturally high number of girls posting "side chick" related shit. Apparently there are a lot of "side chicks" out there, and everyone's a "main bitch."
My take is this: if you're such a "main" why the fuck are you so concerned about the "sides" and more importantly, why the fuck are you always complaining about your guy and how guys are so fucking useless etc. etc. Wouldn't a dude who considered you his "main" refuse to treat you like shit AS OFTEN as you post all your angry, man-hating rants?

I am no one's "main", (ok! this is a question regarding grammar! You see what I just did there with the comma? I was taught to place the comma INSIDE the parenthesis... yet recently, I've seen people from all walks of academia place it WITHIN the parenthesis... this drives me batshit crazy. I need answers! I haven't been in school in seven years... rules can change in that amount of time, right? I hate this shit) much less their "side" so I don't really mention this or care about it. It's only when I see seven fucking girls on my FB and IG timeline bring up the Main VS Side Chick shit that I'm sort of forced to form an opinion.
My opinion? DUMB. If you suspect your man of having a side chick, dump the fucker. If you suspect you're a side chick, dump the motherfucker. If the guy lacks respect and refuses to make time for you, why the fuck are YOU wasting YOUR time on him? Are you that scared of being alone? Being alone is actually pretty fun... unless you're boring as fuck and can't entertain yourself... which... if you can't entertain yourself, how the fuck can you believe you can entertain others?

Ugh... too much shit talking going on from me, so I think I'll shut up.

In summation:
Don't be a side chick.
Don't settle for being a "main" chick.
You deserve to be THE ONLY chick (unless you're down with swinging or open relationships, then by all means, fuck as many folks as you both agree are cool).

Girls, I swear.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Until After

"Legit" boyfriends I don't think I've had. 
By legit I mean "official." 
By "official" I mean "he asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend and I agreed."

Well, I did have one "official" boyfriend, in fifth grade (oh shit, wait, I had another one of those in first grade... hahaha! Oh man, I had forgotten all about him. Freddy. From first grade until the end of second grade, where I was separated from my latinos and forced into english classes. Traumatic). I've talked about him on here, I've even written a short story.
He was the best... in his weird, gangster-with-a-sweet-side way.
Homeboy liked me since we were third graders, but didn't tell me anything until fifth grade.

He didn't ask me out until AFTER my birthday... why? Because:
1. Saint Valentine's Day is in February.
2. My birthday is the first day of March.
Apparently those two days were too close together, and he felt it most prudent to ask me out after... so he wouldn't have to spend money on any gifts.

But seriously, he was a sweet, sweet boy (every girl's crush, back then. Everyone but me... I was too sprung on some other jerk).
He took care of me as best he could in fourth grade, when those two horrible girls tormented the fucking HELL out of me every single day.
He would randomly throw sweet compliments at me... like while making line to go into the library, or while aggravated in the lunch line... or while sitting quietly in class, in the dark, watching educational videos.
He'd play that ranking game with his friends, where they'd rank the girls in school on a hotness scale from 1-10. I remember glancing over, angrily, to see they'd ranked two of my friends as 2's... and Mario had ranked me a... one trillion? I don't know, it was a 1 with a bunch of zeros following, all the way to the end of the page. I remember feeling embarrassed that someone could find me that pretty... that the "hottest" guy in school found ME to be that pretty... it was... weird.
In sixth grade, when his hoodlum friends that sat in the back with him threw spit wads into my hair, he hit them and then discreetly told me to shake my hair, that I "ummm, have something in your hair."

When he told me he didn't ask me sooner to be his girl because he would not have been able to afford it, I felt like shit... for him.
I'm pretty sure that experience has much to do with the fact that I don't really give a shit about gifts... and the fact that I hold homemade/heartfelt gifts a lot closer to my heart.
I don't need dinners or material objects to be happy, something as priceless as a smile on a shitty day is enough for me. Something as simple as a reassuring squeeze to my shoulder remains burned into my memory forever.

Happy Valentine's Day.
I'm not a hater... enjoy the day whether you're single or taken.

I'm good.

Friday, February 7, 2014

Happy tears?

I keep thinking I'm going to update... and I start, but then I have to leave, or fall asleep, so I never finish anything.

But I am still happy. So fucking happy.
And busy.
And... I'm having a good time.
And I'm not TOO paranoid about all of this exploding, and then being unable to put the pieces back together once it does.

I'm happy. I'm smiling A LOT. I'm seeing faces I hadn't seen in years... I'm meeting new, wonderful people.
I mean... this is all so... it's all going so smoothly, I get all fucking emotional and just... look up into the sky and mouth "thank you" to whoever, WHATever is responsible for this turn of events.
Sometimes, I even find myself crying-- nothing loud or scandalous, just me sitting there, quietly, tears rolling down my face out of sheer... joy? Gratitude? Whatever it is, it's new, and something I thought I'd never experience-- something I WASN'T MEANT to experience--and now that it's making a strange little vacation home in my heart, I don't know what to do... I just... cry.