Bye bye birdie

I'm going to fkn puke.

... Yeah...
How the hell Mom has managed to remain married to my pops for 28 years is beyond me.
Does any grown, adult man living with another human behave like this?

Look at the damn thing just chillin' (no pun intended) in the fridge... not only is it unsightly as fuck, but more importantly, it's next to MY grapes!
Cross-contamination, dude!

My dad is a caveman!

Am I overreacting? Maybe... I mean, I'm sure many people have skinned pigeons (which were killed in the backyard by a BB-gun-toting father) sitting in their fridge...
But it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to gag... or yelp a little, each time I open the fridge.

Home, sweet home.
I need to barf...

No blackout for me come February '09!

It's official:
For the first time in my life, there is LEGAL satellite in my home!

(so many "firsts" for me this year... I didn't think this one would ever come)

Weekend that wouldn't end.

More observations (hey, I feel no need to write actual posts... you know... with grammar and all that shit... for now. I'm tired and still cranky... trying to solve a bunch of fucking stupid problems I SHOULDN'T be having at this age) made Friday through Monday.

1. If ever approached by a guy holding a camera who asks to take a picture, DON'T feel guilty about saying NO.
(On Saturday, while at the wedding, I noticed this short guy-- not bad looking or anything... just not my style, since I feel no sense of attraction for a dude who looks like a 5 foot 4 rehabbed "cholo"-- kept taking pictures of me. At first I was like "Whatever... I'm sort of in the way... what the fuck ever... just look away." After the FIFTH time he came to my table to say "Let me take a picture of you guys" to my folks, I started getting uncomfortable-- I went as far as pushing my chair back to make sure he was taking a picture of ONLY my parents... to which he stepped back and STILL got a picture of me... stalker. Things only got worse once I found out the guy was the groom's younger brother--and by younger, I mean "he was probably 35..."-- and so, I was sort of forced to be nice to him. At the end of the night, he came up to us AGAIN, then asked me and my sis if he could get a picture [this was after he spent the entire day getting pictures of me from all angles... seriously... like... no joke]. While I felt urged to grab his camera, smash it on the floor, and stomp on it repeatedly as I screamed "STOP IT! ENOUGH, ALREADY! I'm not a celebrity!!" I smiled, leaned in to my sister and said "Sure..." God... I'm too nice)

2. DON'T MAKE ME SLEEP IN A CAR IN THE PARKING LOT OF A MOTEL!!!!!!
(I cried from 3 in the morning Saturday, until 8:30 AM of the same day. Yes, I was hormonal... and missing My Guitar Hero... but I was furious at the thought that my parents have POOR planning skills... and by "poor" I mean "SHIT")

3. I'm going to be a terrible cougar....
(umm... who would have guessed it... I still have a thing for dudes that are at least 2 years my juniors... how gross... but I can't help it!! We have so much in common!... and he has purdy lips... and eyes... and eyebrows... and hands... and... blah blah blah)

4. Bands are ruined when one member falls for the other...
(we were gold-starring on expert and everything... Damn it, AnoMALIE, always ruining a good thing!)

5. Sonoma Valley is expensive... and ugly... in the summer.
(so dead... everything was dead)

6. Egg rolls, while tasty, make a car smell horrendously after 5 hours... after 9, it's straight up the smell of death.
(we were too cheap/nice? to throw away the platter of egg rolls MGH's mom made for us)

7. Never, never, never, never, never EVER go on two long road trips with only one day of "rest" in between.
(First, we do the whole Mexico-to-Vegas 21 hour long road trip on Wednesday. Then Thusrday morning we start doing the whole "Vegas Tour" for MGH up until 1 in the morning. Then, Friday afternoon, we head out for the 10 hour ride up to Sonoma Valley.... then Saturday we party it up at a wedding... then Sunday morning we head to San Francisco... once there... we talk it up with relatives we haven't seen in 7 years... go to bed at 2:30 in the morning, get up the next day, drive down to Bakersfield... talk to more relatives for two hours... then back to Vegas. Fuck that... and notice how I don't mention "shower" anywhere on that list. SICK.)

I'm tired... and sad... and a little angry [just a little].

I jinxed it

Shit.

We're definitely living in Mexico right now.

We have no water now.

?!?!?

Fuck.

The boiler busted... our garage was about two inches deep in water... the treadmill was unharmed (damn it! J/k. I love my treadmill)... the garage smells like wet Vegas street... WE HAVE NO FUCKING WATER!

Screw this whole "no cussing" deal.
What the fuck is this?
Why don't we just go live in a damn cave already.
FUCKKKK!

One thing's for certain, I'm prepared for this summer's Mexico trip.
I'll be a fucking pro whenever the lights go out... and shit, I'll know how to handle those days where we have no damn running water.

This sucks.

Cleaning Lady

I hate fitting into stereotypes, but recently, I've really stuck to one that I especially hate:
Mexicans make good cleaning ladies.

I've spent the better of the last 3 days cleaning my side of the house (that's right, not just my room... but the entire wing that now belongs to me since Brother and Sister are gone having a blast in expensive ass Europe).
Sure, I took a break on Thursday for a while, since I went to go watch that one ABBA musical (as guilty as this makes me feel, I liked it... umm... kind of... a lot. I came out singing. Luckily, it left me after a day, but now I have an ABBA CD in my car... I listen to it on my way to the gym. Lame, I know... but they bring back some good memories of my childhood in Mexico).

I clean while my mom plays Guitar Hero.
If anyone that has rhythm would be playing GH, I wouldn't mind as it would provide nice music to clean along to... but my mom... oh man!
I'm convinced Mom is the WORST instrument player in the universe.
Absolute worst.
I love Mom to pieces and everything, but my God! She's terrible!
She nearly breaks the little guitar as she hammers away at the buttons... and I feel this horrible pain in my gut... knowing she's going to break my controller.
She has a baaaaaaaad sense of pace... and as hard as I try, I can't beat it into her (seriously, I slap along to it. Granted, I don't slap her, I'm not that barbaric, but I do--and have-- slapped almost every part of my body).

Mom, it's "one-two-three, one-two-three!" Not "one.... two.. three. Onetwo.. three."

I fear my thighs will start to bleed if I slap them one more time to help mom keep the beat.

For a music lover, she's... very bad... very, very bad.
And then she goes off and works on the same song for hours.
If I hear "Black Magic Woman" one more time, I'm going to punch a hole through the television... I've had enough of that damn song on Easy.
Same goes for "Slow Ride." I think I can do that song with my back turned to the television... I've had to slap the beat to that one far too many times.

Anyway, as I hear Mom butcher the beginning to Black Magic Woman for the fortieth time (and then fight the urge to stab myself with the nearest, sharpest, object), I sit in the hall that connect Little Sister's room to mine.
Every other area is clean (except my room... that thing is still a hazard no one is allowed in besides me), all I have to clean is this: (you see those bags down there? All trash... mainly boxes and old nail polish, that I've cleaned out of the top drawers--fuck me if that's not the correct term... what the fuck do I know about homes and the English language?-- I have yet to clean the bottom cabinets, and I'm so scared)
And I'll tell ya what, I'm having a bitch of a time.
How the hell... why the hell did we let it get so damn sloppy?
I feel like I should submit that photo to an "I Spy" book publisher.
The most random shit can be found in that mess (Seriously, what the hell is an Airplane Pilot Snoopy Christmas ornament doing there?).
It's so disgusting, and super DUPER embarrassing.
There are things there that we've been hoarding since 1999.
1999!
I was 14! Little Sister was 11/12... and it shows:



I've found dozens of these note cards in the drawers closest to Little Sister's room... all in her handwriting.
She has recipes, games... poems... notes... a ton of crap just written there.

I've found enough makeup to start my own Broadway show...
I have about 100 hair ties... and 1000 bobby pins.
Headbands that Madonna would have murdered for back in the 80's...
And some very... umm... interesting jewelry/makeup I used back in the day when I was in my Raver phase (thank God that's over...).

I also lost a ton of things found in the third, upper drawer due to a bad blue-eyeshadow-incident. I guess it broke... and all the powdery stuff spilled over the contents of the drawer. Most of the stuff had to go... and the blue won't leave the actual drawer. Mimi from The Drew Carey Show would have killed for that eye-shadow that went to waste in my drawer.


As long as I'm Mexican, this type of thing will never happen again...

Give me that cable!!

This transpired last night, when Sister came home from work at around 12 AM and I was still working on my lab report.

Little Sister: Did you tell AnoMALIE what AlcoholicCoolNeighbor said?
Mom: No, I haven't talked to her all day (very true).
(from the office)
Me: No!!!! What? What did he say??
Little Sister: Shut up, I'm talking to Mom.
(I run to the kitchen where Mom and Little Sister are talking while making quesadillas)
Me: What did AlcoholicCoolNeighbor say?
Mom and Little Sister: That he has cable.
Little Sister: He's had cable for over a year now...

Whaaaaaaaaat?!
Mother fucker.