My episode

And the texts have begun...

First person to notice

second person, randomly, a few hours later.

Good news: I appear BRIEFLY. Even better news: you don't even know what I sound like.
Win-win.

And so, this is how I made my first appearance on the small(er) screen.
Reality TV is fucking hilarious.
My favorite part is the scripting. 

His Robin

At risk of getting beaten to death after admitting this, I'll do it anyway:
Unlike many people I know, I wasn't very into How I Met Your Mother.

The series started during a stressful time in my life. 2005 was a year full of science... labs, reading, screaming, crying, and sleepless nights. I was also writing, and part of the contract was to not watch TV, so I would adhere to the rule... only breaking it to watch America's Next Top Model and my late-night "Nature" shows on PBS.
It wasn't until 2008 that I went ahead and watched HIMYM sporadically, at the insistence of JC. I became a little more consistent around 2012.

Last year, when I visited JC in San Francisco, I watched an entire season with him. We were supposed to go out to the city, and as we prepared our "light lunch" before heading out, he popped up his laptop on the kitchen counter and began season four. With our eyes glued to the computer screen, we ate lunch, washed our dishes, cooked dinner, ate dinner, and once again washed the dishes. By the time we took the second dish-washing break, it was so late, we decided to stay home and finish the marathon.
As we watched the episodes, I'd catch JC staring at my face, examining my reaction to certain scenes.
Me: Oh man... that was... oh damn.
JC: See, I told you it was addicting. This show's... in your words "that show's my shit!"

These last two seasons I watched regularly.
Two boys would constantly pop into my head. One guy would come to mind because... well, he's my Robin. The other boy is JC, because... was I... am I his Robin?

I have flashbacks to that strange encounter I had with him back in 2001. That summer afternoon where it was just him and me in the kitchen. He asked me for something to drink, and as I handed him a glass while opening the fridge, I asked him what he wanted.
JC: Give me whatever YOU want to give me.
I will never forget the look that 13 year old boy gave me... or the way he said "whatever you want to give me." So picaresque and at the same time so... shy? Like a boy caught in the middle of a dirty daydream of his teacher, by his teacher.
My 16 year old self was no smoother than my 29 year old self. I tensed up, forced a chuckle, and awkwardly said "Water. You need water."

Then I fast forward to the numerous moment I've shared with him while visiting the bay.
I'm especially tormented by the look he gave me the night he saw me laying on MGH's lap... the look of... he felt pity for me, for liking someone who didn't like me... but at the same time he was surprised to see me there... he looked sad. Sad, disgusted, disappointed, and angry.
Many times he'd get between MGH and me when we'd be sitting together on our drives around the bay area, or while dining out... or when I'd be giving a back massage to MGH.
When JC had my undivided attention? He'd stand taller, he'd smile at me, and he'd speak to me in a steady, kind voice. He'd hold eye-contact until I'd be forced to break it by looking at the floor.

I think to the times he'd randomly call me, wether he'd be in Berkley or Vegas, or Argentina... or Germany. His voicemails that are now lost... we're he'd sing me my birthday song.
I think of the look he gave me last summer when I missed that train to... that day where I was splayed on his floor, crying onto the hardwood floor of his apartment in a very foreign land. That was his second time seeing me cry over a boy, and that familiar look of heartbreak and anger was on his face. He felt sorry for me, but simultaneously wanted to slap me for being so stupid.

His words "If he really gave a shit, he would have made it up here," "If you mattered, that's what would have happened" "Eres una pendeja," reverberate in my head... will probably do so until the day I die.
That sorrowful, angry look of his will remain emblazoned in my mind.

Am I his Robin? Was I his Robin?

NOvelas

My mom drives me apeshit.
The woman watches SEVEN soap operas in ONE day... SEVEN!
She monopolizes three televisions in the house, including mine, so I'm forced to relocate as she watches/records some ABSURD story of a drug lord, or pirate, or Moroccan whore... at all times of the day.

Back in the day, I confess I was a major telenovela fan. I'd rush home sometimes in order to make it in time for the afternoon soap that addressed some form of teenage angst- girls going to high school, getting pregnant, going through some sort of eating disorder, that kind of stuff.
But NEVER did I spend my entire day juggling seven soap operas.
WTF... if she's that interested in stories... she might as well listen to my shit. I swear, my life trumps any of her soap operas.

Want a story with pirates? Ok, my friend Lucky Soprano swears she's a pirate and, often times, tries to make me speak to her in "pirate."
Ni!!a, I have enough trouble juggling English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese in my head... shut the fuck up with this nonsense. You're not Johnny Depp, I'm not going to try and amuse you with my Arrrrgs, and I will definitely not be shivering your timbers.
And truth be told, I've had plenty of crushes on dudes with long hair. No, I don't get it either, it doesn't make sense, but it happens. I blame the 70's- which oddly enough, has plenty of that pirate-y look with the bandanas and all. You forced me to dig that decade, now suffer the consequences.
I've also dug "rebellious" boys I've so desperately wished could whisk me (your good girl) away, across the ocean, and towards the New World (although in my case, it's in the opposite direction, with Barcelona as my destination), like that idiot girl in your stupid pirate novela.
Oh, Ma! Me thinks I got yer pirates in me story!
However, I'm not too big on sailboats, or missing teeth... or hooks for hands... so... I'll have to work on that.

Story about a drug lord?
Umm... hello? WHY? We come from Durango... we travel to-and-from Durango every year. MGH's dad was the biggest DL of his time up until the day of his mistress' betrayal that lead to his murder, and MGH and his brother were given a bogus story about a car accident, since they were only about twelve when their father died. Ooo! Tragedy!
I have known MGH's dad's true story since I was ten, I was shown photos of his death shortly after it occurred... yet to this day, I still hide it from both MGH and his brother. How long can I keep that secret from them? Will they hate me once they find out... if they find out? Oooo! Drama!
I have spent a total of maybe 6 months at MGH's mansion in Mexico... put up with the strong paranoia ruling the family, having to walk in dimly lit rooms so as to not give away my exact location in the house. We wouldn't want a sniper mistakingly taking me out of this world just yet. Oooo! Adventure!
I've been in love with MGH, the man's son, for the last year! I went on trips with him... we spent nights together side by side... I almost moved in with him. Will I one day finally sleep with him? (Ouuuuch! The answer here is NO! I ultimately get my heart ripped out after he leaves me for a bland, Olive Oyl-looking-ass white girl who has NO clue about his family history... but hey, at least I don't get pregnant) Ooo! Romance!
and you'd still rather watch this damn fake soap opera?! I mean, the fucking list can continue, why listen to person X's invented life when a true story on DLs was almost part of your own?

And finally, a Moroccan whore.
Well... I have... Afghan friends... ?? No, they're not whores, but... I do have a minor crush on one of my friend's siblings. He too, like the lead character of the soap, is muslim... and I, well, I'm Catholic... but Jewish would have worked better here... although... I am technically, in part, ethnically Jewish.. so... hey! story right there! I also get confused for Lebanese, Pakistani, or Afghan while at my eyebrow threading place, I can easily make that work.
But I'm not a whore... and I'm not really down to turn into one in order to become entertaining. So... I guess that one must stay. At least you learn mini factoids about Islam and Moroccan culture... that's always a plus.

Madre mia, give me a couple of months... I'll give you plenty of stories to waste your time!
Now please surrender my television... Hell's Kitchen is on and I have things to learn! That Gordon Ramsay swears like a sailor, and I need to brush up on my skills.

Mute

I'm shy.
Obviously.

I've never been much of a talker, ever... even when surrounded by friends, if there's one new person, I'll keep mum.

I never really noticed how others viewed my quiet persona until the last day of 7th grade.

I was sitting behind my best friend of the time, and her friends had gathered around us as we waited for the bell to ring.
Somehow, and I can't remember what the hell the subject was, I started talking.
I said something witty, and it got a crazy reaction from the people in the group.
After everyone was done laughing, the "tough" one of the group looked over at me and said
"Dude!! You're funny! And here we thought you couldn't talk!"
I looked at her with a look of "WTF?" and someone else said
"Yeah, we all thought you were a mute since you never talk in class! That's why we never really talked to you because we thought we weren't going to understand you."

It was fucking algebra class... how the hell was I going to talk in there?

I just looked over at my friend and asked her why the hell she didn't tell people I talked.
It was a funny moment for everyone in the immediate area, but deep inside, I was sort of hurt and angry.

Anyway! This brings me to what I've been doing recently.
I'm a kid at heart, big time, and I enjoy children's programming almost as frequently as regular adult programming.
I'll watch Arthur when I'm in the mood... I'll watch The Suite Life of Zach and Cody before heading out to yoga Saturday morning... and recently, I've been regularly watching Signing Time (I think that's the name?) on PBS.
I'm really hooked on the show because it teaches kids sign language. The first time I watched it, the host's voice really bugged me... but after seeing the kids they put on the show, my heart melted.
So here you have me, weekdays at 1 in the afternoon, signing along to little kid songs and trying to memorize things like the difference between "flowers" and "Spring" (and also collecting a list of favorites. So far, "Bee" has the edge over "sun").

People sometimes think I'm mute, right? I might as well fuck around with them a little and talk in ASL.
Never again will people have to listen to my aggravating, jocky-voice.

I curse the day I began listening to those CDs!

I can't get this part of Britney's Pepsi song out of my head:
My heart
Won't skip
A beat

Then my mind goes crazy and finishes off with:

and you will find
Ba Ba Ba Ba Ba
Ba Ba Ba Ba Ba
The joy of Pepsi

The damn thing only took a day off, then came back today to torment me as I went about my daily activities! Shit... at least let it be a good singer that gets stuck in my head.

I was in a good mood... for a while (if I omit the entire Pepsi commercial song from my head, that is).
I received a nice little "surprise A" on an exam (I thought that would never happen again, since apparently I grew keen on scores in the mid 40's), my cheeks became flustered, I made a trip (to an empty, peaceful) home before heading off into the "lab that ends right when traffic picks up on the I-215," but eventually, I came (to an estrogen-laden) home.

I've lived in the same home for 8 years now, and to this day, my bedroom does not have a television.
I had the short-lived joy of having a big screen TV in my room over the summer... but then came August, my brother, and Notre Dame to fuck it all up (it was his television and all... but still... where is there room in a dorm for a big screen television?).
So I basically live off the charity of my siblings. While Older Brother's away in Indiana, I can sort of go into his empty room and watch TV. I just hate how the television (it's from the early 1990's... I can still remember when Mom and Dad went out to buy the enormous beast) has funky colors on the upper right corner... so it distorts the image. I also don't like being in there for too long because... it's an army boy's room (I still get night terrors remembering one night we were originally watching the Rocky movies, we had paused it, and I--being an idiot-- went back later on to try and finish it. I didn't realize we were watching a DVD, I pressed the VCR's "Play button" and bam, two midgets having sex... yeah... I had to hold in my screams, out of fear my bro would catch me and scream at me for being in his room--while he was surfing the net for porn I'm guessing-- without permission) ... minus the cool console systems that can entertain a person for hours (no matter how hard I tried, I never convinced him to get Dance Dance Revolution. Something about it being "too gay"). Plus, Mom gets all emotional when in there... she doesn't want her only son's "scent" to leave the room. Luckily, it's not as bad as it was when he was actually in the army.

Since I'm too... reluctant... to watch television in my brother's room for the above mentioned reasons, I have to illicit some sort of pity from my younger sister in hopes of watching television in her room. It usually works since she works late at night and I have domain over her room from 6:00pm till 11:30pm. I have problems whenever she comes home moody because:
1) Her work husband was checking out the new, hot ticket agent
2) A celebrity asshole was mean to her
3) A moody, idiot passenger didn't want to follow TSA rules and bitched at her
4) She has an exam the next day and she's only studied for an hour
5) Her cycle is getting the best of her
6) I'm wearing the wrong colors
7) I said the wrong thing.

ETC. Basically, it's all determined by lunar cycles.
Today she was not lovely.
So... I'm sitting here bored out of my mind... not wanting to go to bed, not wanting to study, not wanting to check my grades, and most definitely not wanting to go into my brother's room. Mom didn't help... she sided with my sister ("It's my room! Can't I fucking go to sleep at 11pm?! She watches the one a.m. soap opera!").
Yo Mom, here's an idea: how about I get a nice little T.V. in my room, finally! Then I wouldn't be bothering anyone.

I'm glad I gave everyone in my house the sore throat I had Monday... and I'm happier they don't know how I got that sore throat in the first place (I think I licked the wall in my shower the day before, when I had an accident while squeegee-ing (I never knew how to spell that till just now!) the wall. Long story, but it made me feel like an old lady who needs those "safe-mats" for the shower).