Spiderwebs

Who needs Valium when you have this:
(And here I always thought marble only served the purpose of making me slip and suffer nasty falls)
I no longer need to lay on the floor in order to answer a phone call... but it saved my ass on Friday.

I was given phone-duty by Mom (she left to Mexico at 5 PM Friday) since my little sister would lose control even before answering (I'd only lose it after someone would say something nice... like that they were sorry). Dad wasn't available until 12 AM... so I had to answer the phone from 5 PM till around 11 PM, when people stopped calling.
At first I had no idea what to do... I'd burst into sobs each time someone would get to the "We just want you to know that..." part of their speech. I'd have to whisper back my reply each time.

The idea of lying on the floor came by accident.
Since I was alone, and had just gotten off my running binge (for some reason, I run when upset...), I got out of the shower and was walking around in a wife beater and boy shorts. I held my iPod in my left hand, phone on the right... just lying on the floor, waiting for the next phone call.
The cold floor would keep me from sobbing... I think my body was just confused as to what it should have been doing. Sobbing... or shivering?
From there on, I was able to answer the phone without getting choked up or letting a sob go. I was good.

I did shed a ton of tears though...
I'd cry each time a Spanish song came on during the shuffle (and we all know I have around 370 Spanish songs out of a possible 494... I'd basically be praying for No Doubt or The Killers to come on) because I'd remember how much my grandpa loved music.

"Hey, Mija, sing me a song," he'd tell me EACH and EVERY summer.

"Who the hell told you I could sing? Birds are gonna start dropping dead mid-flight once I open my mouth... haven't you heard me talk? My voice doesn't get much better than that," I'd answer back.

That or...

"Are you kidding me? Quit being an ass."

The latter was one of the main reasons I was crying so badly. I was such an asshole to him... not just behind his back... but mainly to his face.

Sure, he wasn't a terrific, perfect man... he's the main reason behind so many of my traumas... but he was still my grandpa. Plus, I never knew the full extent of his... craziness until I was like... 7. Those previous 6 years were amazing... even the years between 8-14... he had some pretty cool things to show me. His war stories were my favorite... embellished often... but he was such a great story teller. I could see myself in the rainy forests, standing alongside him in the holes he'd have to dig in order to get some shut eye. He had this one story of a giant frog that once got in his trench... and how it scared the shit out of him... that one cracked me up every time... just how he described the frog would have me heaving with laughter.

I just got older and let the bad times overpower the good... and I turned mean... and rude towards the old man.
Fuck... I was a monster. Who likes making an old man feel bad?

I'm ok now... I still haven't accepted the fact that when I go back to Mexico in July... he won't be there. I've fooled myself into believing he's just on a trip. I'd only see him about 5 times during my vacation in the first place. I usually showed up during times he'd be out "en el monte," at his various ranches... feeding the cattle... herding his horses... tending his lands. That, or he'd be in the city, "grocery shopping" or getting his hair cut... or his "truck repaired"... or eating some menudo at a specific "restaurant" that he craved around ten times a month.

I think I'll just tell myself "Oh well, he's out grocery shopping today... guess I won't see him today," or "I guess his truck broke down AGAIN and he had to travel to the next town to get it fixed."

I'll remember his mischievous smile... how his sky-blue eyes would light up each time we told him a good joke... how he would let us run in his huge corn fields while playing tag, and how he showed us the difference between a good snake and a bad one (eww... snakes).

I just don't want to answer any more phone calls... they burst my bubble. They let me know that hey, the chick getting the condolences is ME... it's MY grandpa that died.

He's gone. No more.

Everything Ends

Abuelito Lupe,
Perdóneme por todos estos años en los que rehusé perdonarlo. Perdóneme por la terquedad. Perdóneme por ser altanera.
Yo debería haber sido humilde… buena… como lo era de pequeña. La niña a la quien casi se le salía el corazón, de gusto, cada vez que lo veía acercarse en su yegua.
Quisiera que esto fuera como en esos años, cuando moría por ir a México… llegar a verlo… jugar con sus animales… y escuchar sus historias… cuando yo lo adoraba.
Aunque me volví rencorosa e ingrata tras los años, todavía mantengo el amor por los animales… el amor por el campo… el amor por mi lindísimo pueblo. Todavía llevo en mi lo que usted me enseño… y lo seguiré cargando… por toda una vida.
Trato de comprender porque la vida lo hizo así… y creo entender.
Me parte el alma saber que no pudo aguantar unas cuantas semanas más… que no lograre platicarle de mi próxima graduación… que como usted me aconsejo, hice algo con mi vida para nunca depender de algún hombre.
Pondré el apellido muy en alto… se lo prometo… y jamás renegare de mis raíces.
Espero y nuestro Señor lo haya perdonado… y espero que no se haya partido con una gran pena en el alma. Espero que, como usted me hizo creer, usted se haya olvidado de lo que me hizo hace quince años. Espero que solo yo sea la quien carga con ese dolor.
Espero que mientras esperaba su final… solo momentos de extrema felicidad hayan cruzado su memoria. Sus travesuras en Corea… la ingenuidad de su niñez… su primer amor… la alegría de tener su primer hijo… el gusto de tener tantos nietos… sus animales… todas sus aventuras en California.
Nunca imagine que fuera ser tan difícil despedirme de usted. Estupidamente pensé que me daría gusto saber que usted ya no existiría para atormentar mis recuerdos. Le doy gracias a dios que de lo único que puedo pensar en esta hora tan obscura, es en toda la alegría, todo el orgullo que le dio a mi vida.
Que dios lo tenga en su santa gloria.
Perdóneme, abuelito… perdóneme.
-Noemi

The most influential man in my life... the first man I ever admired... a man who was a Korean War veteran... a man who helped build the California railroads (my Paul Bunyan)... a man who was forced to work since the age of 11, after his father died, in order to help keep his family of 12 afloat ... has passed away... weeks shy of my return to Mexico.
He would have been 87 in December.

It kills me that I can't go say good-bye one last time... because fucking school has to ruin it for me once more.
Who the fuck has an exam during study week? ME!
Fuck you, school... FUCK YOU.

Guadalupe Monarrez, hoy se convirtió en leyenda.

I have one, too!

I had time to eat dinner with my folks today. Since we have one of those stupid homes where the living room and kitchen have no wall between them, we can watch television while we eat.
My folks just love their Univision... so I'll be eating some... hmm... what do I eat? Soup? Ok, I'll be eating soup, and next thing you know, Jorge Ramos will interrupt my comfortable situation with his evening news by showing me a couple of Mara Salvatrucha cholos dismembered in the streets of San Salvador.

Well, today Mr. Ramos didn't have time to ruin my dinner (although I do enjoy seeing him... he's a hottie even with his 49 years of age) because I ate later than usual. All they were talking about were celebrities by the time I sat down to eat.
That's when Jennifer Peña came on the television, and I then had this wonderful exchange with Dad:

Dad: Mira, mija, esa es la muchacha que me recuerda tanto a ti (Look, sweetie, that's the girl that reminds me so much of you).
Me: Jennifer Peña?

Dad: Esa mera! (that one, exactly)
Me: Sera en lo getona (Must be in the big mouth).
Dad: No... she looks a lot like you.
(I stare some more at the television as Jennifer's music video plays)
Me: Dad.. if it's because of the booty shorts, I swear I'll never wear them around the house again.
(Dad laughs)
Me: And don't you go around telling truckers you have a daughter that looks like Jennifer Peña... don't give them high expectations like that!*

I see no resemblance with the chick... maybe just, how I told Dad, in the enormous mouth... but I definitely have thicker eyebrows... and my eyes aren't that small... and I'm like six inches taller... and I wish I had her jaw-line (and I wouldn't mind having that nose, either)! No need to mention the desire to have a crazy ass six-pack like she does.
This also creeps me out coming from my dad. The girl's a total sex-pot... shaking her can in her booty shorts/underwear/wet apparel. Daddy... what the hell? Why can't you say I look like some classic lady (I don't mean to put down good ol' Jennifer Peña. Shit, if I had that body, you better believe I would have been exhibiting it by now)? A lady that goes around with more than half her body fully clothed, maybe.
It's like if I told my dad that in his younger years, he reminded me of Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Beach."

...Well... at least he didn't say someone like... ok, let's not get on that subject.

*Once, when this Indian trucker (because my folks work with truckers) told my mom that my little sister looked like Shakira. Mom's reply was: "I don't just have one, but TWO daughters prettier than Shakira." To say that her comment pissed me off would be an understatement. It's one thing to hold your kids in high esteem and think they're beautiful... but when you exaggerate that badly, it's just a vile LIE! Punishable by law, if it were up to me.

Backstabbing in Alphabetical Order

I offered to give my cousin's wife a ride to work today. We're pretty cool since we're close in age rage (she's 19, I'm 22) and we tend to talk about things. Our conversations are mostly about boys with equal participation from both sides... although sometimes I do tune her out because... well... her man's my cousin. It's a little rough listening to her describe their intimacies when all I can think about is:

Damn... I never, ever thought I'd be this cool with the wife of the scrawny little bitch-boy who'd cry each time we tagged him out during baseball... the little bastard who'd terrorize the neighborhood riding his little red tricycle in steel-tipped cowboy boots and cowboy hat.

However, today I noticed she wasn't very talkative. Instead, the girl was listening to my CD.
Heh-heh... I know, I know... I'm a great DJ! (I thought)

Then I paid closer attention to the song that was playing:

Y el viento de mi vida me levanta,
Con mis alas tan quebradas de luchar
Subire una montaña,
Cerraré mis ojos y voy a volar

Volveré a amar,
volveré a vivir
Volveré a sentir mi corazón.
Mi cuerpo sentirá el fuego una vez más
Voy a renacer,
Volver a empezar,
Y volveré a amar
(Ale Guzman)

All right... a little sad... but whatever...

Next song:

Si yo quería ser esa mujer,
la madre de tus hijos.
Y juntos caminar hacia el altar
directo hacia la muerte.
Y al final ni hablar,
los dos nos destruimos.
Y al final, que tal?
Tu y yo ya no existimos.

No, No quiero ser esa mujer,
ella se fue a un abismo.
Y tuno eres aquel que prometió
seria mi súper héroe. Y que
todo acabo, no queda mas
seremos dos extraños. Yo
te olvidare, me olvidaras
hasta nunca.
(Belanova)

Woops! She's still a newly-wed... let's just skip that...

Next song's short and sweet:

Este no es un dia muy normal,
lo mejor seria no pensar.
De este lado algo puede occurrir
y no sé si voy a resistir.
Siento que me han escogido
pues unos ojos me miran sólo a mi
Esto alguien ya me lo contó
que sientes asfixia al salir,
pero ésto nunca lo esperé,
a esta presión quién puede vivir.
Otra vez en mi elemento pero en espacio pequeño,
no hay arriba, no hay abajo, todo es movimiento.
Y ahora creo saber que algún ser me lleva
ya a un gran lugar.
Creo que estoy a punto de salir
pues la asfixia vuelve a occurir,
mas mi cuerpo cae sobre algo gris
y el agua comienza a escurrir.
¿Qué nadie se ha dado cuenta?
o será mi nuevo hogar,
¿Qué nadie se ha dado cuenta?
o será este mi final.
(Cafe Tacuba)

So, I lied about the sweet... the song's about a fish that gets flushed down a toilet and he's slowly dying on a dry portion of the sewer... ok... but maybe she didn't catch on?

Then this one begins:

Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seats...
(Carrie Underwood)

Fuckkk, yes... ok, I'm bitter... so what?! That's what I get for driving around with a CD that's burned in alphabetical order...
I turned off the CD and turned on the radio.

Cousin-in-law: Damn, AnoMALIE... are you ok?
Me: Yeah! I'm fine, dude. That CD just got burned in alphabetical order...
CIL: You know... you can always talk to me about it.
Shit, dude... I just like sad songs, ok?
Me: Alright, cool.

We're both mute, all you hear is reggaeton on the radio. I DESPISE reggaeton, but I'll leave it there just so she doesn't listen to the next song on the CD. What song? This one:

Vientos que te aceleren.
Aunque el tiempo pase,
algunas marcas quedan.
Sueños que se ven romper.
Con pasos solitarios,vuelvo otra vez

Y buscarás un nuevo sol,
cuando las nubes se abran.
No olvidarás todolo que nos dijimos.
Porque en tu sangre mis palabras
Llevarás contigo.
(Libido)

We listened to Daddy Yankee go off about ripping stuff (Why, oh why is that song so catchy?!). We were quiet for about five minutes when CIL finally spoke up.

CIL: Well???
Me: What? You don't think I want to talk about it now, do you?
CIL: Whatever, man, you're hopeless.

I know my cousins are enjoying wedded bliss right now, and that the girl's all about love and happiness (I mean, my cousin was her first and only boyfriend, so she doesn't know what it's like to get torn to pieces by a douche bag) while I'm gloom and doom. I'm not about to ruin that (usually) short, placid, period with my horrid love stories and how things can take a turn for the worst over something as simple as... not wanting to attend a Valentine's Day party (while your significant other still goes and then proceeds to impregnate a hoe and then have that ruin your Bunnies-and-Bon-Bons kind of life). I mean... that shit can't happen to everybody, right?

I'll just let her keep thinking I'm the Ice Queen... that needs to listen to happier music.
Who cares if in all reality I do, but I just have a greater affinity for songs with titles like "Resentment" that have lyrics like:

"I know she was attractive, but I was here first.
Been ridin' with you for six years (Holler! Same here! Tell 'em girl!), why did I deserve
To be treated this way by you, you?
I know you're probably thinking, 'What's up with Bee?'
I've been crying for too long. What did you do to me?
I used to be so strong, but now you took my soul.
I'm crying. Can't stop crying. Can't stop crying!
You could of told me that you wasn't (ew, I hate that right there) happy.
I know you didn't wanna hurt me.
But look what you done-done to me, now.
I gotta look at her in her eyes and see she's had half of me.
How could you lie?"

Damn, good stuff right there, Bee.

Ah, Man!

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!

I just got a jury summons... for a third fucking time in 4 years.

Shit.
I should become a felon to quit getting this shit.
Screw civic duty!
(I fucking kid... please... oh please, I don't wanna get in trouble for complaining!)

Shit. There go my plans for anything fun and exciting in the month of May. Luckily it's for the 22nd of May... so it doesn't get in the way of Shiny Toy Guns (I almost wrote "Shiny Plastic Pistols"... what is wrong with me?) or Memorial Day weekend... unless I get chosen for a super long trial... which is unlikely, right? Shit, I just jinxed myself.

::singing:: Looks like a shitty Summer!!!!! Foh-oh-oh-or meeeeeee! ::done:: (unless you bought Gwen Stefani's new album, this wouldn't make sense to anyone. If you haven't bought it yet... don't... it's a big disappointment because she's a sell-out ever since making the acquaintance of Akon. Yeah, that's me ranting like an ass)

Let me just say it one more time:
Ssssshitttttttt!

Where's my money, bitch?

If I ever become a mother... I'm totally letting my little girl do this.
Except my kid would get much more profane... j/k! My folks would murder me if I ever did that with my kid.

While we're on the subject of kids/parents:Alec Baldwin's one angry dad (and why is this news headlining on AOL? I don't care if Ireland's a little jerk of a child, that's their business that I can live without ever knowing), but I sure laughed when he called his kid a "thoughtless little pig." While my dad would never, ever call me that... Mom called (and still does) me a "Cabrona" and "hija de tu chingada madre" (the latter is literally "Daughter of your fucked mother." "Cabrona" can be... sort of like "fucker" or something milder than "bitch") ever since I can remember. I tried saving the messages she left me the day of my 20th birthday when I wasn't answering my phone because I was too busy bowling (it was 9:48 pm when she started calling, not even 10! I was so frustrated I started to cry at the bowling alley!)... that would have been some good stuff.

All Apples Are Aaaa...nnoying?

It took me 111 days to go from song 1 to song 488 on my i-Pod.

Some songs I'd put on repeat, others I'd skip past... still... it withstood a 20 hour car ride in December... and all these mornings where I listen to music as I prepare to head out to school. I guess I might have gone through the songs faster had I owned some sort of transmitter that would allow me to listen to the damn thing in my car... but do I? Nooo. I'm ghetto.

For the first time in nearly 4 months I opened up i-Tunes and checked out the stats on my i-Pod.
It's creepy to see the frequency with which I listen to certain songs all the way through. There were songs I'd only listened to only once (ex. Usher's "Throwback." I think I subconsciously refuse to listen to the song because of the grammatical errors), a couple in the 20-30's count (ex. No Doubt's "Too Late" with a count of 28. Yeah, I dig the song and it bums me out real nice), and one... well... it's in a league of its own (Cafe Tacuba's "Eres" with a grand total of 78 times. Yes. Yes. That song has unbelievable power over me... plus, there was this entire episode I went through last year and it was that song that got me out of the hole I was digging for myself. I also listen to it to laugh sometimes because Chase and Leky say it sounds like a song off a porno). However, the count helps me pick out what songs to drop off the i-Pod.
I then started deleting songs to make room for some newer ones on the i-Pod. Some songs I'd missed adding the first time around, while other songs I'd added out of pure stupidity ("maybe I'll learn to like it").
This time, I added English songs that aren't "sung" by either Tupac or BSB (great range I have there, huh?). Still, Spanish songs grossly outnumber English ones... and I wonder why my Beaner accent sneaks up on me from time to time during conversations. I'm surprised I can articulate any idea in the English language after noticing this shit.
I also added songs that aren't depressing. It's amazing the different degrees of depression certain songs bring about in me.
-Aww... I remember hearing this song Thanksgiving of 1989!
-Man... I'm gonna die alone...
-Dude... why'd this singer have to die?
All that good stuff. I put PCD to make sure I'd have something to at least bounce my head to (I almost said "ass" but refrained from it... because I'm really not all about shaking my ass... and especially not like a Pussy Cat Doll... those girls are made of rubber or some shit) and some NAS to rap along to (cause I'm tired of getting weird looks from people after singing the first line of Tupac's "Hit 'Em Up."
"I ain't got no mutha fuckin' friends. That's why I fucked your bitch, you fat mutha-fucka!"
Yeah, way to impress the fellas. Might as well keep it a little tamer with this guy, NAS. Plus, he has that one song, Virgo... it does a great job getting stuck in my head and I really don't sound like a hood-rat when singing that one).

Apple claims Nanos can fit 500 songs. Bullshit, homies, bullshit. I only managed to shove 494 songs (of those, I think maybe 80 are in English. Hahaha! Bad, AnoMALIE! Bad!)... in other words, NOT ENOUGH!
I don't listen to nearly enough music... and this 2 GB restriction doesn't help.

I lead an exciting life, I know.