Quien soy?

I really have lost the will to live.
Last night I turned down a free concert to one of my favorite artists, Juanes.
Me: Just record when he sings "Difícil." I'll be happy with that.
Sister: ... Alright.
Of course, knowing how my luck works, it should come as no surprise to learn Juanes did not sing that song last night.

Anyway, I shouldn't say I've "lost the will to live," that's too fucking harsh, but I am bummed.
Bro flies in tomorrow and we're having anxiety attacks wondering how the fuck we're gonna break the horrible news to him... the horrible news concerning Alo's marriage (we confirmed that she did, in fact, get married before she left for Switzerland. That fucking idiot).
I've been trying really hard to make him laugh these last few weeks... but damn it... I know this nigga's gonna be fucked up for Christmas.
Then I put myself in his shoes, and I get upset.
I'll sit there and listen to my favorite (but sad) songs and find myself crying.
Then I'll find the corresponding music video, and I'll cry even more.
ESPECIALLY after finding the video to the most beautiful song in the universe, Eres (you are):

Eres lo que mas quiero en este mundo, eso eres.
Mi pensamiento mas profundo, también eres.
Tan sólo dime lo que hago, aquí me tienes.
Eres, cuando despierto lo primero, eso eres.
Lo que a mi vida le hace falta si no vienes,
Lo único, preciosa, que mi mente habita hoy.
Qué mas puedo decirte? Tal vez puedo mentirte sin razón,
pero lo que hoy siento es que sin ti estoy muerto,
pues eres lo que mas quiero en este mundo, eso eres.
Eres el tiempo que comparto, eso eres.
Lo que la gente promete cuando se quiere.
Mi salvación, mi esperanza, y mi fe.
Soy el que quererte quiere como nadie, soy,
el que te llevaría el sustento día a día, día a día.
El que por ti daría la vida, ese soy.
Aquí estoy a tu lado, y espero aquí sentado, hasta el final.
No te has imaginado lo que por ti he esperado, 
pues eres lo que yo amo en este mundo, eso eres. 
Cada minuto en lo que pienso, eso eres. 
Lo que más cuido en este mundo, eso eres.
("You can't imaging how long I've waited for you. Well, you are what I love in this world, that's what you are. What I think of ever minute, that's what you are. What I take most care of in this world, that's what you are" THAT'S SO RAFA AND ALO! That shit just stabs my heart)

I had never seen the video until just now... and it gave me chills. Why? Because that boy is SO me... as in, I was the awkward, quiet, lonely, shy kid who just doodled in class while quietly admiring that one classmate.
The way they played with color in that video... fucking SOUL-CRUSHING... but I can relate, more than I'd like.
It makes me sad.
But I do believe it's now my favorite music video (in other words, watch the fucking video). It spoke to me, and it stayed true to the message the lyrics try to convey. Even a person who doesn't speak Spanish would get the point. Sublime lyrics, music, and video. Eaaa, Tacuberos!
If anyone can describe who I really am, it's Cafe Tacuba and their weird/touching/funny/sad/upbeat/dark music/videos... 'cause thats what I am, even if not everyone gets to see all the different aspects... luckily.

See, that's how shit moves from Rafa's heart-breaking situation, to me just being sad about my own shit.
I went ahead and found the video to CT's song that currently best describes me, Esta Vez (this time):

De pronto ya no se que pasa en mi.
De pronto ya no se quien soy.
De pronto ya no reconozco nada de lo que un día fui.
Hoy me pregunto que cambio dentro de mi.
Hoy me pregunto a donde voy.
Tal vez no existen las respuestas para lo que intento resolver.
Esta vez vengo buscando el corazón.
Esta vez lo intentare otra vez.
Esta vez ni más yo tratare de hacerlo bien,
si la vida me regala otra oportunidad.
De pronto ya no se que pasa en mi.
De pronto ya no se quien soy.
Tal vez no existen las respuestas para lo que intento resolver.
Esta vez no quiero otra ilusión.
Esta vez lo intentare otra vez.
Esta vez ni más yo tratare de hacerte bien,
si la vida me regala otra oportunidad.

Props to the guy who can run through the desert barefoot... that shit keeps me form crying, since I'm too busy imagining how much that shit must hurt.
Anyway, the lyrics ("Suddenly I don't know what's going on inside me. Suddenly, I don'y know who I am. Suddenly I don't recognize anything of what I once was." I've caught myself thinking that quite often) and feel (don't act like you've never wanted to break shit in a burning building)... they get me. While the video doesn't grab me like "Eres," I can relate to that sense of regret in this video.
If only I had one more try... one more chance... I'd do better this time.

Hmm... I've managed to make myself sad. I quit, I don't like this game.

Kinda always knew

Ladies and gentlemen, today, I became an adult.
I made peace with Olive Oyl. Like... legit peace. Like... "we're FB friends and I didn't stalk her photos or wall posts" (and I never will. It's true I'm over the disintegration of the whole "MGH/AnoMALIE thing," but I still don't want to sit there and wade through a never-ending stash of photos between the new lovebirds. That's just creepy stalker shit) peace.

I'm... over it.
I'm awed by this. Completely.
It only took me... what? Nine months? Not bad. And I've never befriended the chick I've lost to before. I was friends with a girl who stole away the "love of my young life" back in high school... but that was before she went ahead and fucked him (which led to him knocking her up). We were cool up until that happened.
So... this is new to me.

I can be nice.
I'm scared.
What kind of... weak-ass, pussy shit is this?
Yo... I really am going to heaven, for real.

Weirdest thing of all? I spoke to MGH, and again, I didn't feel that familiar pang in my heart, the palpitations, the tears building... I was good. It was as if I was speaking to a little cousin... kind of, except I felt nothing. This time, I didn't even feel anger.
That's kind of scary. I think my wish for being unable to feel anything is finally coming true... after 20 years of praying for it.

You guys... I think I can no longer feel... I think I just killed my heart!
Should I be panicking... or should we celebrate this?
I'M FREE!!!

Kittens and Kisses

Last night was weird.
I had a bunch of strangely cute dreams...
after I had a terrifying dream where planes were falling from the sky and into my backyard. That shit wasn't cool.

My brain then decided to compensate me for my pain and suffering, so it then had me dream about kittens.
The kittens weren't trying to claw my eyes out, they weren't dying and covered in maggots... they were just... being cute kittens finding their way into my front yard in Mexico and wanting to get petted.
I don't even like cats... but only a monster doesn't like sweet little kitties (although the asshole kitties who hiss at you can go to hell. I don't like those).

After feeling all... peaceful from playing with kittens, my brain then gave me the best parting gift.
This entire scene played in my mind right before I woke up:


I woke up singing "SHA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA, my-oh-myyy look like dee boy too shy, ain't gonna kiss dee girrrl!" (shit, and people wondered why I couldn't get out of ESL classes. What kind of English skill is that to teach a four year old Mexican girl? But... it is a damn cute song... every male should be forced to listen to it at least once... with a transcript in hand)

I had a smile on my face the rest of the day... even during my usually maddening kickboxing class where I never lack a reason to elbow a bitch in the face.

Thank you, brain... you're pretty awesome sometimes.

Gifts "pore" you.

I received my first Christmas gift today.
A lovely, medium sized box was waiting for me on my doorstep when I returned home from the gym.
Since I'm relatively impatient when it comes to Christmas, I opened that shit up.
What was in it?
This.
And This.
And This.
And This.
And This.
Oh, and This.
Let's not forget This.

Fifty bucks if you can correctly guess the thoughtful soul behind this.
...
Ok, fuck it, it was Pacemaker.
As if it weren't any more obvious.

I texted her the moment I finished looking through the box.

Me: Thanks?
Pacemaker: For?
Me: I got your gift today
Pacemaker: Oh! You're welcome!
Me: Pore-reducing? Eye-Alert? Really? WTF?
Pacemaker: Hey, I'm only look out for you

It's kind of short notice, so I'm hastily planning my gift to her.
So far, I have:
This.
This.
And This.
Maybe This.

It's called "friendship."
I reciprocate, buddy!


(In all reality, I understand she works at Kiehl's and that sort of thing is in the forefront for her. I do appreciate her going out of her way to get me the stuff, especially since I wasn't expecting it. It was kind of her to even think of me as she Christmas shopped... but damn... it was weird to catch the trend going on there. Now I know what she stares at when we hang out. Pore-Reducing... get the fuck outta here. And NO, I'm not actually getting her all that shit. I'm not that mean... plus, it's expensive! I just sent her a card that said "IOU. Redeemable in NYC... the actual city. For real." Needless to say, I'm avoiding the shops AT ALL costs once we're out there... don't want this chick redeeming her card in fucking Barneys or some shit. Jesus. She'd do that, too. Shit... I just gave this bitch a credit card, didn't I?)

I should have given her my wish-list:
- To be happy.

Hmm... somehow, I don't see her being able to fulfill that one for me... she didn't even pack the fucking peanut butter she had promised me earlier in the week.
Peanut butter would have definitely made me smile.
Or raspberries.
Or chocolate.
Or blueberries.
Or carne seca.
Or a dude wearing this shirt:

(that would produce a bitter-sweet smile... so he'd probably only get a thumbs-up from me. But this is definitely still better than pore-reducing cream)
Or Cristiano Ronaldo.
Come on, I'm easy!

Pore-reducing cream... pshhh!

Enferma y delirando

I was a moribund cow yesterday, so I think my use of my monthly free pass for skipping a day of writing went to good use.
I had intended to update... but I wound up passing out half-way through my entry, as I watched Jimmy Fallon.
It all worked out for the best, though, because after going over it this morning, the post was quite depressing.
Note to self: Don't write while ill. Your entry will start resembling a suicide note.

Yesterday I woke up at five in the morning, unable to breathe because my bastard tonsils were so swollen. The swelling was so bad, I wound up gaging on the tonsils and proceeded to puke... bloody phlegm (hot, I know).
That hurt.
And it made me feel like I had tuberculosis.
I then took some Mexican tetracycline (Terramicina) that works miracles, and I fell asleep as I sucked on it. You must dissolve the pill with your own saliva, which takes about an hour... but since I passed out, it was in my mouth for five.
That felt good... especially when I noticed I couldn't taste shit because the damn Terramicina had numbed my tongue. At least it didn't discolor my teeth-- I've heard horror stories about that shit.

I then spent the day forcing myself to spit. Gurgling and all that shit. It itched and hurt at the same time... horribly exasperating.
What got me through the day? The Travel Channel.
I swear, I'm going to work for them some day... even if it's me just handing the camera crew water bottles. I'm doing it. (Another thing that got me through the day was thinking "I'll be motherfucking damned if I'm sick for this weekend. I gotta be great for Kelley's shindig, damn it! You can't control ME, body!")

Anyway, I spent the day in and out of consciousness... and I finally quit around 1:30AM or something like that. I sort of remember trying to work on my Portuguese sometime around my delirium. AND trying out Farsi. Which, of course, I quit. Fuck that... that language is hard as fuck! I just know I was pretty good at saying "good afternoon."
Who tries to learn languages while semi-unconscious? This idiot right here.

Still, my pain and suffering paid off, since I woke up feeling like a champion today.
No runny nose, perfect tonsils... and more Travel Channel.
I'm even shopping later on. Apparently, my sister can't shop without a companion, and so, I must suffer getting toted around H&M and all those other stores she digs (I can't complain about H&M. I find myself walking into the store just for memory's sake. I'll sit there and remember Bilbao as I stare at the shitty material the clothes is made of. Fucking store is my guilty pleasure, regardless of the shitty clothing with the shoddy stitching job... I still buy their shit).
Hooray.

THE Best Number

Happy Sunday means "Day I catch up with my DVR."
In the process, I managed to find a quote I really liked. It made it on to my room's "dry-erase board of inspiration/pressing matters."

Best thing I've ever heard, I just had to jot it down.

Don't mind the bulimic's anthem in the corner there... I just get really, really motivated by Radiohead.

Parting thought of the day.
Sister gets shit like this:

?!?!
Goddamn!
Lucky bitch.

If I'm lucky enough to get a dude to tell me how he feels about me, it's in the form of a drunk,sleep-deprived late night phone call... in profanity-laden, slurred speech... where I'm referred to as "pendeja" or "bitch" the entire time.

That text message to Sister is... whoa.

I tell you, my sister has all the motherfucking luck in this household!
Mendiga!
(Her response to the guy? "Cool." WOW)

Fino, finito.

If you're not getting much play from your online profile, now is a great time to tap into your creative powers. Fire it up with cool facts, great pics and sweet stories. Rely on your ingenuity!

My horoscope for today.
Ha!
"Cool facts, great pics and sweet stories?"
Umm... ok, first off, my only on-line profile is Facebook (I do still hold on to Myspace, but only for the blog posts... because some of them make me laugh. But I don't use it other than that). I don't have Facebook to try and hook up with anyone. Granted, I like/have liked a couple of my FB dude friends (like Darcy. But what girl wouldn't have her "Darcy" as a friend on FB?), but it's not like I'm actively seeking dates with random dudes on the damn thing (that's too damn lame, even for me). Hell no.  
It's just me letting my friends know what I'm up to... or quickly asking them something instead of texting or calling... or occasionally flirting with a cute friend.
The fact that I'm not "getting much play" from FB is no issue for me.

Fill it with cool facts, great pics, and sweet stories?
Great pics? Well, my photos are... eh. I have them as fond memories of great places I've been. Not many with my face in them, since I don't really enjoy photos, but I do like the pics on there.
Cool facts? Like... the fact that I was raised in the ghetto? That I used to play with the empty lighters of crack-addicts as a kid because I didn't know what they were for? Is that cool enough? Maybe the boring fact that I'm pretty badass on the violin? Some of my friends don't even know what a violin looks like. And I HATE getting into arguments over how classical music is BEAUTIFUL and ten times more superb than the bullshit most people listen to. Seriously. I get worked up even thinking about it. Justin Bieber (March 1st baby, sadly)? KE$HA (March 1st baby, again)?! Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi (March 4th baby. Almost a March 1s baby, almost), Bach (March 31st baby, but if it weren't for those 30 days, he'd be exactly 300 years older than me... which hey, fuck it, I'll claim him), Chopin (March 1st, finally. Coincidence? I think not! It's more than obvious that I chose the wrong career), motherfuckers! That's music! (So... looks like I'll keep the factoids to myself)
Sweet stories?
Hmmm... like... the one about my first ever pets? That must be sweet, right?
Ok, let's try:

As previously mentioned, I lived in the ghetto from the time I was born, until the last month of my 8th grade year. The "house" was small, and we barely had room for all five members of the family, so pets were out of the question (especially the pet my retarded ass wanted: a horse. Yeah, ok, I wasn't very bright).
My siblings and I spent our childhood begging for a dog... which of course, we never got (we did get Tyson, but I was 16 by then). We would have to settle for living in Mexico in the summers, where my mom's Dad always had a new puppy and a litter of kitties waiting for us to play with. He'd also let me play with his horses and the occasional colt that my favorite mare (Tony La Chivera! I loved that bitch. She was the shit. She hated everyone but me and my grandpa) would have (hence, why Mexico became my heart and soul. It gave me a world I would have otherwise never known existed. You know, a happy, semi-normal one...). Everyone noticed how much we liked, and wanted, pets.

Anyway, back in the United States, Mooney had bunnies around the time I was a 6th grader. We'd go to her house at least once a week to play with the pet bunnies. I'm sure they felt sad over the fact that we were so eager to have pets... since we'd play outside with the poor things for freakin' hours.
Somehow, Mooney's Dad convinced Mom to allow us to each get a bunny. Male bunnies, so we wouldn't have to worry about being overrun by rabbits.
Rafa, Sister, and I chose our own rabbits. Rafa got a runty albino bunny, Sister got a giant white with light-brown bunny, and I got a medium white with black bunny. Apollo, Fino, and Coby, respectively.
Fino was a total bully, who would rape the other two rabbits at night and I'd have to wake up and squirt them with water. Apollo was a total bitch, who would just take it... actually, no, Apollo was hardcore gay (this was discovered one day we placed the rabbits with other rabbits. While Fino and Coby went for the females and humped them, Apollo went for the only other male in the bunch. The females loved Apollo and he hated them. Such a strange rabbit) and he enjoyed it. Coby, my rabbit, was a fighter. He was the only one who would bite back and all that shit... and he would never try humping any of the other rabbits.
While Fino was an asshole rapist with the rabbits, he was a total sweetheart with humans. He would give my sister and me "gifts" when we would allow the bunnies to run around in the backyard. He would seriously carry weird-shaped leaves and twigs to us and place them in our hand. It was hard to hold a grudge against him for harassing the other rabbits when he'd be the kindest, sweetest bunny to us. That big bastard.
Well, one day Fino got in a huge fight with Coby. He bit the hell out of my poor rabbit's back, and this made us angry.
Sister: Why's my rabbit such an asshole? I fucking hate him sometimes!

Mom and Dad had been carrying on a joke about how we needed to "enjoy the rabbits now. They're going to be on our dinner plate soon."
Whaaat? Never!
We always told them that day would never come. But this day, the day Coby was bitten, Sister was pissed... and she wanted something from Dad. I no longer remember why she was licking his ass... but she wanted something of value. So she told him:
"Daddy! You can eat my rabbit when he gets big enough!"
I remember looking at her like I would a monster.
You fucking bitch! That's like your fucking child!
And it was as if Fino knew. That nigga had just been betrayed, and he was never the same. He was genuinely sad, all lethargic and shit. Poor little guy.

Ok. So maybe a month passed, when Dad came home from work one beautifully sunny Saturday afternoon and told Mom:
"All right... I'm in the mood for some Rabbit. And *Sister's* rabbit is huge. Let's do it."
Mom and Dad then grabbed the rabbit cage and took it outside. They then proceeded to close the living-room curtains so we "wouldn't see."
Oh, brouhaha that ensued!
Sister started kicking and screaming.
I WAS KIDDING!!!
I started crying and screaming.
YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!!!!
And Rafa started to laugh.
Idiot.
What followed was... traumatizing.
Sister ran to the bedroom and bawled her ass off. Rafa peeked out the window the entire time, giving me a fucking narration of everything. I sat in the living-room sobbing so hard I'd almost barf.
Uncle had told Mom and Dad that one could kill the rabbits with a broomstick and one swift blow to the head... right behind the ears. In hindsight, he probably should have given them more precise directions.

I remember seeing Dad lift Fino by both his little ears... and Fino just stared back at me (Dear God, I'm already getting upset remembering all this). Then I see Dad whack the back of Fino's head. I screamed at him from inside the house while tapping the window, furiously.
AHHHHHHH!!! YOU FUCKING MONSTER!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! AAAAAAHHHH!
And Fino didn't die! He just started kicking wildly.
:(
Please stop, stop, stop!
I saw Dad go for another whack... and I just had to look away.
I could hear Dad keep hitting Fino... and Rafa's face was no longer amused.
Damn... my dad sucks. Poor Fino.
I kept screaming and sobbing.
NO! STOP IT!!
And Rafa's face was just... you know, it's that face you make when all you're really thinking is "Man... that sucks." Then it quickly changed to surprise.
Rafa: Oh... my God... Fino isn't even dead!
I looked out once he said this.
Dad was holding down Fino, one hand on Fino's back, the other pulling his ears in the opposite direction... and Mom had the butchering knife in her hand.
N-OHHHH!!!!
I pounded on the wall as I saw when Mom made the first hack at the back of Fino's head. I saw the blood, the skin... his bone... and how Fino just... flopped around. God, it was awful.
Rafa pushed my head away from the window and closed the curtain.
Rafa: Shut up, dude. He's dead. They killed him. Can't do anything now.
I ran to the bedroom and accompanied my sister in the crying and wailing and punching of the wall.
Me: YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT!
Sister: I DIDN'T THINK THEY'D TAKE ME SERIOUSLY!

Mom and Dad prepared the rabbit, placed it in the middle of the dinner table... and invited us to eat it.
Me: No, you fucking... murderous... animals! I hope you fucking... get sick!
Mom backhanded my mouth.
Me: You fucking ::uncontrollable sob:: monsters. I'll never forget this.

Mom and Dad showed some remorse later on... but the damage was done. They traumatized their kids, all because they were being stupid farmer hillbilly animals who craved rabbit... so they killed one of their kid's pets... for dinner. (Who the fuck does that... I mean, what person that does not live in a farm does that? MY BARBARIC PARENTS! That's who!)
All I can say is that I'm glad we're not Korean... I'd fucking have a heart-attack if they'd decide to have Tyson for dinner.



Hmmm... that wasn't a very sweet story, now, was it?
I may be a sweet girl... but it doesn't really translate to my memories... which probably has a lot to do with it.
Oh well. C'est ma vie.