Chi-Cha-NOHHHH!

There are some days when I just know, from the moment I wake up, that my day's going to suck.
Today was such an example.

I was very kindly woken up at 5:20 in the morning by the nice smell of minced garlic.

Mom has become addicted to hiking at 6AM... and since I'm all for her getting healthy, I accompany her.
Today, she woke up, prepared her marinade for the afternoon's carne asada, and THEN she decided to wake me up.
It was quite pleasant... like getting rear-ended by a garbage truck.

Anyway, the day continued to be weird, mostly me fighting the sandman who was trying to force me back to sleep. At some point I even got in an argument over chilaquiles... Why? I'm not sure. I think I was upset over the tortillas that were being used. Typical shit grouchy people complain about when they lack an adequate amount of sleep.

But the show stopper came at 4:45PM... right before I drove away to the gym (a little flash flood warning doesn't scare me! ... actually, I was too sleepy to give a fuck. My judgement was clouded), I received a notification from FB, so I decided to check it out on my phone before pulling out of my driveway.
What was the first thing I saw?

... haunted me the rest of the day.

What the... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!
In case you can't tell, that's my sister... with a motherfucking Mexican national hero.
CHICHARITO! CHICHARITO!

I tell you... she meets Nas, Michael Jordan... even Shaq the other day... now this guy, the sweetest, most charismatic player I've had the joy of watching... the guy who has put Mexico's name up there.
And who have I met?
Just these two:

I actually recognized the husband before the actual celebrity, Lorena Herrera.
Oops.

How the fuck?
Actually, my entire family has had brushes with cool famous people... I'm the only luckless fool who has yet to meet anyone remarkable.

Anyway, I was SO fucked up over the fact that D had met only the most adorable soccer player on the planet/best goal scorer of the season... that I fucked up my left leg while kickboxing (all I could think about was Chicharito and my sister. It ultimately ended in me kicking like a jackass one too many times and pulling something in my hamstring/groin area).

I've been hobbling around the house... trying to stretch my hamstring/quad and groin area... all the while lamenting over my crappy luck.
Oh well.

(There's this creepy aspect to all of this--besides my freak out over a younger boy-- in that not five minutes before D posted the photo, I was compelled to visit Chicharito's "official" FB page. I have NO clue why I did it, I just clicked on the link, and I was immediately drawn to one of his photos in particular:

Am I weird for melting at the sight of this?

It's creepy to me, because I've been dealing with some religious issues for a while now--I won't bore you with detail-- and I caught myself admiring Chicharito's devotion. I know mine isn't that strong... I mean... he does this before EVERY. SINGLE. MATCH. I don't even feel comfortable making the sign of the cross in public sometimes. I find his dedication admirable... sweet, and admirable. Anyway, I saw this, and caught myself wondering how someone could be so devoted... and I also wondered if his devotion was responsible for his success. Then I saw D's post and freaked out. Just creepy coincidences that happen sometimes)

Love-letters turn me into a girl.

JORDAN!

We all know I love that man. He made my childhood quite fucking memorable with his incredible basketball skills.

Now I love him even more.

I read that one high school love-letter of his that is currently making rounds on the internet, and I was smitten:

My Dearest Laquette

How are you and your family doing, fine I hope. I am in my Adv. Chemistry class writing you a letter, so that tell you how much I care for you. I decide to write you because I felt that I made you look pretty rotten after the last night. I want to tell you that I am sorry, and hope that you except my apologie. I know that you feelings was hurt whenever I loss my necklace or had it stolen.

I was really happy when you gave me my honest earn money that I won off the bet. I want to thank you for letting me hold your annual. I show it to everyone at school. Everyone think you are a very pretty young lady and I had to agree because it is very true. Please don't let this go to your head. (smile) I sorry to say that I can't go to the game on my birthday because my father is taking the whole basketball team out to eat on my birthday. Please don't be mad because I am trying get down there a week from Feb. 14. If I do get the chance to come please have some activity for us to do together.

I want you to know that my feeling for you has not change yet. ← (joke) I am finally getting use to going with a girl much smaller than I. I hope you my hint. Well I have spent my time very wisely by write to you. I hope you write back soon. Well I must go, the period is almost over. See you next time around, which I hope comes soon.

With my Best Love

Michael J. Jordan

That intro about the advanced chemistry would have won me over, grammatical errors be damned!
I spent the majority of my AP chemistry time doodling in my lab book or the whiteboard... because I'm dedicated like that... and whenever I bump into someone who did something similar I get a little excited.
And he's sarcastic! Warms my fucking heart!
I love you, Michael!

Ok, I calmed down.

I guess the recipient of the letter is now suing because the letter was leaked, and we all can read it now.
She says someone stole the letter.
I know what that's like... although MY stolen love-letter didn't sell for 5.1K. Still, I'm sure having someone steal something private like that must sucks balls regardless of how important the writer/recipient was/is.

I only saved ONE love-letter, in fifth grade... and I remember being heart-broken when I saw some bitch had stolen it from the little hiding place in which I (very moronically) thought it was safe.
Also, unlike with this lady, the sender of my love-letter didn't turn out to be a very successful athlete. Shit, my dude wasn't even a successful person... I think he's still in jail, actually. Still, even thinking of him being sweet and innocent enough to write me something cute and from the heart makes me smile... regardless of how many people he grew up to murder.
(this is only considering the letters I've received. I wrote PLENTY of stupid, incriminating letters while still in school... shit, the last one I wrote was two years ago! I know for certain that at least TWO have been read out loud... and STILL... I went ahead and wrote one two years ago... I'm duuuuuumb)

Ah, young love... so cute.

OK, enough of that.
Back to being bitter and cynical.

Deuces

All day today, I had about five blog ideas pop into my head, AT LEAST five...
Where are they now? Completely forgotten, of course.
It's not like nothing happened today... a good amount of things went down... I'm using that as an excuse behind my total lack of inspiration.
I'm totally brain-dead right now.

Well, I'll just mention the thing that's freshest in my mind:
A complete stranger hated on me today.
Like I've said before, I don't know what it is about me, but apparently I possess something that makes others hate me quite passionately... and these people are always so fucking vocal.
This time around, I was very quietly and efficiently shopping at Sam's Club (by "efficiently" I mean I was shopping very quickly and methodically. I knew what I wanted, where it was, and I wasn't strolling around like I wanted to kill time or whatever). I wasn't paying attention to others' conversations (well, there WAS one of this one lady talking to her husband about how she could finish the giant tub of sour cream by herself in a matter of a week. I remember this because I had to fight my gag reflex when I had a mental image of this lady eating straight out of the sour cream bucket... I love dairy, but that's just too fucking gross), since I was too concerned with grabbing some frozen berries from one of the freezers.
As I patiently waited for a lady to move away from the freezer, I noticed she looked me up and down... then rolled her eyes.
O...k?
I was holding a case of cherries in my left hand while looking down at the floor when she finally decided to graze elsewhere.
As she waddled past me, she scoffed:
What are you? Ten years old? Three different colors. ::scoff::
She was looking at my nails as she said that... then she once again rolled her eyes before finally leaving the scene.
I didn't do anything but stand there for a second... confused.
Shit... I WISH I were once again ten years old! I'm sorry my patriotism made you angry, Lady.

Guess I'll think twice about my next manicure.

Does this make you angry?
What are you? A crip? A blood? Calm down.

?

Cigarettes and pyrotechnics

Last year was my first time in the States for 4th of July in three years. Before that, I hadn't been in the US for Independence Day since... 2000.
This is my second straight year being in town.
I still don't really know what to do on this day besides chill in my house with the AC on full blast, waiting for the sun to set so the fireworks display can entertain me.

The most entertaining 4th of July story that I've acquired is one from 1995, when I was in Mexico for the celebrations.
All of us Mexican-American kids would get together in the plaza and light fireworks.
Sounds normal... but remember, we're ghetto Mexican kids, so we'd use cigarettes to light the fireworks... since they last longer than matches.
There we were, 8-14 year olds, smoking cigarettes and lighting fireworks. Quite synonymous with barefooted hillbillies in Arkansas or whatever hick place, if you ask me. We are all ONE people, right?

After the "nice" fireworks would be done, we'd mess with the more dangerous shit and nearly maim one another... although I never did that. The worst I ever did was throw those "poppers" at people's feet... and that was only once or twice, because I don't do onto others what I don't want done onto myself. I'm scared SHITLESS of fireworks of any kind... I was probably a dog in a past life...
Well, I'm not scared of the pretty fireworks that PROFESSIONALS use... and by "professionals" I mean "Casinos."
I'm scared/irritated when a regular old Joe is holding combustible material in one hand, and a lighter in the other. Fuck that. Get away from me unless you want my foot to become acquainted with your gut/groin/ass/face. I don't play with that shit.
Yeah, I'm traumatized after all those years of the imbecile kids playing with fireworks and hurting each other with them. Even if I was never severely injured like others, the loud noise still agitates me.

So uh... yeah, there is my entry dedicated to our day of independence. The day I'm irritated from dealing with annoying pyromaniacs (as opposed to "cool" pyromaniacs?)... and hearing/seeing one too many people say the word "America" (HUGE pet peeve: referring to the USA as only "America." Get yo facts straight, folks, that's a continent [TWO, actually]. And you're damn right if you think you saw me cringe after you said it... that was me fighting the urge to slap you across the face so you could bite your tongue and never say "America" in that context ever again. End rant).

But don't get it twisted, I DO love the United States of America. I owe everything I am and everything I have to it.
Muchas, muchas gracias.
Happy birthday, US of A!

***

En un día como hoy, recuerdo a alguien en particular... el chavo (aunque no tiene NADA de "chavo" ese ruco) por quien hice esta pagina.
Siempre recordare que hace cuatro años acepte su invitación para salir por primera vez (después de andarme chingue y chingue con que saliéramos)... el pensando que iba a estar super buena o no se que cosa... y luego se decepcionó de mi.
Por MESES me escribía, me leia, y me coqueteaba... y luego como por arte de magia, dejo de hablarme. Todo esto después de verme.
Forzo un distanciamiento.
Ahora nos llevamos bien, pero siempre tendré ese... poco de rencor al recordar que fue tan... superficial. Me vio gorda y nada de "buenota" como se imaginaba... y fue mala onda y me ignoro.

Ese día fuimos al cine, vimos una película, y nos pusimos a platicar al lado de mi carro. Hablamos por un buen rato, y en medio de la platica, comenzaron con los cuetes, y el los veia. Yo solo los podía escuchar, pero ni con el señalar los pude ver.
Así me fue con el. Estuve deslumbrada por el ("escuchar los cuetes")... luego el me tiro a la chingada... y ya, varios años despues cuando todas las chavas lo ignoran, el es invisible para mi ("pero no puedo ver los cuetes").
El esta mas viejo... mas gordo. Y yo? Ja... pues... ya quisiera poder verme (pero sí es mi amigo... solo que siempre le guardare un poco de rencor por lo sucedido... pero solo cuando se trata de lo romántico, nunca de la amistad. Como amigo es increíble. Una persona única y admirable).

Viiiiindicitve? Me? Hmmmm.... maybe sometimes. 

Beneficiary

Rafa has been very weird this last week.
By "very weird" I mean he has been going around HUGGING me. A normal hug. No ruffling of my hair, no biting of my head, no headlock. A normal, loving, brotherly hug.
WTF, are you dying or something? What the hell is going on?
And it's not like he'll hug me when I'm about to go to bed or leave the house... he'll do it randomly.
He'll bump into me in the kitchen as I'm washing vegetables... or I'll be walking out of the bathroom... and he'll wrap his arms around me and squeeze me (very, very tightly) without saying a word.
My head gets pressed against his chest, and I can't do anything but just sit there immobilized and confused.
It makes me feel like a baby.
All he needs to do is grab a blanket, swaddle me, and sing me a lullaby.
Are you reading my diary? What's the deal with this freaky, sincere affection, bro? What happened to the pinching, the pokes, and the cheap-shots? Is everything ok?

Today, as I walked over to the kitchen to make my breakfast, I decided to read a sheet of paper-- that was in my way-- before throwing it away:
Designation of Beneficiary
Unpaid Compensation of Deceased Civilian Employee
Ohhhh!.
A. Identification
Bro's Info
Ah! Ok. THAT'S why he has been hugging me... he's thinking of his mortality.
B. Information Concerning The Beneficiaries
My Info. Designated 50% of the share.
D's Info. Designated 50% of the share.
::gasp:: Rafita! :(
C. Witnesses
My folks and their signatures.

Obviously he has to do this shit for his job as a US diplomat, I get it.
But it's just an ugly feeling to think of him dead.
Who gives a fuck about the money... I'd be more concerned over the fact that he'd be DEAD to think at all about money.

Now even I want to hug him randomly without saying a word (though I'm sure he'd break that embrace with his typical "What the fuck are you doing? That's some gay shit!" comment).

He leaves in a week.
:(

Then I get to visit him at the end of August, where it'll be MY turn to pester him at his home in DC.
(another weird thing he has been doing has been him being SO freaking eager for me to book my flight to visit him. THREE DAYS IN A ROW he tried pressuring me into booking my flight... and he's gunning for longer than a week's stay. I think he secretly wants me to be there to be his fucking maid-- to cook and clean for him. I just know it! A tiny little will can't be solely responsible for all this bizarre showcase of brotherly love of his. But you know I'd do it... because I love that little wildebeest with all my heart)

Because he's a human being

Raise your hand if you've ever prayed for the health of a communist dictator...
MEEEE!

Well... that's not his actual title.
I'm talking about Hugo Chavez... and it's not like I wanted to.

I was sitting in church, by myself, getting my weekly visit over with... and for the most part, it was smooth sailing (mainly because this one dude--who also always goes to church unaccompanied-- I have a TINY crush on sat next to me... so I was pretty much forced into staying awake. He's "baby-face cute"... and REALLY religious... which is kinda scary, but hey, I only like to stare at him, ok? It's not like I plan on marrying him or anything... I just enjoy having him to look at once in a while... when he's not in deep prayer or whatever... because when he IS, it freaks me out a little).
There's a part right in the middle of church, where the priest mentions who the mass is intended for. More often than not, it's in remembrance of a deceased person... sometimes it'll be in honor of someone's birthday... and then there are the intentions for the ill.
This time, as I sat there trying to keep my eyes open... and keeping myself from yawning--BabyFace would be SO disappointed if I did either!-- I heard the priest start his speech.
"And let me just... take the time to... pray for..."
Ah, fuck... he's Venezuelan, isn't he? AH SHIT! Please don't tell me....
"Since on the 5th, my country, Venezuela..."
FUCK! He's doing it...
"celebrates it's 200th year of independence... supposedly... a so-called 'independence'..."
Really, God, I'm going to have to do this?
"Let me take the liberty to ask for... peace in my home country. For freedom..."
Phew... I thought I was going to have to...
"And... although many don't agree with what he's doing... and because he's a human being..."
YOU WERE SO CLOSE! WHY DID YOU KEEP GOING?!
"And because he's the president of the country, let's pray for... the president of Venezuela. He has cancer... and... he's a human being... let us... pray."

My jaw was open from the moment he mentioned the "although many don't agree with what he's doing..." and it stayed that way for a few minutes.
I kept looking up at the altar, where there's an enormous mosaic of Jesus, agonizing on the cross...
Oh man, Jesus... why? WHY must I get tested like this?
And as I repeated "Te rogamos señor" (I think in English they say something along the lines of "Lord, hear our prayer" or something like that) all I could think was "I'm really doing this... I'm REALLY doing this... Oh my god... Rafa would be having a fucking heart attack right now."

At least it wasn't Kim Jong-Il... or... Hitler... right? Right.

Volunteered

Haven't had the best couple of days recently... but today I received terrific news without even asking for it:
Dad gave me clearance to visit JC in the Fall.
Apparently Mom was talking to him about JC living in Berlin this upcoming semester, and my dad volunteered me to visit JC during that time... without Mom even mentioning my intentions.
Germany off my map, suckaaa!
Portugal, you're next!

The smile returned to my face.

Now let's hope that leash on the boy disappears by then.

Not 100 words? Ok, I'll try reaching it somehow.

Happy first of the month?
Which reminds me, I learned something new today:
People on Welfare get refills on their stamps on the first of the month.
Apparently stores are packed the first couple of days of the month because of this little factoid.
I only recently found out because my friend's mom complained about it as she was heading out to the store to buy ingredients for ceviche.
I was laughing for a good two minutes. The little lady was upset, but the urge for ceviche was stronger, so she decided to put up with the traffic.

Is that 100 words? I got nothing.
It's Friday before 4th of July... I can't think too clearly and I'm not in the mood to communicate...
I got some boys to pick up from the airport... Rafa's friends... a bachelor party.
How the hell do I end up with these odd jobs?