GOD MADE ME BACKWARDS TO FUCK WITH ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

What the Hell.

2013-07-24T23:00:00.001-07:00

Right now seems like a good time to start writing again.

Somewhere along the line of life I forgot about blogging. Things happened. I somehow got myself busy with life. I put on my big girl pants and got a full time job. I moved the fuck out of my parents house and in with my boyfriend. I ended up starting a furry-child army and now I have three dogs and at the rate I collect dogs, I'll have 20 in no time. I cook every day like an idiot. There are reasons why restaurants exist yet I don't use them often. I like to get around and go places or spend entirely too much time at Dodger Stadium. My boyfriend recently decided to upgrade his title to fiancé via this thingamabling on my finger. Holy shit, I might be an adult now. Kinda. Sorta. I'm getting there.

I just got back last week from a trip to Belize and Guatemala. I have A LOT to stay about both countries in the very short amount of time I spent there. I was gone a week and felt like I saw a lot. I talked to a lot of locals. I drove people crazy with the millions of questions I asked and wrote down things I can't even read because apparently when I write, I write in a secret language only my hand knows. Hands: Please communicate to eyes. Thank you.

I'm going to try to start blogging again. Like really blogging. Like actually writing down my thoughts whether jumbled or not and click the PUBLISH button and get it out there. We'll see how I do, but I'd like to document how completely bat-shit crazy I go over the next however many years...

America, I'm learning you.

2012-08-14T00:16:00.001-07:00

It's possible that I may be going through some sort of quarter life crisis, or maybe my mind stopped filtering out spontaneous acts of fiscal recklessness. I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking today, but I did something very dumb and it's taking me to the heart of Middle America: Ohio.

In my younger years, I always looked at the map of the US and said FUCK ALL THIS SHIT IN THE MIDDLE. I never really cared about travel because I was stupid, superficial and materialistic. I was so ethnocentric that anything outside of California, NYC or Miami, I honestly thought was below me and a waste of time. I never cared nor did I want to. I closed my eyes, put my hand over my ears and yelled obscenities at the thought of anything other than my precious California.

As a side note, I also partly blame that on being wrapped up in a world of equines, the dressage kind of equines, the most bloody expensive sport in the world, with the least amount of participants that cannot even fake being down-to-earth. I surrounded myself with obsessive loonies. I was an obsessive loony. Granted while a few of my closest friends are still those obsessive loonies, they're not on the level of those psychotropic drug abusing elitists I rode with.

Then something happened. Something major happened. Somewhere between selling my horse and getting royally fucked by a 'best friend' in the deal, my very first trip to Europe care of my loving parents, a horrendous break-up of a relationship that lasted entirely too many years, a post-break up party binge, and whatever other shit I went through --- I woke up. I was enlightened. I found that America is not so bad after all. All the areas in the US so often belittled by media (Utah, Kentucky, North Carolina are prime examples) are the areas that make up REAL America. Hardworking, genuine, kind people. By the dozens (or thousands). I love real America. I am in love with Utah and all you ever hear is OMG EW MORMONS EW OMG. Zion? Arches? Canyonlands? DE QUE HABALS!? I learned that food in real America tastes better. That people care more. That you'll get for what you asked for instead of being told to deal with it and to pay for it with your first born.

I learned I actually despise California, the people in this state, the lifestyle this state promotes and the type of people this state breeds. From this point, I could rant on and on about the Hollywood crowd, the hypocritical liberal non-liberal policies of this state and the surplus of brainless blonde or Kardashian wanna-be drones. But I'll stop here, mainly because I'd like to sleep at some point tonight.

My point is that I'm going to see America. Real America. Not Hollywood back-drop or green-screened America. The America with a backbone and integrity. Abandoned warehouses, abandoned steel-mills, pig farms, the stark contrast between the influx of southern hospitality and the abrasiveness of eastern european culture. From fried chicken and smothered biscuits to kielbasas and chicken paprikash, as perfected over the generations. I will learn Ohio through its cuisine, and yes, that includes some chili on pasta.

Canyonlands.

2012-07-23T23:55:00.001-07:00

Jamie and I absolutely love Southern Utah.

Besides the fact that Jamie and I love hiking and adventures, Southern Utah provides us with more than that. We can find that here in California. We both have a passion for anthropology (pre-Colombian culture in particular), Southwest cuisine and old westerns. You can't take a step into old Utah without all of the above overlapping one another.

What southern Utah DOES have is an economy solely run off of small and friendly businesses. No Walmarts or any other chains allowed. Mom and pop restaurants and hotels --- featuring Puebloan people artwork and photographs dedicated to Utah's Puebleon people's history, restaurants that heavily use Anasazi beans and locally hunted game meats. Some restaurants will offer 'cowboy' meals where everything is cooked for an entire day in a cast iron dutch oven. Hikes in the middle of nowhere, you'll find petroglyphs along the canyon walls. A couple of hours drive in any direction and you'll find Puebloan ruins. If you want to get lost in ancient American history, I suggest getting lost in Utah.

Maybe it's just better in theory.

2012-07-10T23:39:00.001-07:00

There's a disoriented moth on my screen. I've flicked it several times and it refuses to find another light to perch on, and it also refuses to die. Irritating.

A number of months ago I started working in a different field of law - Estate Planning and Probate
(hereinafter EPP as i'm too lazy to keep typing that shit). I'm not sure how Family Law isn't tied into this field because other than guardianship issues, it's pretty much all the same crap anyway. Now while I suppose a majority of EPP seems like paper pushing work, it's by far the most soul-sucking, heart-wrenching and downright dirty law I've worked in to date. Granted I've never personally worked in criminal, but I think that's fairly obvious: X person commits crime, X person sees trial, X person either serves time or doesn't. Fees typically attached.

Seriously though, I know humans by default are more greedy than giving. I understand the concept of wanting it all. I get that we want to have our cake and eat it too. For fuck's sake I'm an only child and I never learned to share and I don't think I ever will. So, I sorta get that mentality in a way. What blows my mind is how careless people can be with money that belongs to his or her deceased parents or other relative. How children can go from grieving to draining a million dollar account in a matter of minutes. How Trustees can commit breach of fiduciary duty against beneficiaries --- usually the trustee's own siblings or children. How sick can one be? How can one steal $400,000.00 from entitled siblings and refuse to pay it back? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS FUCKED UP WORLD? Brothers getting judgments against one another. Sisters will contesting over appropriated and gifted jewelry. Sons wanting to know when the estate can start distributing the cash gifts from said son's newly deceased mother. Seriously?

Worse, and by a long margin --- I sit and watch an elderly woman that is dying of a terminal illness get her bank account cleaned out day by day by her Filipina caretaker. Blowing $8,000 on this dying woman's card this month like it's water. Nordstrom's shoes, $300+ lunches, Louis Vuitton purses, $30,000.00 loans and not paying on the promissory note, calling me and asking for her paycheck days in advance. The caretaker reeks of this vile perfume I'm fairly certain she bathes in. She comes in and leaves me with a stack of bills on my desk to pay for the client and my desk smells for the rest of the day. I'm left gagging every time. I've gotten to the point where I can't even fake a smile when I see her. Chipper and cheery? Fuck you, I wish YOU were the one that was dying, you scummy bitch. I see what a scummy piece of shit she is. Everyone sees it. Then I get phone calls from a crying client who tells me she's bedridden and the 'kids' (the caretaker and her husband) "really need her" and to go ahead and advance thousands of dollars for the "emergency oral surgeries" needed for their poor, poor family in the Philippines. As if out-right spending her money wasn't bad enough, but to lie and manipulate an innocent older woman that's just trying to help thinking it's TRULY NEEDED is BEYOND wrong. If the client's caretaker got hit by a mack truck and flattened like a pancake I would happy. Karma's a bitch, as they say.

I just don't understand it. I've been bad with my money in the past. I've been reckless with credit cards and I've not paid my bills on time. I spent my entire late teens and early 20s blowing money on horses and clothing like I was a millionaire. Damn, I sure looked it... But either way, I was careless with my own money, and careless with billion dollar company's credit lines. I'm sure they could give a damn. I've never hurt anyone directly with money. I used to steal $20 here and there from my mom when I was in my teens to go buy food, booze (ya-ya, whatever), or get my nails done. She knew it though and it was one of those things that went unmentioned because she didn't care. I've never taken even a penny from a stranger, much less a friend or a relative. I may not want to share my water, and I'll have a hard time actually sharing my true recipes without altering something, but for fuck's sake I'd never manipulate or just straight steal anything from anyone. Boggles my mind. I'm so sad for all the people out there who cash paper, hurt the ones they supposedly love and think that's the key to life.

On a separate note, I'm leaving for a quick vacation on Friday. It couldn't come at a better time. My job is hurting my heart too much.

Orb.

2012-06-09T20:52:00.000-07:00

It's June, the sun is still peeking its face just slightly over the mountain and I have a sweater on. I guess this is June-Gloom. I, myself, am gloomy. There is no real reason for said gloominess. It's an emotion that has reared its ugly head for some odd reason or another and it too shall pass.

I saved a dog's life and kept her. Her name is Trona, named after the Trona Pinnacles (see picture above) where I found her. Trona is the polar opposite of my Sierra Havana. Trona is my nightmare dog and everything I never wanted in a dog but I just can't help but love her anyway. I'm a Doberman person and she's a Chesapeake Bay Retriever/Choc Lab mix. Dobermans listen and Retrievers do not. They also have long tails that knock water glasses off of coffee tables, thick long hair that sticks to everything, and attention deficit disorder. Maybe that's why I love her, because I understand where she's coming from. I'm clumsy, I shed long dark hair on everything and I'm most certainly ADD. Or so WebMD and all the ADD med advertisements on TV have told me.

I also started getting back into horses, and please put on the record that I state that with utter disdain. I get sucked into this vortex of ponies and more ponies and nothing but ponies. A few months ago I was planning my next trip somewhere around the world and now I'm looking to spend said ticket money on an expensive saddle. What the FUCK is wrong with me? Maybe it's been too long since I've been on a plane. It's been almost a year since I've had some out-of-California adventure. Thankfully I have an E-ticket in my inbox, and I'm going out of state in July. I'm hoping that redirects my focus on travel. Adventures are far less frustrating than a 1200 pound animal. Focus. On. Adventures.

I don't know how people sit still in the same place for so long. Considering I'm a hermit, I don't REALLY understand myself. I never want to do anything other than sit at home and save my mere pennies for hobbies. But then I get restless because I don't do anything other than sit at home. For once I'm in an environment that at least keeps me outside enough to be happy enough. I guess that is not saying much.

Move on.

2012-02-20T00:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I see these lazy horses walking through my backyard I wish I still had my old horse, Charm. Not that I terribly miss her, or riding, or the care, or the cost, or any of the above... But I miss knowing that if that were her backyard her bitchy, territorial self would chase that damn horse out of the backyard.

What drives me crazy is when I'm fighting off a cold that's attempting to metastasize into something greater than an irritation, and I have to deal with a dog pacing around the house growling at the gigantic four-legged, spotted thing 10 feet outside the window. Needless to say I'm grouchy from it. Whatever. I just need to get better. Pronto.

We're moved in.

2012-02-05T21:22:00.000-08:00

Don't mind the shitty fridge, Jamie and I are going to replace it like we did the shitty stove that was there before...

Anyway. We're moved in and we're happy. Our bedroom is still a complete mess but somehow his office has come together, my kitchen is totally set up and our living room has been overly used already. The bathrooms are half-organized. Sierra seems pretty settled but she needs more time to adjust.

Getting there.

2012-01-13T13:39:00.000-08:00

Redoing the staining on the cabinets, putting in a new stove, replacing the door to the dishwasher with stainless, paint in the guest bedroom, carpet in both bedrooms, new front door and then it's done.

Christmas ham? Why not the whole hog?

2011-12-25T23:53:00.000-08:00

I figure if you can't take a sawzall to the head of a pig, remove the brain and use them for fritters later --- then you probably have no business eating pork. This pork was my Christmas dinner for my family, friends, and some randoms. 60 pounds of pork meat goes a long way and makes for good times, especially when paired with a lot of booze.

The never ending house project.

2011-11-28T22:32:00.000-08:00

So, about that move in October 1...

We would be moved in to our place by now if I wasn't such a cry baby and basically sighed and sighed and sighed and sighed every time I walked into our house and looked at that horrific kitchen that used to be there. Granted this kitchen is still not up to my spoiled, rotten child standards with slab Italian black granite and Viking appliances... But this is not so bad for a starter home. At least it's all new, even if it's on the cheap. I have a picture somewhere but I'm embarrassed to post it, being that it was going to be my kitchen until magically the kitchen got completely torn apart. Thanks boyfriend (who never reads my blog) for actually paying attention to, and understanding, what all those sighs were about. :)

Hopefully we will be in some time around New Year. I can't wait for our place to be done.

Food Lately.

2011-11-25T22:53:00.000-08:00

The following pictures are the reason why my boyfriend loves me:

Spiced pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting.
White grits cakes with a spice cherry-cranberry compote, duck confit and a fried & salted sage leaf.

Chicken liver and black truffle pate.

Herb and butter crostinis with a gorgonzola-honey mousse, caramelized pears and a fried shallot ring.

Duck confit right out of the oven after poaching for 6+ hours.

Butternut squash soup.

Olive oil and garlic pizza topped with homemade veal sausage, mushrooms and fresh mozzarella.

The anti-sexy.

2011-11-02T23:40:00.000-07:00

For Halloween, I decided to get creative and not be the stereotypical "sexy-something" that all girls feel like they need to be for Halloween. Sorry to all the women out there who feel the need to look as cheap as their costumes, but quite frankly, I'm just not into that.

So for my friend's party on Saturday I dressed as a mime. A very unsexy, very creepy mime. But that mime costume is not as fucking awesome as my dirty 90's-era hoodrat/chola that I was for Halloween night. What's sad is that I felt like I had to explain to a million people that I was not a fucking drag queen but a 90's era chola. While I get that the new-skool cholas ( 'newskool' is spelled with a k when saying that, right?) are attempting to look like poor LA hipsters distinguishable only be a twinge more makeup and gigantic gold hoop earrings, the 90's cholas were borderline drag queens and THAT'S what I grew up with.

Believe it or not, at one point in time I didn't live in a rich LA suburb. At one point in time my parents had very little money, both worked two jobs to send me to private schools to keep me out of the gang ridden schools. At one point in time I lived in a neighborhood where people barely spoke English (or Spanish for that matter), where welfare checks were spent on terribly long nails and cheap make up. Within this neighborhood were tons of gangbanger-vato-whatever don't look at him because he might shoot you people --- and a bunch of hood rats that all looked like drag queens. I feel sorta bad in some ways for my sheltered friends, because they didn't get to see those drag queens in flannel in all their glory like I did. What I did not do, which would have absolutely completed my outfit, was grease up my hair to make that wet curly look, but my hair would probably fall out if I put it through that sort of abuse.

I'm thinking next year I might go full blown drag queen. I mean, there's absolutely nothing sexy about a drag queen (sorry if that's your thing, but you clearly have sexuality issues you need to address). If not, I'm considering being the Cad Lady from The Simpsons. I'll borrow one of my grandma's old lady moomoos, put on a frazzled-hair wig, wear some furry sandals, carry around a trash bag and throw stuffed animal cats at people. If anyone has any suggestions for absolutely heinous costumes, let me know. I might need to have a "Half Way to Halloween" party sometime in the Spring and force everyone to come in costumes, just so I can dress up in something ridiculous and feel like the odd (w0)man out.

With that said, I hope everyone had a nice Halloween and if you dressed like a completely whorey-something, that at a minimum, you at least had sex that night. If you dressed up like a dirty hoe and there was not a penis in or around you that night, then I suggest maybe reevaluate your wrong-doings. Goodnight.

I never did talk about my trip.

2011-09-15T15:29:00.000-07:00

I am seriously such a slacker. I have a mountain of things to do, seriously, and I've done nothing aside from laundry. I've done my boyfriend's laundry and my own, yet his is folded and mine is not. Lucky him. I also sat outside naked, enjoyed the sun beating down on my back and read a few more chapters of The Devil's Highway when I was supposed to be submitting resumes to find a 2nd job. As a sidenote, I believe every Californio should pick up this book and it doesn't matter where you stand politically, it's a good read on all those pesky Mexicans we always complain about. Don't act like you don't, because you do. Don't lie to yourself. And before you call me a racist, just know that my boyfriend is of Mexican-Yaqui Indian descent whose family has been here forever. So, can it. Just pick up the fucking book.

This morning I woke up on the wrong side of life today and everyone is managing to really piss me off. Because my boyfriend decided to plan MY ENTIRE WEEKEND for me with things-to-do including painting our house, I decided I better use this grumpy day of mine since my Saturday will be unavailable to read and relax. Sadly, this slack-time will inevitably bite me in the ass later on when I realize that I really did need to get X, Y, Z things done today. Whatever, I will deal with it when it comes.

I never really did talk about my trip aside from the fact that I fell in love with a horse; a damn cute horse at that. The picture above is with my brother who decided he hated California so much he wanted to move to bumfuck Kentucky. Actually, Kentucky is not as bumfucky as I had anticipated. It seems as though there's a good amount of coastal people moving to Lexington who have become tired of the hippies, the high taxes or just want an excuse to drink Bourbon daily and blame it on their newly adopted culture. I learned a few things about these MEAN AND TERRIBLE REPUBLICAN REDNECKS and you can consider these observations as blanket statements: These people are nice, REALLY nice. I've never met more considerate and nice people than in Kentucky. Kentucky folk have WORK ETHIC which is a true rarity it seems like these days. Kentucky folk do NOT shove Jesus down your throat other than in the true hillbilly area but in a really urban area like Lexington, Jesus isn't knocking on your door every other second. Not only that, but the state is CLEAN. My goodness everything is CLEAN. Eat off the road kinda clean. What I will say though is that no one eats healthy in Kentucky. I ate a Kentucky Hot Brown which nearly sent me to the hospital, cracklins', grits slathered in butter, some more pork products, BEERCHEESE which is another Kentucky regional food item which is a spread made of beer and cheese and it's disgustingly delicious and who knows what else I shoved down my throat. I seem to like doing that with fattening foods and other nameless things. That's what I gathered from Kentucky and it's a damn fine place to be. I don't blame my brother for moving. If Kentucky had better weather and mountains I'd be there in a heartbeat. Also, because I started my trip off in DC, I would like to make another blanket statement: HEY DC PEOPLE, FOR BEING A BUNCH OF POLITICALLY CORRECT LIBERALS, YOU GUYS SURE ARE ASSHOLES. I still love DC though, mostly because the women there are overwhelmingly ugly and the men are beautiful. I am seriously surprised more hot women don't go to DC to try to find a man. If I were single, DC would be a primo spot to find a good looking man. Just sayin'.

First post from my phone

2011-09-14T11:44:00.001-07:00

Now I can blog all the damn time because I officially have the blogger app on my phone. Haaaaa!!!!

Neigh.

2011-09-14T07:45:00.001-07:00

There is something terribly wrong with me... I might be getting back into horses again. Now while I know most of you who have read my blog over the years have read how big of a headache that was for me but I just can't help myself.

It started on my trip I just got back from. I went to DC/Maryland to help one of my best friends move her horse from there to Lexington, Kentucky. The trip was a lot of fun and most of it was completely ridiculous but that's not the point. The point is that somewhere along the line I decided to lose my mind and I fell in love with a horse in a field at midnight before I knew anything about him. As it turns out, he has an absentee owner who doesn't give an EFF about him so I guess my instinct was right. Now my friend is making her best effort to have the owners give him to me since he's practically abandoned. Of course out of all the damn horses in the world --- and out of so many available ones in California --- I find one in Kentucky. Of course. I'm going to spend $$$ to ship him to Cali but it's fine. He'll be living on the ranch with me at home which makes my life significantly easier and cheaper.

Whatever. If I don't end up with him I won't be getting a horse for quite some time... But ugh. Someone slap me.

You make yourself fat.

2011-08-24T00:07:00.000-07:00

After eating like a fatso all day, I do not look so fat right now and that's good. I guess that whole working out thing does some good. Also, the more I'm toning up, the more my body is starting to resemble that of J.Lo or Shakira and I figure I should just speak in Spanish all the time. It might make my life easier.

On another note, I'm going to DC next week and I'm stoked.

Steaked-out.

2011-08-21T23:29:00.000-07:00

I never thought the day would come where I've finally said to myself that I've had enough steak for a while. I've somehow managed to grab a hold of several fantastically well marbled ribeye steaks over the past couple of weeks at ridiculously low prices. Admittedly, I'm spoiled, so therefore my idea of low price is probably still really high for most people and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Either way, I've been wondering if I've been ingesting fat humans instead of steak as there are probably more well marbled humans on this planet than there are cows. Regardless, whatever I've been eating, has been fucking fantastic and delicious but I'm so done. Completely done. I thought I needed variety, and that's not true. I just need raw foods for my colon's sanity. I'm looking forward to eaten raw-vegan for the week, as the carne-ODing I've been doing has been making me forget about eating for 20 hours at a time until suddenly I realize I haven't eaten anything. Then of course comes the vicious cycle of "well I have some more meat in the fridge..." Creo que me voy a vomitar ahora...

However, my boyfriend couldn't be anymore spoiled rotten with his workin' man meals as I like to call them. Everything from steak with mushrooms and sauteed arugula, to Spanish-style steak with loaded potatoes, to Cuban-style steak over rice and a fajita style sofrito and plantains. The man can chow-the fuck-down. What I find the sexiest about my boyfriend is the fact that he's that stereotypical construction worker with his dirty jeans, heavy boots and baggy stained shirts and underneath his ridiculously filthy work ensemble is this gorgeous piece of man that can just chow down on 3-4 pounds of food and wake up the next morning like it never happened. I envy him in so many ways. While I skip the good stuff (the carbs) and eat a fraction of what he does, he just mauls away on bistec like it's the last he'll ever have. To top it all off, he'll finish with a fucking bowl of ice cream or something. That is just insane to me. Hot and disturbing, just the way I like 'em.

^^^ Boyfriend and pitbull between my legs. Cute, yet annoying.

On another note, I'm counting down the days until we're in our own place... October cannot come any sooner. Just the two of us and my dog until we get a Beauceron puppy. We went shopping today for our house and we ended up getting more kitchen stuff. He bought me new pieces to add to my ever growing Le Creuset collection.

I'm happy. What a strange concept.

Haircuts.

2011-08-07T23:07:00.001-07:00

I am resorting to posting a Utah picture because the picture I want to post I can't. I promised I wouldn't. So, fine, have a picture from my trip last month.

This afternoon was a complete shit show at my parent's house. Should I even refer it to my parent's house even though TECHNICALLY I still live there? What do I call it? My home life is in limbo. I'm neither here... nor there. I'm not "officially" moved in with my boyfriend but I sleep in his room every night for the past who knows how long? I think the last time I slept at home was when I had pneumonia and I wanted to suffer in my own personal tropical jungle. Either way, I guess I can call it my parent's place since right now I'm not there, my dog is with me and we're FINALLY getting our own house in October.

Uh, that ramble was completely irrelevant but I felt like I needed a background story. Point is, I was home with my parents this afternoon while my boyfriend was working on his project car and I didn't feel like laying around in bed all day while he played with grease and tools. So at one point in the afternoon my dad asked my mom for a haircut. You see, my dad is very bright man when it comes to academics but the poor man has ZERO common sense. He sees A. He sees Z. He does not see B-Y and that has routinely been a problem. He has ended up in the hospital this way many times... And he's also ended up with terrible haircuts.

Today is not the first time my dad received a hair cut from my shear-impaired mother. I don't know why after he's seen her attempt to shave her old dog, and knowing that she left him looking like road kill, why he'd ever ask once. The first time was a disaster. Today was round two of a bad hair cut. I may or may not have been home or paying attention as this haircut transpired. I honestly don't remember the cause of the shit show actually happening. I just know it did. I think it's even possible that my mom let my dad leave the house with the aftermath of the tornado of shears hit his head. Worse, I think he even trusted her enough that she did a good job that he didn't bother to look in the mirror to see how the back of his head looked. Either way, a number of hours had passed by the time I lifted my head from a bag of seaweed snacks to see my dad walking past me. When I told him to go look in the mirror over his head he immediately remembered why he does not let my mom cut his hair. Needless to say she took out ENTIRE CHUNKS OF HAIR and then left everything around it long. Ive only seen this type of bad haircut on homeless people, punks and fraternity boys during their hazing. It was bad. really, really, really bad. so bad.

Now, while I personally think my dad missing chunks of hair like he got attacked by an angry squirrel is completely HILARIOUS, it's borderline trivial. While I KNOW my dad can sometimes channel his inner village idiot and it's clear he falls into a cycle of stupid mistakes, what I want to know is, WHAT THE HELL is my mom's problem?

I mean. It's a simple pair of shears. How hard is it to shave a head? Why must one act so completely baffled at a pair of shears? It has one button for crying out loud: ON. It's not like she was given some sort of difficult piece of machinery and asked to split atoms. She was asked to give a buzz cut. I'm not entirely sure how it could possibly be such a difficult task for her but apparently it is. Either that, or my mom is a significantly bigger bitch than I thought and she did it purposely. I'd like to think it's the former but my mom is a fairly smart woman. Well, either way, I was forced to fix her fuck ups although I did request a picture of it in exchange. I might post it one of these days when my lurker parents are least expecting it.

Apparently I've never had tolerance for stupidity.

2011-08-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

You know, sometimes it feels good to call up my grandma and say to her that I'm coming over to bring her lunch because I love her to pieces. Actually, it was mostly an effort to make my mom look like the biggest bitch daughter ever, but I do love my grandma to pieces. I navigated through that shit hole valley just to bring my grandma a glorified happy meal and hang out with her for a couple of hours without my REAL BITCH of a mother in a hurry to leave so she can ramble about politics on the internet. If that bitch was skinny she could have made a great politician's side piece but sadly she is suffering from a case of the fatsos.

So while hanging out with grandma and giving her plenty of time to get her reminiscing out of her system for at least a month by going through countless photos and other miscellaneous items, I came upon this gem posted above. Apparently grandma is a packrat and has all sorts of useless crap a normal person wouldn't keep. For example, my very first Sanrio/Pickachu/whatever the eff creepy Japanese diary when I was 7 years old. All I know is that when reading my very first diary, I came to realize that I've been a whackadoo since I was a kid. I've always never had an ounce of patience for anyone or anything and I'm not sure it's because I'm an only child, because I'm spoiled or because I'm latina or a really sick combination of the three. Either way, it was evident that every time I wrote in my diary I was irritated. I wish I could apologize to Mrs. Gip[b]son for thinking her class was stupid and not worth going to, but the reality is I've always been a good judge of stupid. She probably was stupid and I'm sure her class was horrible. I wish I remembered who the Hell she was so I had some good stories to tell. My tiny seven year old brain decided she was boring and stupid enough to forget. Maybe she is the one who refused to let me go pee because she was in the middle of teaching spelling lesson or something and sent me to the back of the room. Maybe she is the one that made me pee my pants in the chair in the back of the room because she refused to let me go. I had a sense of shame as a child so I never told anyone. I was also very crafty in my peeing-in-class abilities because I never got caught or questioned for it, either. Maybe that cunt did realize that I pissed in her fucking chair because I REALLY DID NEED TO PEE and she would have been fired had the school found out she refused to let a little kid pee. Pretty sure that's illegal. Either way, fuck that teacher. I hope it was Mrs. Gip[b]son. That would be pretty awesome if I channeled my inner 7 year old rage and HAD to just write down she was stupid.

In my other writings, I wrote about how I had to play the piano in front of 500 people and I was really nervous but it did not suck so bad but I was pissed I had to go. Then another one of my writings was how I was really annoyed my cousin came over to spend the night and all she wanted to do was play Micky Mouse Nintendo. I also called the game stupid. (Note the power of good marketing: As a 7 year old I spelled "cousin" as "cousen" but capitalized the N in Nintendo and spelled it correctly)

All in all, I haven't really changed since I was little. I still have zero patience. I'm probably in negative figures now. I still write in my blog when I'm frustrated. I still think nearly everything is stupid. I guess I am just happy to know that even as a kid, I've always been opinionated and I've always been myself. Looking back, I was a damn cool kid.

About to get real busy-like. Say that with a Southern twang.

2011-07-30T23:24:00.000-07:00

Someone Eff me in the A.

August better be an awesome month of relaxing because September is going to be damn busy. One of my best girlfriends that lives in DC (see previous posts of me visiting her in DC) is moving to Kentucky with my brother Sept 1. AS ROOMIES. NOT LOVERS. LET ME CLARIFY THAT. So I'm flying out to DC and we're driving her truck and ponaynay trailer to Lexington, Kentucky. My plan is to have as much fun as possible until I see my brother... Then make his life Hell for the remainder of my visit because I haven't done that in almost a year and a half. The majority of the drive will be through West VA which means I plan on running into Jesco White and the rest of that fucked up redneck-hillbilly-white trash-tweaker shit family or at least their doppelgangers. I have a suspicious feeling that I'll be seeing what Palmdale would look like on tweak filled steroids. I hope Palmdale doesn't get any ideas anytime soon.

So after I run over to the east coast, the following weekend I'll be in San Diego with my boyfriend for my Godfather's wedding. I CANT BELIEVE THE MAN IS FINALLY GETTING MARRIED. So strange that he's settling down and he's not the bachelor party Godfather anymore. Totally insane to me.

After that is my boyfriend's birthday which I haven't even started planning for... Then the weekend after that we're moving into our own place. JUST THE TWO OF US NO WITH NO ROOMIES OTHER THAN MY (OUR) DOG.

Busy times ahead. O_o

Message truncated due to lack of care.

2011-07-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

I've been exhausted of everything that is a glimmer of care or apathy for anyone other than myself. That being said, I'm tired of myself. I'm bored, I'm restless and I'm too caught up in my own mind to give a damn about anything. All I want is new adventures and new hobbies. I want something. anything. I miss jiu jitsu but I don't miss the idiot people in that sport. It was a lot of fun, but out of the 129038120398102938120983 people training, only 3 of them were genuinely good people. The rest were a bunch of fucking retarded perverts, or just plain retarded. I also learned that men are far more dramatic than women. THAT surprised me greatly. I'm glad my phone no longer blows up with drama from the gym.

Yesterday I went for a hike by myself with my dog. My fat bitch crapped out before I did, LONG before I did, so I turned around and took her home. I really need a steady hiking partner. I thought I had one, but that turned out to be another cruel joke on me. I somehow repeated what I thought I left. I need to figure out how I keep ending up in this cycle because I'm tired of it.

Adventures.

2011-07-14T22:02:00.000-07:00

I have a shit load of pics from Utah. I am entirely too lazy to post all of them on one post so I'll just extend them out per blog entry. That's me in the white shirt with the camelback over my head. That hike was awesome and I ate shit 3 times in the water slipping over rocks with my expensive ass water shoes on. So much for supreme grip. Even better, there were a few parts entirely too deep for my short ass and I had to swim it. Even better than that is the gigantic German who passed me saying I was too short for the hike but in really broken English. Thanks German dude, I'm well aware of my midgetness. Turns out I survived hiking in a river and my lack of altitude didn't effect me too much. I'm Cuban, us Cuban folk have been supreme swimmers since the 60s.

Now I have a bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney. I figure if my fatso Dad did it in the 70s then I can do it today. I'm pretty sure that bastard has never been in shape. Sometimes I ask my mom why she married him because she was pretty good looking before she got fat, too. Then she's like "well he was nice" and I'm like yeah but he's fugs and flabby. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad a lot but we wouldn't call him Danny Darwin if there wasn't a reason for it. Sometimes I look at him and I get pissed at her for procreating with someone that looks like Shrek, knowing full well that I could have come out looking like his mini Shrek-looking mother and that could have meant 100k in plastic surgery on her end to fix me for doing something so dumb. Every morning I look in the mirror and although I will never be satisfied with myself I am just thankful that I did not come out looking like my Hungarian side of the family. What terrible looking people, for real. I'm just glad my dad is also half Cuban whose family is good looking so that put me on the decent scale. It also gave me the fat gene but I've been battling it by living the paleolithic lifestyle. You know, walking up mountains and eating berries, greens and meat. That's the key to NOT being a fatso Cuban: Go for a damn walk up a mountain and put down the mojito, fried plantain and cigar.

I'm not sure how the bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney turned into a rant about my fatso family and bad Hungarian genes but it did. Fuck it. My point is that I'm going to climb that mountain. Permits are sold out for the summer so I guess unless I get into a lottery to get a permit I will have to wait until next summer. There's NO FUCKING WAY I plan on climbing that mountain in the winter or early spring months. Fuck no. I have some big balls for a miniature female but not that big. I'd like to minimize the possibility of me dying via avalanche or lose a limb to frostbite. Nope, not happening.

Oh, by the way, I feel seriously sorry for anyone whose life is composed of nothing but shopping malls and clubs. The more I explore the world and see nature's beauty the more I feel sorry for shallow people. Shallow people, go kill yourselves. No one needs you.

Back from Utah

2011-07-13T12:59:00.001-07:00

It was one Hell of an adventure.

Perverts.

2011-07-06T00:10:00.000-07:00

Here's another article from the journal of DUH: Men are fucking perverts.

When I opened thisblog I decided to check on my stats to see how quickly hits on my page dropped. Well, my hits haven't really dropped much at all. I have over 60,000 hits on this thing due to pervy men looking up "Cuban Ass" on Google. It's evident that I've talked specifically about my Cuban ass on here and it's even more evident that men are obsessed with Cuban asses. Or at least 60,000-ish men are. 5,000 are from South America. I might just start every new post with a close up of my ass and talk about my Cuban ass until Google starts paying me to post pictures of my ass. GOOGLE, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?? I WANT SOME DAMN MONEY. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Google me. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Page impressions. Cuban ass. Keywords. Cuban Ass.

This sorta reminds me of my conversation a few hours ago with my good friend in DC that I accidentally ass typed to her "aal lah" or something along those lines to her and she sent me a "WHAT?" followed by some more question marks as I didnt respond since I was busying fucky or something. I came back with and replied ALLAH and then told her I was busy with my extremist ways and terrorizing. Then we talked about how Big Brother and the NSA are probably monitoring me RIGHT NOW so I figured I might take it a step further and say ALLAH ALLAH ALLAH TERROR TERROR TERROR and see if I start getting hits from Afghanistan. I'll probably get some creeper commenting on here pissed off that I mentioned Allah's name in vain. Whatever. I don't care about your Allah.

Ok, I'm done fucking with the government today. NSA, I'll be back to TERRORIZE you tomorrow.

Beer shits

2011-07-05T03:38:00.000-07:00

Why the Hell am I up at 3:45 in the morning? Oh, that's right, because my stomach woke me up to this wrenching pain that made me want to gut myself. What a fucking horrible thing to wake up to. Stomach pain really is the shits. Worse, I have a headache too. What a real cunt.

So earlier today I got LE DRONK (see drunk picture above) at my bestfriend's house for the 4th and swam around the pool for hours channeling my inner fish. I swam around a bunch while drunk to 1) challenge myself not to drown and 2) burn off booze calories. I hadn't eaten anything all day and for the first time in months I decided to stuff myself with wheat beer and chips and apparently an entire habanero pepper in less than 3 bites care of Daddy Mason who likes to put holes inside my intestines. Basically all the things in life I typically stay away from (with the exception of habaneros) I decided to overload on today. What a fucking terrible mistake. I think by beer 3 and half a bag of chips I was borderline vomits just from the carb overload. I really can't do that to myself anymore. If I have to be the creepy person who brings her own salad and green tea to the party I guess I'm just going to have to do that. Had I behaved myself I wouldn't be here suffering with a double whammy headache and buttache at nearly 4 in the morning with work looming around the corner. My dogs, and by dogs I mean Doberman and boyfriend, are soundly asleep while I am researching how to disembowel myself without dying. Lucky them, because if they were awake I'd make them suffer with me. That's the fascist way to do things, right?

Whatever, so long as I don't end up having that leaky butt syndrome where you can't hold your shits I guess I'll be ok. I actually know a couple of people with leaky butt syndrome. One shat her pants while driving somewhere important and the other can't go anywhere without needing to shat his pants every few minutes. I actually know someone else who has leaky vagina syndrome who fucking pees every other 5 minutes... And basically when she has to pee and there's no toilet she says FUCK YOU WORLD, YOU ARE MY TOILET and I've seen her piss on a West Hollywood dyke bar's dance floor, on a street corner, next to a club entrance all while in front of a ton of valet people, in someone's bushes on Laurel Canyon and she cut off a crazy midget in a wheel chair at a hot dog stand's outdoor restroom and flooded it. Needless to say this was all in one night. There were numerous other pee pee stops, but none that were insanely memorable, just annoying.