Life In Progress

Under Construction

2006-01-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

Eleven months.

I've never had a blog that lasted this long. Maybe it has to do with maturity or maybe I just had more to say at this time in my life. Regardless, all things come to an end. And it's time for this particular blog to end. And what better time . . . it's the beginning of a new year. I have many changes to look forward to and if all goes as expected my life will take a dramatic turn come autumn.

We'll see.

It's time to be much more honest with myself and I find that knowing in the back of my head that any and everyone can see what I'm thinking here is a bit scary and crippling to the point where I can't voice myself the way I want to as I can with my old handwritten journals.

It's time to find those again. Time to let it all hang out so to speak.

So, until further notice this blog has seen it's last post.

:P

2005-12-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

You are completely clueless sometimes, you know that?

A different kind of Christmas

2005-12-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

My usual Christmas consists of sleeping in as late as possible (which is usually about 7:00 a.m., before the phone starts ringing with well wishers), eating a late breakfast and vegging out in front of the television all day.

This year was different though. A few days ago I thought I'd be alone again on Christmas (as the past 4-5 years have been). And that really bugs me because even though I'm not big on Christmas to begin with I would still like my family to be around.

I thought my mom would end up at her on again, off again boyfriend's place, and my brother would be God knows where, but they both proved me wrong. Not only were they both home but we all actually ate breakfast, opened presents and watched t.v. together. And of course Christmas dinner in the evening.

Funny thing about the presents this year. Everyone who gave me anything must have been paying extra special attention.

Why do I say that?

Well . . . let me start off by saying I'm always appreciative about what I receive. Seriously, I'm not just saying that. I know there's a lot more people in the world who don't even have half of what I have so I'm grateful for everything I have (most of which I don't need, but that's another story). Anyway, so as I was saying, the givers were incredibly thoughtful with what they picked out.

For instance, my oldest brother gave me two cds. One was the newest Green Day album: American Idiot. I LOVE Green Day. I'm already on the second playing of the album.

He also gave me the latest Coldplay cd. Now this is interesting because I'm going to see Coldplay in a couple months when they come to Houston. He didn't know I bought tickets to the concert. In fact I don't think he knows much about my favorite bands and artists unless he just happened to walk in my room and look at my extensive cd collection, but then he could have gotten anything from Frank Sinatra to Norah Jones to Audioslave and I would have been happy. But he buys me an album of a band I'm going to see soon. Cool!

Here's another funny story. Well it is to me anyway . . . my friend Anna at work gave me a book. Two actually, but we'll talk about this one for right now. It's a Calvin & Hobbes collection: Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat.

No one else in the entire WORLD would have thought to have given me that book. It's crazy that she even gave it to me! Let me tell you the coincidence in the story: a few weeks ago the parental figure and I were in a book store looking for something for my niece and we came across this stand which held a book similar to the one I got, also Calvin & Hobbes. I was slowly flipping through it and reading the strips when my mom called my name and I go to turn a page and accidentally rip the bottom of a page. Mind you it was a very small rip, not even a half inch long, but still. I immediately look around to see if I had been caught. After realizing no one was looking I slowly walk away, whistling to myself.

So needless to say, when I tore open what Anna gave me my first reaction was to laugh. I'll have to tell her the story tomorrow. She'll get a kick out of it.

And my mom of course. Lately her trend has been to get me jewelry.

I'll let you know one thing about me: I'm finicky when it comes to jewelry. I don't do gold. I only wear real jewelry and only very simple rings and necklaces. I don't like watches (though I wear one only when at work), bracelets, anklets or toe rings.

And my mom has obviously caught on. For the past two years she's given me sterling silver necklaces. Both have been simple rope chains with a beautiful religious pendant.

Last year it was an old fashioned cross that I swear was nearly stolen right off my neck! I used to wear it to work and I'd have people reaching up to my neck and grasping the cross in their hands to 'get a better look at it.' It was mostly short Hispanic women who would often ask me (in Spanish), "Where did you get this?" And after I'd tell them it was a gift they'd want to know where my mom got it from.

Which is another thing about my mom, she never gets these things from jewelry stores. I don't know where she gets them, but they're truly unique. The one she gave me this year is a circular pendant with praying hands on the front and the Serenity Prayer on the back:

God give me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change

the things I can,

and the wisdom

to know the difference.

Heh . . . she doesn't know how many times these past two weeks I've gone into work muttering the first half of that prayer under my breath.

Overall today was a nice day, and not because of the presents. The fact that each little gift was incredibly thoughtful and said something about the presenter is what made me happy. That and the comfort of knowing my family, for the most part, is in one peace helped to cease my frazzled nerves. God only knows how the holidays can zap my sense of inner peace faster than lightning can.

Hopefully the remainder of the year will finish out the way this week started and I can start looking forward to all the crazy changes that are sure to take place next year. I know I'll need the courage.

Random thought of the day: I love hair cuts! They always make me want to shake my head like dogs do and lick myself.

Family Matters

2005-12-19T21:00:00.000-07:00

I used to dread the holidays because they always reminded me of the family members we lost and the lack of family I have locally, with two brothers on each coast, my uncle up north and my good friends scattered across the country.

This year though, looked like it was going to be different. My mom is here, my oldest and youngest brother are here and my other younger brother was home (Virginia) to celebrate his daughter's first Christmas instead of being out on the ship in the middle of the Atlantic.

However the youngest brother isn't even here a month (he came down for the Thanksgiving holidays and was going to stay a while with us before going back to Virginia) before he finds his old group of friends. The same ones who were a bad influence on him and got him caught up in stupid petty crimes before winding up in jail. Now he's in some kind of trouble AGAIN.

We got the call from the police two days ago. He hasn't been home since. He called maybe once to let us know where he was at.

*Sigh*

My goddamn family.

I don't know what to do. I gave up on the kid once. But then he turned himself in, did his time, got out, took his GED test, passed with flying colors and then moved to VA with his older brother and got himself clean, a job, and even started looking into colleges. I honestly don't know what made him turn back to his old ways. As far as I could tell he was doing okay here the past couple weeks. Everyone was on good terms and looking forward to the holidays. He and I were talking about what we wanted to get the parental figure for Christmas and we even went shopping for our niece together about a week ago.

He and I also took pictures together, the kind where you sit in that cheesy little booth and make stupid faces and a strip of four pictures spits out the slot after two minutes. I gave him the top two photos and I stuck the bottom two in my wallet because I have no recent photos of him and I together. On the last one we were imitating the three stooges. We had fun.

I'd give anything to talk to him. If I just . . .

If I just knew where he was at, figuratively speaking.

God, I need to escape for a while.

Random thought of the day: Ugh, hurry up 2005, hurry up and be done with.

Sandman where you at?

2005-12-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

I'm bothered.

{Then again when am I not?}

I'm not one for writing down my dreams. For one I can almost never remember them. And two it's always seemed like a lame way for me to fill up a journal. When I can remember them I'll tell a friend or two, but lately, for some strange reason I've been having nightmares. And they aren't your usual 'boogey man' type nightmares either. All of them have me in a real life, everyday situation.

Of the ones I've had I can vaguely remember four over the course of the last month and a half. The first one is actually a repeat of another dream I've had before, months and months ago. In it I can see myself laying down in the grass of a median in the street. I'm just lying on my side watching all the cars whiz by when this one car stops. A guy leans out of the driver's side window and asks me a question. I ignore him (he asked me something crude). And before I know it he's out of his car and on top of me.

This is where I woke up the first time I had the dream.

However a week ago, when the repeat continued it got as far as me trying to fight him off. I remember him smiling at me and him telling me, "Baby I don't wanna hurt you. But I will if I have to."

I was angry. And I was fighting as hard as I could. Not a single sound escaped my lips.

I didn't scream for help.

I didn't cry.

I didn't beg for him to stop.

Nothing.

Finally, I had the opportunity to stop him and I started to go for it.

But then I woke up, my right leg lifted, bent at the knee, prepared to kick the shit out of the man between his legs. Though I couldn't see my hands as it was nearly 2 a.m. I'm sure they were white; they were gripping the sides of my hammock so tight. Hair was damp, as was my shirt and my heart was beating so fast. When I woke up again later that morning I saw half the stuff I usually keep on my nightstand on the floor: my alarm clock, a small picture frame, a small wooden instrument a friend at work gave me.

Apparently I put up one hell of a fight.

I don't remember my second dream in as much detail. I do remember watching the dream through my own eyes, and at the same time being a participant, unlike the first dream. I remember picking up the phone and some man talking to me like he knew me and then asking for my buddy Anna (her debut in any of my dreams) from work. She talked with him a bit, really friendly like before hanging up. I asked her something and she went on about some 'big' project as she began to cut up paper bags.

She lined them up, one next to the other and wrote, in black marker, a letter on each bag: J-O-H-A-N-N-E-S . . . I'm not sure if it contained the 'burg' at the end. I woke up before she finished.

I know this dream was hardly a nightmare, but it still bothered me for some reason. I've never been to this town in South Africa, nor do I know anyone from there.

A couple days ago there was a rat in my dream. Like the first dream I was watching myself interact with people and things. I don't remember where I was or who I was with. I might have been alone.

There was a rat on the ground, squashed, sort of like when you see roadkill in the street and it looks like it's been run over a few dozen times. Anyway so I'm talking to someone in the dream when the legs of the creature start wiggling around and I freak out. It moves over to a white sheet of paper. Apparently the paper was of importance to me, homework maybe.

I go to pick it up by the edge of the paper and the rat crawls on my hand.

And this is when I wake up. Hand held about my head, ready to fling the imaginary rat off my hand.

Despite the situations though, the one that's bothered me the most was the dream I had last night. Again I was an active participant in the dream, seeing everything through my own eyes while talking to everyone else.

It started on a street in some dark alley, near one of those metal trash cans. The first thing that happens is someone gets shot.

Mind you I'm talking to this girl, not even two feet away from me, when she gets shot. And at the time she was VERY pregnant!

I catch her before she falls, her hands around her belly, my hands there as well, trying to keep the blood from coming out of the hole in the left side of her stomach. I can remember holding my hands up to my face, seeing all the blood. I nearly freaked.

But then, just like a movie the scene changes and she and I are on a beach, in our one pieces. And for some reason the girl is blind now. But I say to her, "Come on, let's run along the beach."

And off we go, sprinting before we turn a little and dive into the warm water.

And that was all. The only other thing I can remember was the first half of that dream took place in black and white while the latter was in color.

I rarely dream in black and white. I know that's supposed to mean something but I don't recall it right now.

And the fact that she got shot in the stomach and (I'm assuming) lost the baby is what's really bothering me. Because . . . well, I can't explain it. All I know is if it's pertaining to me in a way I think it is that's going to cause me to question my beliefs (not that I have a strong hold on those anyway) and ah, I dunno.

Random thought of the day: Stay awake!

No hablo Espanol . . .

2005-12-11T21:07:00.000-07:00

I can't help the way I look.

And I look Hispanic.

I AM Hispanic.

But I do not speak spanish.

Don't hold that against me. If you wish you can speak with my parents. I was never taught spanish growing up. In fact my brothers and I were sort of pushed into being as Americanized as possible.

Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. I mean, we do live in America and learning english, being able to speak and read it well is practically a necessity. However I'm not the type of person that believes one should return back to their country if they don't speak the language of the natives. I bet my ancestors ran into many people like that. And you want to know the funny thing? The opposite is happening to me now. In my line of work I run across so many people who believe I should be able to speak my 'native' tongue.

Nevermind the fact that I was born in the United States, as my parents and grandparents were. Speaking spanish was never something my parents felt I needed to know. This thought having stemmed from the fact that when they were kids they were forced to learn english in school. Their teachers, like a lot of teachers here in the southwest would ask students to tell their parents to speak English in their homes during their time. In fact I'm sure this request still goes on to this day in some schools.

Spanish was a first language for each of my parents. However because they used so little of it growing up they felt the same would be asked of us as were grew up so they figured, "Why bother teaching them?"

And now in our 20s and 30s we're faced with rude comments from others of our race, mostly first generation Americans (I'm a third), or the illegals.

Everyday I repeat the phrase, "I don't speak Spanish," at least a half dozen times. This usually brings the person to peer at my name, whisper, "Christina," with an emphasis on the 'r' and give me a look as if to say, "C'mon, I know you speak the language, quit lying." And usually they'll make light of the situation and ask me, "How can you not speak spanish? Your name is Christina."

To piss them off I say something like, "Yeah, but it's spelled the american way, with a 'Ch.'"

{In the spanish language 'Ch' is the fourth letter so if you were to say my name, as spelled, in spanish it would really sound like 'Tristina.'}

Either that or I'll point to the black chick with the same name and say, "She doesn't speak spanish either."

It's not that I don't want to learn. In fact I took two courses in highschool and aced them. But that was basic stuff and I've retained a lot of what I learned. I know how to ask for the time, tell someone it's hot or cold, I can count in spanish and I know most of the days and months, but I can't hold a decent conversation in spanish to save my life.

Although I've been accused of holding out. I've had several people tell me I know spanish I just don't want to speak it.

*Mutters*

If that isn't the biggest load of . . .

I've been in many arguments with people who don't believe me. Two years ago, on Thanksgiving, I was called an 'English speaking bitch.'

The man was thrown out.

And just the other day I had a buddy of mine, a white guy, speak up for me when I was having it out with this Hispanic man because he believed I was lying. And on top of that a black man listening to the whole conversation spoke up and said he knew plenty of people like me, people who were never taught spanish.

I can come across rude at times, I know that. And trust me, I try not to jump the gun before I hear something out of someone's mouth, but when you were born in my generation with parents and grandparents born in the States and you have no accent whatsoever and you have to deal with stupid people all day you'd have a small chip on your shoulder too. I can communicate with deaf people and a very lovely couple who only speaks Russian so if you find it difficult to get your points across to me then that's your problem. Don't give me your lecture because it's only falling on deaf ears. I'm not asking you to learn the English language, so don't tell me I need to learn spanish.

Random thought of the day: I really need to stop scratching my arms so much. I look like a junkie going through withdrawal.

Feed The Ducks

2005-11-28T01:50:00.000-07:00

I. Am. A. Dumbass.

Not only did I spill the beans about a friend's Christmas gift entirely too early, but I put him in a very awkward spot.

Hang on a second while I bang my head against the floor.

I had what I thought to be the greatest and most perfect gift I've ever given anyone and I screwed it up, royally.

You see, I've known this guy going on four years. We met in some chatroom online shortly before I moved away from Houston. And throughout all that time he's one of the very few people I've maintained contact with strictly through phone calls and emails.

Until next February.

My plan for his Christmas gift was to fly him over, along with a pair of tickets to see one of his favorite artists (Fiona Apple) open for Coldplay here in Houston. Naturally my plan was to meet him face to face for the very first time. You know, put a three dimensional body to the voice.

It never occurred to me that he may not be ready for that step.

So, when his first reaction was to be nervous, and a bit hesitant, it was like a slap in the face. I must have been so overly excited at the thought of hearing his reaction to what I was giving him that I never thought it'd make him anything less than happy.

Nevermind the fact that I've been in his spot before.

I've met several of my 'internet buddies.' However all but one were talked about in great length before both parties agreed to the meeting. The exception being a dare and involving over a thousand miles, but I've spoken of that one before so I won't repeat myself.

Anyway, after talking it through and him telling me many, many times that he was not nervous I made him promise me to let me know, at any time, if he wasn't comfortable with the whole idea and I would back out without a word. No concert, no meeting, no anything. He could enjoy the whole experience without me, alone, or with whoever he chose to bring.
No questions asked.

I have a tendency to get in way over my head sometimes. My ideas run away with me and I'm so eager to please at times that I don't prepare myself for a person's initial reaction. But I hate for my friends to miss out on opportunities. For instance, this will be the first time he's flown. The first time he's seen Miss Apple perform live. The first time he's been to Houston (and Texas).

It'll be the first time we meet.

Luckily I always get people 'back-up' gifts, things I know can't go wrong.

Random thought of the day: Eh, nothing else.

Future Me

2005-11-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a while.

Sue me.

I came across the niftiest website when visiting the guestbook of another blogger. This site allows you to write an email to yourself (or someone else) to be delivered in the future. 'Future' meaning a few days, months, up to a couple decades (whether or not the website will be around that long is another story).

I took the liberty of emailing myself, for the message to arrive on my twenty-sixth birthday (July of next year).

I didn't know what to tell myself. I just opened a blank page and started typing, basically jogging my memory of past recent events: my best friend's wedding, my vacation, and good friends.

One thing of note I didn't mention was having grown up and shedding bad habits. I told myself I hope I don't fall into the same circles I've been going in and wanting to kick myself afterwards. I bring some of these bad things upon myself and the worries and burdens are all things I created. I hope by my next birthday I've learned from my mistakes.

On the other hand, I also did tell myself that despite what may be going I'm loved as I am. I'm surrounded by some people who sincerely love me and want to see me happy.

That may sound like an afterschool special, but sometimes when the chips are down and you don't think you're going to make it to the next day you need to hear something like that, especially at times when you're being reflective of your own life, such as when birthdays occur. Funny how times like that can depress a person!

I hope the site spreads like wild fire because personally, I find the idea to be incredibly unique.

Course, if it doesn't last very long and my email doesn't get delivered on my next birthday and I happen to be contemplating the meaning of my life and wondering if it's worth it I'm going to be seriously pissed in my afterlife!

Random thought of the day: Devising plans that work. Keeping secrets. Meetings. Deafening emotions.

Mornings with Anna

2005-10-27T23:47:00.000-06:00

One of my closest friends comes in the form of a middle aged, ex-chainsmoker, free spirited woman from Florida with whom I work with.

Her name is 'Anna.'

I lovingly call her 'Duh.'

Long story. I'll get to it later.

Anna is one of those rare types of people whom everyone loves. She can talk to little kids, old people and everyone in between and have their respect and admiration. She's a socialite and absolutely wonderful. I swear on my life we share the same soul. If there is a such thing as reincarnation the same person got transformed into two different bodies in consecutive generations, mine and hers.

The similarities are amazing: we both started working at nursing homes as teenagers. She has a very distant brother that she doesn't know very well, as do I with a brother in So Cal. She recently became an aunt for the first time. Her beautiful nephew is turning a year old soon. My niece was born almost four months ago. We both prefer the road over the air and so on and so forth.

Anna has no kids of her own, well other than the 3-5 of us twentysomethings at work who she works with on a regular basis. After so long she gradually claimed us as her kids the way a teacher might at school. Not that we mind of course.

She tells me regularly that she loves me. And I say it right back.

I love getting to work early and spending a few minutes chatting to her before having to start my shift. Morning shifts are always harder for me because despite the fact that I don't sleep much I don't consider myself a 'morning person.' I deal with the public. Morning person or not, I still have to talk to people.

Anna makes it a bit easier by cheering me up usually with some short, witty remark about my appearance or some crazy story from her childhood. Like my uncle's stories some of hers seem so farfetched that you almost don't believe them, but your inner child wants to.

Which is another thing about Anna . . . her ability to be so childlike. Don't confuse that with being 'childish,' because childish she's not. She has this . . . innocence about her. At first encounter you almost believe she lives in her own world. She has a tendency to romanticize things like I do, which I love because I've never met another person like that. She makes the simplest things seem like the biggest adventures. And she tells me about the places she's been and the road trips she's taken and all the while I'm mesmerized. By the end of the conversation I'm itching to go there and experience it for myself.

Anna just 'gets' me. She's the only one who ever understood why I had to wrap my mother's Christmas present three times last year (don't ask). She feeds me. How can I not love a person who feeds me? And she does it with healthy food: grapes, crackers, small amounts of cookies. She buys me my choice of drugs: Coke {soda, mind you}.

And on a bigger scale she simply takes the time to listen to me. I probably never told her as I've often as I've told another close friend of mine, but she has an elephant's memory, meaning she remembers everything I tell her. She knows about my family, where I've lived, my views on things at work and everything else.

In general she cares about me. And she doesn't have to. Sure, it makes work a LOT easier but we could have been just 'civil' towards one another like we are with other people, but she's not.

I cherish my mornings with her. She's my cup of coffee.

Random thought of the day: No more favors please!

"Quit? I'm trying to start!"

2005-10-16T20:59:00.000-06:00

I've come to a conclusion.

I'm going to take up smoking.

And before all you anti-smokers/health nuts jump on my case hear me out first. I am not doing it because of 'peer pressure' or a case of postponed teenage angst.

I'm doing it for superficial reasons.

There, I admit it. I'm vain . . . so what.

I mean, I can SO pull off that 'sexy' image:

I can just imagine myself coming out of work with my bag thrown over on one shoulder on a cold dreary day, hair up in a messy bun and I'm tired and my feet are killing me. Then I suddenly let my long hair down, shake it a bit, pull out a box of Marlboro Menthol Lights (because I'm too much of a wimp and a weenie to handle the real shit), watch my last one wiggle out the box, and light it up all the while walking to the nearest bus stop. And everyone I walk pass watches me and thinks to themselves, "Damn, that girl doesn't seem to have a care in the world.'

Course, let's admit how it would REALLY go: First off I can't walk and drink water at the same time, let alone light a cigarette! Plus I've always had problems with lighters so I'd probably end up using matches instead. And my success rate with matches isn't all that great either. I'm always burning myself. I'm liable to spend much more money on matches than on the cigs themselves!

Second, I get sick pretty badly usually twice, sometimes three times a year. I'm talking losing my voice (and forty pounds), fever, hot flashes/chills, walking pneumonia type sick. My lungs can't handle smog, much less cigarette smoke.

I think the only thing I have going for arguing my case is how 'cool' I'd look.

I've never been 'cool.'

I'm not sure what I was in highschool. I wasn't a 'geek,' per se. I mean, I was and still am pretty smart (at least I like to think so), but I never won the science fair or joined the math club or anything that would have caused me to get a 'whirly.'

I wasn't that hippie chick either, nor a feminist,jock or teacher's pet. I was well rounded I suppose. I hung out with everyone from the football players and band members to the braniacs and students who had remedial lunch.

But I wasn't 'cool.'

So now, at twenty-five years of age I have my chance.

And mind you it took a long time for me to decide on smoking as my 'thing.'

I thought about drinking, but c'mon. I drink vodka. And every once in a while a few margaritas, frozen, with salt. I don't touch beer or Jack or Jim or any of the other Walton boys. I'm a lightweight.

I also thought about drugs, but I'm terrified of needles. I used to be an amateur cutter (I never told anyone that), but that's when I was younger and my skin was 'thick' so to speak. Nowadays it embarrasses me to see a simple scratch anywhere on my body.

And I regularly give blood, but that's it. Hell, I don't even like going to the doctor in fear that he'll tell me I have something contagious and I need a shot.

Not to mention with the rising cost of everything these days, and the local crackheads wanting to take a hit of my load (did I say that right?) I can't afford to do drugs.

Not on what they pay me at my job.

Besides, I was the only girl amongst the five kids in my family. I never learned how to share.

Now I just need to figure out how to start. I mean . . . after a particularly stressful day at work I've always said something along the lines of, "God I need a cigarette," usually followed by my friends laughing, but how do I actually get myself to DO it?

It's times like this I wish one of my friends was a kleptomaniac when we were younger. And another a pyromanic. Imagine the fun. Course with my luck the former would have stolen my smokes from me after a few days and the second would have lit him on fire and then we all would have gotten throw in juvie!

Random though of the day: My boys are going to the World Series!

This thing called 'love'

2005-10-07T20:38:00.000-06:00

Love.

Love, how many times have I said that word and the phrase, "I love you?"

Countless times I'm sure.

How many times have I actually meant it?

To this day I'm still not sure.

My parents are, by all means, not perfect. I'm aware of this. And as parental figures they had the responsibility of raising five kids to the age of eighteen. After that it's pretty much whatever we wanted.

But that's not the path I'm trying to take. What I was getting at was how their responsibility for caring for us determined how we perceive love.

Growing up after my parents' divorce we were never really a close family and the word love was a word we never said aloud very much, especially my mom. Quite frankly I began to wonder if she really did love us. And that's not something little kids should be worried about. I knew she didn't hate us or regret having kids. We weren't abused in any kind of way by our parents nor were we deprived of the basic necessities and actually we were a bit spoiled despite the fact we grew up struggling (after the divorce).

But when it came to our parents showing us they loved us they lacked the knowledge of how to do one of the simplest things a human can do.

My father's the type that tends to try and buy us things to make us happy, therefore letting us know he loves us. I can't tell you how many dolls, toys, clothes and money I was given. In fact, of all the childhood things I was given the remaining things I've decided to keep (after donating most of my toys as I got older) are all things my father gave me: a 20 year old caterpillar with eighteen and a half legs, and most recently a very expensive teddy bear he bought me after he saw me admiring it in a store.

My mom's a different story. Like all kids we bugged her for stuff when we were younger. But as we got older and realized our situation we knew not to ask for much. So buying things wasn't her deal. In fact, I'm not sure what her deal was. I mean, we knew she loved us, even though she didn't say it much, but sometimes, usually when an important decision was involved it almost felt like we couldn't get her acceptance on anything.

She lacked the ability to encourage us to try new things, to throw us in the water and say, "Sink or swim kids, sink or swim." When we became interested in sports or the arts she never really pushed us to give it our all. And I'm well aware she was usually so tired from working long hours and supporting us, but I'd have given anything if she would have tried. And after highschool when I started my second year of college in another state or when my brother announced he was joining the Navy she didn't exactly show any enthusiasm in knowing that we were preparing for our futures. Instead, if I remember correctly, her exact words were, "I'll believe it when it happens." Whether she was in denial or because our decisions shocked our entire family I don't know.

(The relationship I had with my father pre-Wyoming was known for being notorious, as was my brother's feelings about NOT joining the military).

Mind you she didn't discourage us (she never has), but these were huge announcements, considering none of us ventured far from home for an extended period of time before.

She almost seems like she doesn't need to say anything until someone is leaving the picture, because when it came time for two of us to leave (a mere five months apart from one departure to the next) she broke down both times. It was hard on all of us, especially after we felt like we would not be missed.

At work, I've been overheard on the phone telling my younger brothers I love them. When I hang up a friend or co-worker will say something along the lines of, "Aww, how sweet for you to tell your boyfriend that."

Upon which I look at them with a bewildered look and say, "Boyfriend? I was talking to my little brother."

And they don't understand this.

And I don't understand how they cannot not say something like that to a sibling (Unless of course they hated one another, which at some point in our lives, don't we all hate our siblings?).

And this isn't the only instance. I can't speak for my older brothers because of the age gap between us older three (five years from one to the other, the oldest being ten years older than me) and they were brought up under different circumstances before me and the younger two came along, but we have a tendency to be starving for this thing called love.

Some would call it a desire to be accepted. But I don't see it that way. For you see, at work I never tried to 'fit in' or gossip along with the majority of women in order to have some sort of 'bond' with them. It was a gradual thing for me and it was mostly my humor which got people to open up and trust and like me.

But that's different. What I'm referring to in my walk down memory lane is the special relationships you have with some people, be it platonic or otherwise; the types of relationships that ultimately change a part of your life because of their significance.

I have this bad habit of hanging on to people who I know I should have left alone a long time ago. Namely because they love me. I know that; it's showed, loud and clear.

Yet the relationship I had with my ex was a mess from the start, and even as we try and salvage some sort of friendship at this point in time we both know we should give up. We'll never be 'just friends.' He'll always be 'my ex.'

A few weeks ago in a moment of what can only be described as complete and utter insanity (spontaneity) he traveled well over 500 miles, from Oklahoma, down I-45 into Texas to Houston to see me.

He decided this at 2:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. On weekends he's not supposed to travel more than 150 miles from base (at the time he was in the military). And he had to be at work bright and early 8:00 a.m. that Monday.

We saw one another for about four hours. The trip took longer than that one way!

It's sad really, what's left of 'us,' and how we used to show one another we loved the other. With this particular person I would have done anything to have kept him, to have him love me. It's almost pathetic on my part because I was so desperate for this guy to love me and what's even sadder is he didn't exactly want me to do or change anything about myself to make him love me. He already did, as I was, simple as that.

I was just trying to keep that love. And as much as I hate to admit this a small part of me is still fighting to keep it.

I fight myself to keep a few individuals' love. Namely friends.

I am the extreme opposite of my mom. I'm everyone's cheerleader. When my friends decide to change career paths or majors in college I'm right there, pushing them.

And at the same time I'm a little like my father in that I'll give things to people to express my love because half the time I'm never sure how to say it aloud. I don't always know how to say, "Hey, I love you.' Or, 'I appreciate you.'

I'm also a touchy feely type person when it comes to people I trust. I always want a hug or to give one. I tell everyone I love them, often and yet I'm still afraid no one understands how much they mean to me.

I'm paranoid I know. Or perhaps I need them to reciprocate to make up for the lack of hearing it when I was younger.

It's funny how as you grow older your friends suddenly become your family and you depend on them likewise. I'm not sure at what age that starts but I know I spend more time with co-workers and friends than I do any single member of my family, and I live with two immediate family members.

This thing called love.

I wonder if I'll ever know what it really means.

Random thought of the day: They're closing down a landmark!

Who has gas?

2005-09-26T20:39:00.000-06:00

Yeah . . . I know.

Sue me already.

Want to know what my past week has been like? First, last week around this time I was basically being told by all the local newscasters that my apartment, which is on the first floor mind you, is going to flood and the entire city will flood and I'll have to live off Spam and water for weeks at a time while I waste away in the 100 degree weather with no AC because we have no power because a 'monster' named Rita will bitch slap us like we owe her child support.

By Wednesday the 4+ million people that live in Houston started panicking for gas and by Thursday nary a gas station could be found that sold regular gas. By that evening everyone and their grandmother was on the road trying to head either to Dallas, San Antonio or Austin in order to get the hell out of Rita's way because we didn't want a repeat of Katrina.

My family only wanted to travel a mere sixty miles. We knew getting any further than that would be next to impossible. You know how long it took us to reach half that distance?

Five hours.

Thirty miles in five hours.

For those of you mathematically challenged that's six miles per hour. One mile every ten minutes. We WALK faster than that. But of course in 100+ degree weather no one's going to try and walk.

So we ended up coming back to town, but just a bit further than where we lived, to my uncle's house where my grandmother was staying for the time being (she was in town getting some tests run on her heart) and his son and another uncle of mine who came in with his wife, daughter and her two kids. So there was eleven of us in a three bedroom house.

No complaints though. I've certainly heard of worser conditions. I think at last count one woman at my job had twenty-two other people at her house.

I certainly ate well. We barbecued and the parental figure and her brother made breakfast for everyone every morning we were there (Thursday afternoon until Saturday afternoon). We also had more liquor than water at the house.

Every family that showed up took their own kind. My uncle and his son already had several cases of beer there. My brother brought a bottle of Jack, I with my vodka and my other uncle also brought a different kind of beer.

Goes to show what Hispanics take when they evacuate. We may being going through a tragedy but dammit if we aren't going to try and numb the pain!

However numbing wasn't necessary, seeing as to how by the time the storm hit it had moved far enough east and weakened so much that we hardly saw any rain and wind at all. I was actually a bit pissed because I took so much time to secure my things in my room and go through so much trouble to try and contact all my friends out of state and let them know where I'd be staying and etc and so on and NOTHING happens!

Sure the wind blew and the rain fell, but hell, as far as I know that could have just been God passing gas and spitting on us!

{Save your anti-blasphemous remarks for someone who hasn't heard them already}

Eh, but I'm young and the country is big. I'm bound to run into some more forces of nature another time.

The extent of my injuries over the past few days: 1) The trunk hood my my brother's car crashed down on my head as we we packing our things back into the cars. 2) I managed to stab myself in the toe with a toothpick that was lying around on the floor when I came back home and I was walking around (barefoot) unpacking what I had stored in my closet.

On top of all this I am sick at the moment. It's merely a cold right now. I'm waiting for that really cool gurgly sound in my lungs to start. That's when I know it's bronchitis. My voice is already beginning to crack and strain so it's only a matter of days before I won't be able to talk. Which is good for me at work because I'm stuck answering phones half the time and getting asked dumb questions and dealing with retarded people in general. So I get to shove that off on someone else.

I've been home two days and I still haven't contacted half the people I called before I left to let them know I'm still alive.

Heh, I'm tempted to let them sweat it out a little more.

Hmm . . . mass email time.

Random thought of the day: How old do you have to be before you STOP breaking out?

Road Trips

2005-09-05T23:28:00.000-06:00

My impulsiveness is going to get me into some SERIOUS trouble one day.

And until that day comes I'll continue tempting fate.

Heh.

Random thought of the day: Not so much as random 'thoughts' as a slideshow of random scenes from the movie 9 Songs. (Don't ask me why I'm smiling.)

Bridge over troubled waters

2005-08-31T20:52:00.000-06:00

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the 9-11 tragedy happened. I remember hearing the news on my favorite radio station as I got dressed for my first class the morning. I remember running to my living room and flipping through the news stations with my younger brother and watching in horror as people ran, screaming for their lives.

Then I remembered a friend of mine who lived just miles from downtown NYC.

I spent the next three hours, frantically calling him, only to get a busy signal or the operator.

Finally, after so long I was able to hear his voice and know that he was alive, upset and shaken, but alive. He had slept through it all.

Right now I find myself in somewhat of a similar situation. However this time it isn't planes crashing into buildings.

It's floodwaters rising in 'The Big Easy' and surrounding areas. I have friends in Louisiana. I have friends here in Houston who have families back in Louisiana. I can't tell you how many hours we've spent trying to call them. I know a couple of them have managed to make it out and to safety but who knows in what condition their homes may be in. And I know that's probably something we shouldn't worry about at the moment and the fact that they're alive should be priority, but I'd hate for them to lose their homes.

I can't even begin to imagine what that must feel like. To be hundreds of miles away from the place you've called home your entire life and not know if you even have a home to go back to. And these people aren't even sure when they can go back home. I've heard reports that some of these people won't be able to go back for weeks, maybe even months!

They're opening the Astrodome to the LA residents who seeked refuge in the Superdome during the storm. As I type buses of people are headed this way to get these people to safer land and hopefully have food, water and a place to sleep ready.

I forgot to ask one friend of mine about his dog. I'm sure he either took his pet with him or dropped him off at a local kennel, but even animals are being evacuated out of the state. Houston is now home to hundreds of LA pets and our city is starting to ship the poor things even further, to San Antonio and Brownsville. My friend may not even know where his dog is!

It's heartbreaking to watch these stories. I have people coming into my job from LA and we feel nothing but sympathy for them. I can't tell you how many times I've cried just looking at their faces. I've never been through anything like this. Sure Houston has had it's share of tornadoes and hurricanes and everyone who was around here in the summer of 2001 has their own Tropical Storm Allison story (my aunt lost her house), but it's NOTHING like what's going on now.

And it's going to take a long time before things are back to normal for these people. Or rather before they can start over.

*Sigh*

I really want to hear my friends' voices.

Random though of the day: Let the phone ring and let it be you.

My Best Friend's Wedding (The event, not the Julia Robert's flick)

2005-08-24T12:42:00.000-06:00

My best friend got married this past Saturday.

I was her maid of honor.

I've known this girl since I was a junior in highschool and she was a mere sophomore (I still love to tease her about the fact that she's younger than me yet everyone thinks it's the opposite) We met through a mutual friend of ours because I had something she wanted: several photographs of another friend of mine, a guy she had a huge crush on.

I used to find Andrea to be a bit much. She was always talking and laughing and saying the most inane things. But she gradually began to grow on me. I didn't see much of her in highschool, with her being a grade under me and I having early release so I was usually done with school before it was time for lunch (the only time we really mingled with classes under ours). In fact in wasn't until about several months after my friend and I finished highschool that all three of us started hanging out together.

We did the typical things teenage girls did: went to the movies, clubs, had a couple drunken episodes, etc and so on.

We were fine until I got ready to leave for Wyoming three years ago. I remember asking my friends to meet me at a particular place in the galleria area so I could talk to them. So we met, went to grab some food real fast and then came back to our spot. After eating and walking it off a bit I told them what had been on my mind.

Actually now that I think about it, I remember telling our friend on the phone first before telling Andrea about it face to face the following day.

She took it bad.

Real bad.

But we managed to stay friends throughout it all. It was our mutual pal who fell away from us. And to this day we aren't exactly sure why. We still wonder about her and her whereabouts. Last we heard she was still with the guy she was seeing at the time and she had a baby girl who's probably about a year or so by now.

But about this weekend . . . it was lovely.

Everything that could possibly go wrong did and tempers were flaring and panic attacks were of no short supply, but dammit we managed to pull it off.

And while I was so happy for my best friend for finally finding a man she loved and respected and having him love and respect her just as much I couldn't help but feel a slight bit jealous.

I was supposed to have been married by now. Not because I'm younger than her and she "beat me," but because I had found the love of my life and he had been trying to get me to marry him for nearly two years now and when I finally agree to it and go through all these measures to see that we do get married something happens and we now have to put it on hold.

I couldn't help feeling a bit detached at times while at my friend's wedding. A few times at the reception I snuck out and took a walk around. We were near a shallow wooded area and I remember walking on a worn path through the trees, dress hiked up to my ankles so as not to get it dirty and my pink flip flops (I had taken my heels off after the ceremony) leading the way. The wind was blowing ever so slightly, gently rustling the leaves and the night was warm. It's one of those moments straight out of a chick flick. We've all had them.

Only, my Prince Charming didn't come rushing in to rescue me away from myself while I was out there and wisk me away to the party and announce our re-engagement.

Instead, I walked back in, put on my happy face, grabbed my best friend's father and danced the night away.

I might have been sad.

I might have been tired.

I might have been depressed, but it was my girl's night and I was going to do whatever it took to cheer me up and honor a big step in her life.

(My favorite photo taken of the newlyweds.)

Random thought of the day: Sleep.

I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

2005-08-12T02:03:00.000-06:00

I HATE MY JOB.

I HATE THE STUPID PEOPLE THAT ARE SOMETIMES LEFT IN CHARGE AND DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO JACK SHIT.

I HATE THE FACT THAT I KNOW A SHITLOAD LOAD MORE ABOUT THEIR JOB THAN THEY DO AND HAVE TO DO IT YET GET PAID SIGNIFICANTLY LESS.

I HATE STUPID PEOPLE WHO CAN'T FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS.

I HATE IMPATIENT PEOPLE.

I HATE PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY CAN HONESTLY CALL MY JOB'S CORPORATE OFFICE AND MAKE THEM DO SOMETHING ABOUT LIL' OLE ME JUST BECAUSE I AM SOFT SPOKEN AND HAVE TO RAISE MY VOICE THEREFORE LEADING THEM TO BELIEVE I AM YELLING AT THEM.

I HATE THE NEW CO-WORKERS WHO DON'T SHOW UP.

I HATE THE CO-WORKERS WHO ARE LAZY.

I HATE IT WHEN I GET SO MAD I WANT TO CRY (OR DO CRY, LIKE I AM NOW).

I HATE THE SOUND MY CAT MAKES WHEN HE MUNCHES ON HIS BUTT.

Wait a minute . . . {Laughs}.

Fuck.

Random thought of the day: {_}

Soundtrack of My Life

2005-08-10T00:37:00.000-06:00

I've been wanting to create a soundtrack for my life, well . . . my life thus far.

I always associate important events and people in my life with songs. My memory is horrible; however when I hear a certain song the memories start flooding back. And I've always wanted to take some time and jot down the songs in my life that bring back these memories.

And then I thought of another idea.

Why not make a cd with my "soundtrack?" It would be like any other cd I own, including the mixed cd's friends have given me over the years, because they are the short stories of my life. They're chapters. Moments in life I'll never forget. Memories of people I love and lost, look up to and can't live without.

So here they are, in no particular order:

1. Every life has to have a theme song. Mine is: My Way {Frank Sinatra}. Quite frankly, there is no other way.

2. My entire childhood can be wrapped up with the lyrics from: I Will Survive {Gloria Gaynor}. A bit of a cliche I know, but eh . . . no other song says it better for that period of time.

3. For me Nobody Knows {Tony Rich Project} will always be about harboring adolescent secrets.

4. On the night I got news of my grandfather's death One Sweet Day {Mariah Carey & Boyz II Men} was playing on the radio. I don't know if it was God's way of consoling me or what. Years later I've come to rely on that song when dealing with other family members' deaths.

5. Oh teenage angst! I think every girl my age has the same anthem: Survivor {Destiny's Child}. There were numerous bad break-ups, late night phone calls made, friends who ditched us for guys, tears shed and so many problems we had as young ladies, but we were always able to laugh it all off over a fudge sundae in our favorite diner at 2:00 in the morning.

6. After the news of 9/11 begin to subside and the music aired once again on the radios one of the songs playing was Only Time {Enya}, sprinkled with haunting news commentary. It will forever remain a song that will remind me of when our lives changed forever.

7. My inspiration, my muse, someone who took the time to help me discover myself. This song is dedicated to you: The Sweetest Gift {Sade}.

8. Somewhere Out There {Our Lady Peace} is my 'coming out of my shell' song. It inspired me to be brave, do something bold, like fall in love. If I remember correctly I was whispering the lyrics as I was dangling a few hundred feet in the air, waiting to be dropped in a net, hanging below.

9. I'm still not sure why I chose You're Still You {Josh Groban} for my soundtrack, other than to say that the first time I heard it was when the singer appeared on the very last episode of All McBeal. And it moved me so much I wept.

10. I remember riding through the canyons in Utah, hearing Wide Open Spaces {Dixie Chicks} on the radio. Any other moment could not have been more perfect. In the back of my mind I play this song on every single road trip I've ever taken, be it in the back seat of a car going to Kemah or in a greyhound bus going to Michigan.

11. The song I had with my ex: Velveteen {Sponge}. The love we had for one another was so intense at times that it felt like we couldn't breathe without the other, which was hard because we were constantly fighting. The relationship was brief, but the ride . . . incredible.

12. Yet another song of which I'm not sure of why I find on my soundtrack, other than to say It Never Entered My Mind {Miles Davis} always makes me think of those days in college when I'm sitting on my desk, peering out the huge window in my dorm on the fourth floor, looking out at the sun rising over the mountains and not having a single care in the world.

13. Stay {Lisa Loeb} isn't exactly about a particular time in my life or a particular person. It just makes me think of how self-centered and selfish I can be and completely oblivious to other people and their needs and best interest. I don't realize some of the most important people in my life are gone or I've missed opportunities until it's too late.

14. Heh. I can wrap up the early years of my current relationship up in one word: Complicated {Avril Lavigne}. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way. It's just that this song seemed to be a prelude from the beginning. My fiance and I heard it one night as we were driving down I-80 at 120 mph in the snow. We were stilll 'just friends' at that time. I didn't realize things would turn out the way they did. Throw in the distance factor, some problems with the law, our parents not knowing we initially met over the Internet and you've got a lot of problems. All worth fighting for though.

15. The video for Show Me How To Live {Audioslave} began my obsession with the band and another struggle with self discovery, mainly fighting off the negativity I was receiving from my parents concerning my relationship and trying to decipher my wants from theirs. I 'rebelled' late in life and tried my damnedest to get away from that 'prodigal daughter' image.

16. If there was ever a break-up song, it would have to be: That Particular Time {Alanis Morissette}. Why, you ask? Listen to it. It's so perfect. A girl would have done anything to have kept her man. But then she realizes in doing that she was deserting herself, her wants, her needs and her desires. So she does the hardest thing she can do. She leaves him, for good.

17. There are times when I want to forego this period of time I have to wait to be with the one I love and instead secretly whisper Come Away With Me {Norah Jones} to a friend of mine, whom I love just as much, because sometimes it hurts too much and sometimes it's lonely and sometimes I wish I knew him years and years ago.

18. My fiance's and my 'song:' Unchained Melody {Righteous Brothers}. The words are pretty clear.

19. I used to find myself playing the role of 'therapist' when it came to my circle of friends. The late night phone calls and crying sessions seemed endless, but as I grew older and my very close friends grew fewer I found the roles being reversed. In the song, Breathe {Anna Nalick} I can hear someone else's voice consoling me and letting ME know I'll be alright.

20. Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) {Green Day} is the song I want played at my funeral. Hopefully upon hearing this song everyone in attendance will be able to say, "Yeah, she made good of the time she had."

* Bonus Track: Again {Lenny Kravitz}, because Lenny is just cool.

* Hidden Track: Bad Day {Fuel}, because dammit I LOVE that song!

I realize the list is long, but the way I see it . . . it'll just have to be a dual disc soundtrack. It'll be available when I die, which, hopefully, won't be for a very long time. {By then all but two songs probably will have changed. Either that or I'll have added a hundred more songs, making my 'soundtrack' into a boxed set.}

Random thought of the day: I am blown away by the generosity of strangers.

Under Construction

2005-08-08T10:53:00.000-06:00

I hate Mondays.

Hmm . . . maybe 'hate' is not a strong enough word.

I LOATHE Mondays.

There, that's better.

Have you ever been woken up at 7:30 in the morning on a Monday after getting next to no sleep the night before?

And not just woken up by an alarm clock or your pet cat who insists you feed him that very second, but have you ever been woken up by such a horrible rumbling sound that you forget you're in a state where most of the population doesn't use the word "earthquake" in their vocabulary, yet you fail to remember that and fall out of your hammock onto the floor?

*Mutters*

I hate construction men, with their saws and hammers and pounding nails in walls and pants that sag below their waist and put on display their butts which have more crack than Harlem.

They're doing a lot of remodeling to the apartment units I currently live in: replacing damaged exterior parts (I'm not technical, so don't ask) and repainting and things of that nature. Every weekday they're at it.

And today they chose to start my unit, hence the morning wake-up call.

On top of that, I only slept about five hours last night after being so wired on caffeine last night and then being kept up by my ex, who I found out called my place from his base out of state while I was on vacation and talked to the parental figure and asked her for my whereabouts so he could stop my marriage to my fiance.

I'm hoping he was drunk when he called. That way I can use his drunkenness as an excuse for his behavior when my mom asks. Which, by the way, she did not bring up until yesterday, before I left for work, two weeks AFTER I get back home.

Not that I really mind because in the state of mind I was in when I got back home (unmarried, long story) two weeks ago I was so depressed and sad that I doubt I could have handled the news.

He still didn't tell me if he was drunk or not.

But he's on his way OUT of the military due to an injury and is insisting on seeing me on his way home. He's driving through Houston on his way to Florida.

I need a valid excuse not to be around that day(s).

And I was a complete asshole to a really good friend of mine last night, making him feel guilty simply for being the cool person that he is.

Add on top of that . . . there's the fact that I keep smelling paint, which the ex told me was probably just the bacteria I'm smelling because I have chronic bronchitis and when the bacteria gets in my sinuses it causes the air to smell differently to me, hence the highness from paint I'm always on.

It's kind of fun actually. My nasal passages are open wider and the smell makes me giggle a lot, but that could also be because of . . . ah yeah, well, nevermind.

And, I just ate a whole package of those sizzler type breakfast sausages with pancake syrup for breakfast!

I'm trying to lose weight!

Mind you, I'm not one of those sickly anorexic type girls who's a 12 in kids' sizes and drinks nothing but water all the time and freaks out when she eats a cracker. I'm about average size with hips, an ass and a mere handful of breasts, but my boyfriend thinks I'm the sexiest person alive and quite honestly I feel pretty.

I can eat a medium pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut by myself when I'm hungry and chug down a few bottles of Smirnoff Ice with the best of them, but right now, I want to look damn good in my dress for my best friend's wedding (Which I won't have until the 15th, five days before her wedding. God I hope it won't need any alterations) and that means shedding a few pounds, or at least toning the tummy a little.

But I like foooooooooooooood.

And vodka.

I'll just have to start my running ritual again. I've got two weeks. I can do it.

Unless, of course, I die from heat exhaustion. In that case I'll have an excuse not to march down the aisle with that creepy, boring blind date I was forced on a few years back.

Woohoo!

Things are beginning to look up after all.

Random thought of the day: Seering pain near my left temple.

Pedestals

2005-07-29T22:42:00.000-06:00

I find myself forming relationships with my friends' moms as of lately.

It's a bit odd for me in that I always thought if a young person had an extremely close relationship with someone older than them who wasn't a parent then something must be missing from the relationship they had with their parent, be it mother or father.

I've always had relationships with older men, mind you platonic, fatherly type relationships. Of course that stems from a lack of communication with my father and craving that closeness.

However with women it was a different story. I never could get close to another woman, be it a girl my age or an older woman. Sure there were those who looked out for me and wanted to take me under their wing, but I never strayed far from my mom.

And now, it seems like I'm suddenly someone my friends' moms try and keep in touch with and I find myself doing the same. You want to know the funny thing though?

These "moms" are moms of guys I've come across the Internet.

Beyond scanned photographs, they've never laid eyes on me.

And they know this (of how me and their sons met). In fact, one mom tried for months to get me and her son to "hook up {laughs}."

But that's beyond the point.

I remember exactly where I was when the image I had of my perfect mother was shattered, therefore causing me to venture for the first time, in search of a saint.

We were at her job. She, one of her friends and I were sitting around talking. I don't remember what it was, but I know it was something personal and the conversation between my mom and I got heated very fast. I was mad at her for something stupid, but then my true frustrations came out, namely about her and the few men she was dating at the time (one of which said some very inappropriate things to me {I was 16 at the time}).

I never wanted her and my father to get back together, yet at the same time I also wasn't prepared for her selfishness and "needs" in the relationships she had. It threw me for a loop when she implied that she was simply using the men she dated.

Secretly, I never forgave her for that comment. I thought she was a better, stronger person than that. And I know it happens all the time and you can see this display of selfish behavior plastered on any daytime talk show, but this is real life. This is my own mom.

After that I unknowingly closed myself up to her for awhile. No personal thoughts escaped. No dreams or wishes. I barely spoke to her.

Pedestals are a very dangerous thing.

Placing people on them when they aren't asked to be put there can cause quite a bit of heartache when the stand is swept from underneath their butt. Your world is turned upside down and the person you thought you knew and loved is now a traitor in your eyes and you both have to work twice as hard to try and rebuild what you once had.

Not to mention it isn't very fair, to either of you, but especially to them. They know they aren't perfect.

As I know I'm not. And being told by someone I love that I am 'perfect' is frightening because one day I'm going to mess up. I'm going to hurt them in such a way that they won't ever look at me the same. And that scares me more than anything.

I'm trying to climb down the pedestal while he's grabbing my ass and pushing me up.

I want to scream: Look at me; I bite my nails. I hate make-up and dressing up. I'm NOT rail thin. I DON'T have a flat stomach. I forget important things. I drink too much caffeine and eat too much junk food and not enough "real" food. I'm lazy about exercising sometimes. I don't sleep enough. I'm not as smart as you think I am.

I'm human.

Random thought of the day: cocoa butter

History Lesson

2005-07-27T04:45:00.000-06:00

I've made lists of events that happened on a particular day for my friend's birthdays and included them in their birthday cards.

Most have found the lists interesting and even a bit "cool," so I figured, Eh, why not do it for myself?

So here we are, a list of events in history on this, my (25th) birthday:

*1996: Bomb explodes at Atlanta Olympic Park, 1 killed, 110 injured

*1993: Mafia bombs historical buildings in Rome/Milan/Vatican City, 5 killed

*1990: Zsa Zsa Gabor begins a 3 day jail sentence for slapping a cop

*1988: Boston's worst traffic jam in 30 years (Pfft . . . come to Houston!)

*1979: France performs nuclear test

*1977: John Lennon is granted a green card for permanent residence in U.S.

*1969: Pioneer 10 launched

*1965: President Johnson signs a bill requiring cigarette makers to print health warnings on all cigarette packages about the effects of smoking

*1959: William Shea announces he plans to have a baseball team in New York City in 1961

*1954: Armistice divides Vietnam into two countries

*1949: 1st jet-propelled airline, De Havilland Comet, flies

*1947: Yogi Berri starts record 148 game errorless streak

*1945: U.S. Communist Party forms

*1940: Bugs Bunny debuts in "Wild Hare"

*1919: Chicago race riot, 15 whites and 23 blacks killed, 500 injured

*1909: Orville Wright tests 1st U.S. Army airplane, flying 1h12m40s

*1888: Philip Pratt unveils 1st electric automobile

*1862: Hurricane hits Canton; about 40,000 die

*1844: Fire destroys U.S. mint at Charlotte, North Carolina

*1837: U.S. Mint opens in Charlotte, North Carolina

*1789: Congress establishes Department of Foreign Affairs, State Department

*1694: Bank of England granted 12 year charter by Act of Parliament

*1586: Sir Walter Raleigh brings 1st tobacco to England from Virginia

*1365: Isabella of England marries Enguerrand of Coucy at Windsor

*1298: Albert I, son of Rudolf of Habsburg, crowned Holy Roman Emperor

*432: St. Celestine I ends his reign as Catholic Pope

Random thought of the day: What? Are you kidding me? It's 4:44 a.m.! It's too damn early in the morning to be thinking of anything! And it's my birthday! As it is most of this post was cut and paste!

Heh

i am sad

2005-07-22T09:26:00.000-06:00

I find myself using my thumb to gently caress the edge of a book, a water bottle, my other hand . . . my cheek.

He told me his buddies have to literally drag him away from the part of the yard that overlooks the front of the building.

We're over 1600 miles apart and yet, we can't stop hoping that maybe one of these moments we'll look up and see the other's face.

Random thought of the day: The past nine days.

Runaway

2005-07-12T14:49:00.000-06:00

I'll be on hiatus for the next week and a half.

Here are some things I've found myself saying over and over again as of lately:

"It's MY decision."

"You don't know what I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know if I can go through with this."

And just as of yesterday: "Thank-you."

Random thought of the day: 1 more week!!!

Vacation

2005-07-09T23:56:00.000-06:00

As of three hours ago I am officially on VACATION for the next two weeks.

That is all.

Random thought of the day: 9.5 more days!!!

Survivor: The Mall

2005-07-07T15:24:00.000-06:00

I despise malls.

Seriously.

They aren't what they used to be. And being the summer and all it's filled with tanned college students with too many credit cards and not enough to do; so if you're over the age of twenty-two with a job you look out of place.

It almost feels like an episode of Survivor with different challenges in order to obtain the immunity stick.

My goal was to buy a dress {mutters}. So after trying several department stores in the area I was forced to make the trip to the dreaded mall.

(I swear every time I even SAY that word I hear the song from Jaws going off.)

So I walk into . . . THE MALL . . . in the middle of the day and immediately I feel like I've walked into Hollywood. Not that I've ever been to Hollywood or California in general but I'd imagine it to be filled with beautiful people*. The guys have sun bleached hair and walk around in knee length khaki shorts with sandals and polo shirts with little alligators or crocodiles on their shirts and the girls wear calf length ruffled skirts and fitted tank tops, also adorning sandals on their feet, usually pink or silver and they MUST be sparkly. Their hair is usually up in a messy ponytail, pulled away from their face. And EVERYONE is wearing those plastic bracelets with the phrases on them that Lance Armstrong made famous.

Whoever says eugenics is no longer practiced has obviously never been to . . . THE MALL.

Hitler would have fun there.

Moving on, so as I'm walking through the major stores I have to go through the small colony of make-up counters in order to get to the clothes. And us girls who actually PREFER to be natural know what it's like walking through the make-up counters at department stores.

{Cue the Jaws song.}

The whole thing is in slow motion.

It might take thirty seconds to walk through the area, but it FEELS like thirty minutes.

And you're naked.

And everyone is whispering and judging you.

"God, if she'd just let me get my hands on her I KNOW I can do wonders for her face."

That was one of the thoughts I overheard yesterday as I was walking through the coyotes (make-up 'artists' they call themselves).

I kept telling myself: Do not make eye contact. Once you do, they'll see that as an opportunity to wrap their tentacles around you and suck you into their world.

And I was doing fine until I thought I heard a familiar voice and I looked up and, "Oh Fuck!"

I caught the eye of this Fabio look-alike, only thinner, with black hair and a gay accent.

He was talking to his female counterpart and when he laid his eyes on me she turned and caught me too. I had that whole deer in the headlights look going on.

Luckily I was nearing the clothes and as soon as they opened their mouth I RAN for it.

Literally, ran!

It's great exercise at . . . THE MALL.

And they have music too.

Speaking of which, what's up the club music in . . . THE MALL? I know they're trying to create an 'atmosphere' and such, but seriously, who wants to dance while they're shopping? If they want us to dance and have a good time they should have an open bar!

However, in . . . THE MALL at least you don't have to worry about some salivating guy with his limp dick in his hand making goo-goo eyes at you while he drones on about his gout problems as I seem to encounter in some clubs.

Moving on to the next challenge: the guys in all courtyards of ALL malls who try and get you to switch your cell phone service providers.

Again, as with the make-up people, the key is to avoid eye contact.

I was given six different pitches yesterday, two times were from THE SAME guy.

When I told him he had already asked me to switch he replied with, "Oh, you just look different."

"I let my hair down."

Idiots.

So anyway, after six hours of mall walking and trying my damnedest to find a decent dress and managing to find a skirt and blouse that worked together I hightailed it out of there.

Only to get rained on.

Four shopping bags filled with three pairs of shoes, a skirt and blouse and a smoothie in one hand and I got rained on.

*Shakes head*

{If you want to read more about the luck I have try looking at this.}

However rain's never really bothered me, nor getting wet ('scuse the innuendo) so I shrugged it off and went about my merry way. Besides, I made it out of . . . THE MALL and without the need of an immunity stick!

* By "beautiful people" I mean by Barbie Doll standards.

Random thought of the day {Okay, so maybe it's isn't SO random any more}: 12 more days!!!

New Beginnings

2005-06-28T23:44:00.000-06:00

Miss Tyler Gabriele (Yes, one 'L') made her world debut this afternoon at approximately 3:30 Central time (My brother and his wife live in Virginia).

She weighed in at 6 lbs 9 oz.

According to the parental figure, who called to give me the news while I was at work, there were a few complications during my sister-in-law's labor (she had to have a cesarean) and the baby's vital signs dropped a bit low and she had to fight a bit, but after a short time everyone was okay and doing well.

I, on the other hand, am one big sobbing mess.

You see, this little girl doesn't realize it yet, but her birth and life will forever be very important to both of her families.

My brother is 23 at the moment; his wife, 20. Up until now he could have had two other children. He had a different girlfriend when he was 17 and she ended up having a miscarriage at five months.

It nearly killed him.

She (my brother's wife) could have had two as well. She was pregnant with another man's child before and had an abortion.

This last time, about three years ago my brother's wife (then girlfriend) got pregnant. She was only 17 and still staying with her parents and going to highschool. My brother was already in the Navy and at the time was home on leave before he left for basic training.

Her parents, step-father especially, were pissed that she got pregnant and basically gave her an ultimatum. One of three things were going to happen: either a) she have an abortion, b) they press charges against my brother for statutory rape or c) she moves out. Being a 17-year old expectant mother and student with only a part time job wasn't going to cut it so that choice was pretty much out.

My brother wanted this child more than anything in the world, yet at the same time (and understandably) didn't want to risk calling her old man's bluff and getting thrown in jail so he did what he thought best. He left the choice up to her.

And after so many days and what I assume to be long, heartfelt conversations with my brother she made what was probably one of the toughest decisions of her life.

She had the abortion.

And this time it nearly killed both him and her. How they managed to remain together after all they went through I honestly don't know. But they did. And now they have a daughter who will forever be somewhat of a miracle for them. After so much heartache and regrets and "what ifs" they finally have something to share that will stand for all the love and work they put into their relationship.

My niece.

She is the first grandchild for either of the four parents involved.

I am her only blood related aunt.

She has five blood related uncles (my three other brothers and two more on her mom's side).

She is a fighter. As are we. We all fought for this little girl.

She is bi-racial.

She has black hair.

From what my brother tells me she looks like her mother.

She is tiny.

She is perfect . . .

. . . and she is ours.

Random thought of the day: 21 days!!!