When it comes to men, think more Henry the VI less Edward Cullen. Even though he's shiny.. oooo.

So my brother broke up with his girlfriend.

But of course, how is it any of my business? Right? 

Wrong.

Without getting into the whole sordid incest ridden history of my brother and our friends, I will attempt to excuse my pressing need to meddle by giving you the 4-1-1 on this Rescue 9-1-1 situation. 

On a side note: I love William Schatner. 

Anywho.

About three years ago I discovered people. Because before that I lived in the garden of good and evil, more evil than good but you get the picture. Or maybe more like those people on Lost that came from the second half of the airplane... but I digress. 

One of the first people I became lets-tattoo-each-others-names-on-our-boobies best friends with, was this girl named Gigi. (Sounds more like a dog I know, but people would hunt me down Ninja Assassin style if they knew I used their real names). Now at that moment I didn't know it, but I was about to get as deep as shit down the rabbit hole as someone can possibly get. For at least the next 1.5 years. Everyone after that point that I became friends with or interacted with, happened to have gone to high school at the same point and time as her. Some even happened to be her best friends. 

Oh my GAWD, I know! Right? 

Sigh. 

Unfortunately, some were still on friendly terms, and some were regarded like the Nazi's. You see them, you run... and then talk shit about how much you hate them.

I am happy to say, that drama is over. For the most part.

Getting more to my point, it was in this process that I met practically everybody from her high school. And so did my brother. He is only one year younger than me, and he is one of those tagalong types that just wants everyone to love him no matter what. It's cute. Like a puppy licking it's vomit. Adorable.

Enter Biffle, Gigi's best friend at the time. As the name implied, of course.

It was soon after this meeting, my brother Carlos started going to Biffle's church. Actually, so did my ENTIRE family. And we ain't no small group neither. Think, The Waltons, with a slightly more twisted way of thinking. She meets everybody, becomes friends with them all, etc. I even end up going to church a few times just to see what all the hubub was about. In spite of the fact it makes me want to smoke a big fat cigarette while I eat a gianormous bowl of chocolate cherish passion ice cream and take multiple shots of whiskey as I sit in the pew. But alas, I went. I met her. She was alright. A little scrawny for my taste, but good hearted. Kid tested, sister approved. 

Dude. 

That should be my slogan, yo.

Screw you Kix. My shit is way classier.

Yes. I'll do it. I'll make t-shirts, and bumper stickers, and those odd little banners that go on the end of old ass airplanes, and I'll make it. I'll become famous!

Ahem.

Back to the story, people! gosh.

The more times I saw her interact with my family, the more I liked her. I was no longer playing the big sister role in my house anymore, and someone had to take my place. Thankfully, Bestie was the willing guinea pig to be sacrificed on the altar of  Belzebub my family. And I was glad it was her. Carlos and my sister Amoretti had someone. Someone that did not involve stealing my best friend. 

Mission Accomplished. 

About a eight months later, my brother is kicked out of my parents house. 

Now, hold your horses. 

He did nothing wrong. 

So get your mitts off him you grubby little bad boy seekers, and go chase Mick Jagger like any other 50 year old woman.. or Ke$ha. 

Don't you just hate white trash?

So seeing as he was homeless/living in my shared one bedroom apartment, Biffle asked her mom to let him live in the room they usually rent out to other people. Her mom is super iffy about people. She does not trust them, with good reason. Especially in this city. Yet, in an odd move, she let him move in. She actually liked him. 

La la la

Time progresses. 

And apparently so does his feelings for her. 

On numerous occasions I had suspected something. I am like Sherlock Holmes' dog when it comes to romance. But they had both denied it. 

They each said to me, "What? Nooonono, she/he is like my sister/bother!"

Exhale

I was relieved. No incest here!

HA

Three months later I find out they are together. 

Not by him. Not by her. Not by Gigi.

No.

By a friend of my friend, who is also friends with both me and Bestie. It is all that high school shit, man. No one is safe. 

When I find out, it goes something like this:

My Friend: I know who your brother's girlfriend is.

Me: Who? WHO? WAIT. How do you know?

My Friend: *BEEEP* told me when we were waiting in the line to pay at Wal-mart.

Me: Why didn't they tell me?

My Friend: It slipped out, they weren't supposed to tell me.

Me: Oh, ok. So who is it? salivate

My Friend: It's Bestie

Me:

My Friend: Yep, it's Besite

Me: What? You are lying.

My Friend: Nope.

Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH(I wish there was an overline for the H, like how it is for rational numbers when the decimal place repeats forever)

I did not stop screaming for 2 minutes. I kid you not. My throat was raw and fleshy. Streptococcus could have come in like those mucus people from the Mucinex commercials, and never have left. 

After regaining my composure I was like, ewwwwwww. But they are like Brother and SISTER. Dude. That is so gross. Like... eww. That is in how much shock I was. I reverted into a surfer stoned out of their mind whose vocabulary consists only of the words dude and pizza. 

I had visions of me and my brother making out. Needless to say, I was perturbed. 

A couple of months go by, I am getting more used to it. She's a good girl, a strong one. He needs someone to whip into being a man, or maybe just make him whipped. And him, I trusted him. He said he loved her, she said it too. He said he wanted to marry her. Blah blah blah. All that bullcrap they say when they are smitten over your pussy because they have not gotten any in a very long time. Or in his case, ever. In fact they are both virgins.

Me, being the experienced one. With a grand total of one real relationship under her belt, I felt it was my duty to warn him about going too fast. About how love could be confused with lust. And about.. sex. Insert gag reflex here. We never got the sex talk, by ANYBODY. Our parents explained it was "garbage," and left it at that. So everything we know is learned, from various sources. I did not trust my brother's so.. I buckled down and gave him a good what for.

Every time we spoke about their relationship, I played the level-headed older sister and asked the big questions. And each time he said, "NO, you don't know anything. We're different."

Uh-huh.

We're different.

For the amount of times I heard it out of his mouth, I should have tattooed those words across his forehead, just to save me time.

Now, apparently a few days ago (after 2.5 months together) he broke up with her saying, I'm not sure. There are things you need to work on.

I'm not SURE?!?!?

He vehemently pursued her, even when SHE was not sure she even LIKED his ugly ass. But he kept reassuring her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and just let it happen, blah blah blah.

And now he drops the ball and says...

I am not sure?!

And what about you Mr. Nineteen year old trying to be with a Twenty-two year old MATURE woman? 

Hmmmm??? 

You think you are the creation straight out of God's Ass? (Lord, please do not smite me for that)    

I feel betrayed. 

That could have been me! 

I could have been dumped by my brother.

Can you spell well adjusted?

This is why men cannot be trusted. 

Albeit, my brother did give me the creeps. But, it was not his fault. It is just how a big sister is supposed to feel about the little brother whose wee-wee she saw growing up. That scars your perception on things, ya know. 

Point it is, I saw him as a good guy. And, although I was obnoxiously cynical of him and all the rainbow glory that came out of his mouth, deep down inside, I believed him. 

I believed him.

I thought he was one of the good guys.

I guess Dean Winchester will have to do for now. 

Blame it on the alcohol?

Maybe my insomnia is getting to me, but I seem to remember that today was supposed be a very important holiday..? Oh yes! It is revert-into-a-fratboy-day, a wondrous time to gather 'round the fire with our family and friends while we belt out ridiculous irish tunes, spill beer all over ourselves and become obnoxiously loud, fight starting people. Ah... the holidays. Don't you just love them?

While there is nothing wrong with a drink or two, a lot of people use this day, or practically any reason to release our gastric juices all over the bathroom floor, or any well meaning individual trying to help us in our time of need and hair holding. What is it about embarrassing yourself, getting sick and forgetting more than half the night, that people find so appealing?

Uh-uh. Gotcha. Quick! Let me get the time machine so I can pass this on to Webster and forever alter the history of mankind for the better!

zoooooom

Oh would you look at that:

enjoyable/ɪndʒ'ɔɪəbəl

adj.

Acting out the behavior of

a two year old mentally 

disabled monkey on crack.

Ex. I was surprised to find, that after an 

enjoyable night with my girlfriend, she 

broke up with me. 

Walking around the student annex in my school I hear multiple times a day, "Duuuuuuuuuuu-uuuuude, I got SO wasted last night!! I don't remember anything! double chest bump. It was awesome!!"

Sigh

The need to inebriate ourselves so we can actually act like "ourselves," is a ridiculous concept. It is understandable that we all have some mental barriers that hold us back from acting how we truly wish to behave. But there is a whole world of difference between removing one brick, and bringing the whole wall down. We use alcohol like it was zoloft, when there are much more deep rooted problems. Alcohol is a drug people! Perhaps not an illegal one like cannabis, but it can still be as -- or even more damaging to our bodies than weed. Yes, weed will make you slow, dumb and raid fridges like a bear stumbling out of hibernation on a family camp ground, but it does not destroy your body as severely as alcohol does. 

Alcohol not only kills your liver, and brain cells, but can lead to dementia if routinely abused. Its not as if we do not already know this, but it is joked about so often that it is not taken as seriously as it should be. It also is the precursor of unprotected sex, inappropriate behavior and worst of all, drunk driving. When we drive drunk we only think of the consequences we ourselves may face, and so we are constantly on our guard for the cops who might catch us, when instead we should be afraid of ourselves. Turning the key, is like loading a gun. The unfortunate thing is we think we are good to go merely because we are awake, when this is not the case. You do not need to be passed out on the floor to be drunk, only impaired. Alcohol is a depressant, slowing down our nervous system, our thought process and reflexes. Those last two are the most important factors everyone should consider before they get into their cars this evening. 

I had much more to say, but there are other things in this world to do besides live on the internet. So I leave you with this. Getting fucked up, not fun. Not fun during, not fun after. Remember this. Lastly, while celebrating tonight all I ask is that you practice safe sex, safe driving and free love!

Deuces. 

"You're a liar"

Today I came across a poem that caught my eye. It is by former US president Jimmy Carter, and I have decided to both share and analyze it. So for your reading pleasure:

I Wanted to Share My Father's World

This is a pain I mostly hide,

but ties of blood, or seed, endure,

and even now I feel inside

the hunger for his outstretched hand,

a man's embrace to take me in,

the need for just a word of praise.

I despised the discipline

he used to shape what I should be,

now owning up that he might feel

his own pain when he punished me.

I didn't show my need to him,

since his response to an appeal

would not have meant as much to me,

or been as real

From those rare times when we did cross

the bridge between us, the pure joy

survives.

I never put aside

the past resentments of the boy

until, with my own sons, I shared

his final hours, and came to see

what he'd become, or always was --

the father who will never cease to be

alive in me.

Interesting, yes? These are my thoughts on the text:

In the poem the author speaks of his strong feelings towards his father. It is obvious throughout the majority of the text that there is resentment against his father that lingered well into his adulthood. He speaks with the voice of his internal adolescent self while still connecting to his current matured state as a father. Although Carter’s poem does not adhere to the strict definition of a sonnet of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter, he does make use of a rhyming scheme by coupling every other line. In this way he turns what would have been a simple monody free verse poem into one with rhythmic elegance.

At first glance the title suggests the author wishes to pass his father’s ideals on to the readers, or perhaps his own children. Yet, it is only after careful examination of the composition that a deeper meaning is found. Rather than the contextual definition of “share,” as in sharing with others, it appears the person whom he wanted to share with, was himself. As a boy he seemingly yearns for his father’s approval while despising him at the same time. The man’s view of a boy is written with an underlying, yet disciplined tone of anger, which follows through almost all the way to the end. However, when the man’s journey as a boy reaches manhood he does not seem to feel the same way. It is at this point, at his father’s death bed with three generation of men, he realizes he has become father. In this way, he has also shared his father’s world. Perhaps, not in the way he had intended as a child.

His use of the words, pain, praise, punished and real, help weave the hidden aspect of his conflicting views of his father. This becomes predominant in the second verse when describing the pain he received by his father’s hand in the first half, and then giving a contrasting opinion about his father through the justification of his actions in the second half. Due to this evident contradiction, it could be suggested that it is not only his father whom he feels conflicted towards, but himself. By defending what his father has done, he is in turn defending himself.

Although Carter’s poem can be seen from a resentful standpoint, towards himself and his father, it can also be suggested that his tone comes from a place of regret. To the casual eye, the regret may stem from his inability to connect with his father throughout the course of his life, and even at his death. This approach allows for a different interpretation of the title. In this way of thinking, his wish to share his father’s world is just that, and is taken at face value. It appears to be a one note text of regret. Regret over his childhood, over how his father was, and his children missing out on their grandfather’s world. However at when given a closer look, this is not all that may be derived from the writing.

People who go through traumatic experiences during childhood normally deal with it in one of two ways. They either solely blame themselves for the pain caused, or solely blame the creator of the trauma. In the poem, Carter does neither. Rather, he chooses to blame and excuse his father all in one go. Because of this the conclusion can be drawn, that he comes from a place of understanding due to playing the role of his father with his own sons.

Carter’s poem starts out at a point of apparent opaqueness. However, just as the proverbial book and cover, his writing should not be taken simplistically. The multifaceted layers of anger, hurt and remorse reads across the page. He craftily makes use of uncomplicated words to hide his true intentions, allowing only the thoughtful reader to find the “easter egg” concealed in the text. Taking us through a journey, we find he is no longer a boy, but a man, and as such owns up to his own missteps in life.  

-------------------------

So I'm wondering if you felt differently on the poem? What are your thoughts or comments? Feel free to drop a line. :)

Just an observation

While waiting for an appointment this morning, along with many others in this great city of Miami, I am surrounded by 40-50 something year old balding men wearing "affliction"esqe shirts and metal studded jeans with cross patchings on the backside pockets, along with expensive Nike shoes. Attire-wise, you would think they were not a day over twenty two. When did dressing like a total douche bag become fashionable?

We get the whole too cool for school/wannabe rocker/womanizer look may be appetizing to those hoping to get laid by underage girls whose only goal in life is to fall in love with an "asshole" who is "not really" an asshole while getting wasted on the dance floor with the fake-ID brigade, but these men are way past their prime. Whatever happened to slacks and a nice dress shirt? If they wish to dress young, they should head on over to Hollister or Lacoste and start wearing those polos that are too tight for their manly beer belly along with regular jeans,

 so at least if you wish to dress un-age appropriate you will look like you actually give a shit about the woman you are trying to pick up.

And that goes for you youngters too!

Why would you want to dress like male wongas (white chongas)

Sidebar:

For those of you who do not live in probably the most hispanic populated city in the United States, a chongas are ghetto dressing/acting hispanics. Traits: Huge gold hoop earrings with their name written in the center, wearing lipliner with no lipstick, putting baby oil in their hair to slick it up, slicking their hair back so tight it looks like you could slide right off of it, getting into fights, talking loud, giving attitude, etc.

Christian Audigier, creator of Ed Hardy, you've ruined the rest of mankind for at least the next couple of years. Now every average Joe who may be a good hearted individual only hoping to be accepted by society -- and by society I mostly mean women, have been tricked into wearing the clothing of the average asshole, disguising himself amongst the many bafoons whom already walk this earth. How are we supposed to tell the difference now?

But the same thing happens every so often, like the baggy-I-have-stolen-property-hidden-in-my-jeans look, with the oh, so attractive oversized I-used-to-be-a-giant-but-shrunk look. The dominant trend back then was hoodlum, now it's prick. I guess looking bad is always good, and being unfashionable is well... fashionable. I shiver to think of how these trends are started. But I will! This is the scenario portrayed in my head:

Some D-list out of work seamstress on their way to a job interview passes by a street vendor selling homemade clothing, 2 for 5 dollars is what the sign says. He sees the massive amount of underprivileged people eating up the creations of a mere bedazzler. A candle is lit above their head. Trash for the lavish. Brilliant! The executives would never know what hit them. They have never seen it before, I am young, they will probably think me hip and ahead of the times! The sad thing is, they do. It was a concept that probably existed years before by those who did not really have a lot of money to spend. Brand names have been the crux of the poor for ages. Baby Phat, Affliction, Eco Red, Sean John, etc. And so low quality clothing steals the cash of those who have none by turning cheap into couture. Manufacturing a vision that was never truly theirs. But clothing is only a side-affect of what is truly taking place. Mimicry. 

Society is a product of mimicry. We all are quick to say we are "unique." However, that much is rarely ever true. You know that one of a kind T-shirt you just couldn't resist to purchase because of how much it would be expressing your individuality? Yes, that one. If we look back, we most surely would find that it was not the sole version in existence. In fact there are plenty of racks in stores all across the country that have the exact same item in the same size and color you have just acquired. But we do not stop to think of that, no. We wish we were all special. Though it may be true that many of us are. Just do not be so quick to put yourself in the same category. There are stereotypes for a reason.

Everyday, millions of people watch the same TV show, purchase the same food, are part of the same political party and own the same decorations you have in your very own house. If this was not true, no one would make any money. It is sad to say, we are the contrivance of our environment. Either from the things we watch or read, or how we were raised, our thoughts are rarely ever our own. 

It is like the proverbial chicken and the egg..which comes first? Where did our thoughts, ideas and concept first originate? Are we truly separate entities, or are we all just the makeup of random factors thrown in our direction?

I believe many of us have lived the same basic lives. Have the same basic likes and dislikes. But most of all, have had the same information thrown at us during the same points in our lives. The public school system is the creator of this consequence. Growing up children are told to not ask questions, only to accept what they are fed. It is not needed to know or understand the reasoning behind something, only to know what is the final result. This begets laziness, and mass cultivism. There is a reason the word "cult" is in culture. It is because we all follow the shiny lighted path that others put before us as if we were flies. The only solution to this is to educate yourself. In statistical terms, consider the following sets three sets:

Set A: {4, 7, 2, 5, 1, 0, 2, 4, 3}

Set B: {2, 4, 1, 5, 3, 7, 0, 4, 7}

Set C: {1, 2, 7, 3, 4, 4, 0, 5, 2}

Although the numbers in these sets may be random

may be random and in different order for each one, the numbers in each set are the same. And thusl

y, will have the same mean, the same standard deviation and have the same probability on the sa

me point of each curve. In order to change this you must change the number of items, and input different

numbers into each set. Therefore, changing the output. i.e. The more information you input into our minds, the more likely each individual is to get a "unique" output.

 

Our parents raise us with certain values and imbed us with specific ideals, which we either accept or reject. A good lot of us, (especially the religious kind) follow face forward into the rhetoric we have been taught. They do not bother to read anything else, and violently reject any opposing literature, for the very fact they live in their own world. It is like Alice falling into wonderland, it is not real to them. Yet, just like Alice, when they simmer in wonderland (college) for a while, they begin to accept their surroundings. 

While taking general education classes they are taught by older, educated, opinionated individuals. For 12-16 weeks they are fed thoughts from someone they respect (usually), and eventually these thoughts sink in. 

Some point during this they realize, "Wow, there are other schools of ideas out there other than my own." Fascinated, they think they have finally been disillusioned, they can finally for themselves. But in reality, they have just found a new leader to follow. I am not saying what they have learned is wrong. No. My point is that no matter what you think or "know," have you ever stopped to ask yourself, are these the only facts? What do others think of the matter? 

And that is what I stress. Ask. There is always more than one side to the story. With all that is happening in the world, and all the hardships people face, we are so quick to judge others based on how they look or speak, or by their past. We have all experienced things. Your not living through what another has, does not mean it does not exist. Like I said before, people are the makeup of their environment. Think of people as tall twelve story buildings. Skyscrapers even. No one looks at a skyscraper and says "that is a bad building." No. We say, something is wrong with that building, or that it needs to be fixed. The same way we should treat our fellow human beings. Something -- some material used in their development, is what emanated the final product. Remember, there is a reason behind everything.