Inquisitive Jane

I pity the fool.

2010-04-19T17:15:00.000-07:00

Its funny how people state how correct their actions are (justify themselves) based all upon the fact their life sucks. Or how many horrible things have happened to them in the past and present, and how the future brings even more of that due to their being natural born fortune tellers. To those people I only have one thing to say.

You deserve it.

I know this statement is a politically incorrect one to make, but I have made it nonetheless.

Would you like to hear it again?

You deserve it.

You deserve every little horrible thing that will happen to you from here on out, because of your past.

I'm sorry, do you want pity?

There is none to be doled out here. So find someone else.

You deserve it.

I wish I could scream it from the roof tops until the sound waves bounce back off the sky and walls, drowning me in my own words.

The way most deal with their past is by forgetting.

But forgetting is a privilege.

Wipe the slate clean from history. Fun. But that is not how things work for most of us.

Thankfully, most have found a way to pretend they forgot.

Act as if it never happened.

That's right, folks. It is that simple.

Then people will not see them as damaged goods. As a victim to be consoled. Or someone to be pitied. For the most part it works. Act normal, be treated normal. Good formula as a solution to an unplesant problem. However, sometimes this can backfire, because they want others to see their pain, they want them to feel everything they feel. And they hate them for it. They hate themselves for not showing them.

Because no matter how normal they appear to be, it does not change anything about what is on the inside. It slowly corrodes through the little box they've placed it in, until it eats up their heart and mind.

And thusly "lose" control.

People who choose to pretend they have no control over themselves or their lives are living in a lie.

They lie to themselves because it is easier to blame everything wrong about yourself on occurrences beyond your control. Then you do not have to deal with it.

But what people do not realize is that by shifting the blame, they are in essence admitting that SOMETHING is stronger than themselves. That they are weaklings. As powerless over themselves as a child with cerebral palsy.

However, they are enabled to continue on this path because someone always ends up being sympathetic, or pitied into comforting them.

Life has nothing to do about control. In fact it is the opposite of control.

There are just too many factors: people, places, time, friends, parents, family, school, work, etc..

You are not meant to know where you will go. Nor are you meant to have your life go perfectly. Life is not an equation that you can input rainbows and sunshine and out pops smiley faces.

It is random. Events input themselves. Out pops whatever it wants to.

The only thing we can control is ourselves. Our behavior. Our actions. The way we treat others. The way we treat ourselves.

Once we take control of our bodies and mind, then we can change the way segments of our lives are carried out.

Not all, but some.

For those that always get what they want, I dub thee lucky. I am happy for you. You can live in the bubble you were born in, and get away without it being popped.

For those that have had it popped... be responsible for yourself. Maybe your outlook on life will be different.

Maybe.

Note: This is the edited/modified version. For those who are my friends you can access it on my lj.

You can't handle the truth

2010-04-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Everyday, after every session here at work I have to write a session log, reporting what took place in the session. I wish for once I could be truly honest about how I felt about what went on. A majority of the students here try their hardest to take advantage of the tutors, trying to get them to do their homework and just give them the answers to things outrightly, without them putting a single cent of effort into the pile. It is exhausting trying to keep up with their "arguments" to convince you it is your job to help them NOT learn. So I was writing a session log and this is what I wrote:

The student brought all needed material for the session. They worked on ALECKS and completed the homework that was due today. They seem to have a mediocre handle on the material, and needs more practice.

This is what I REALLY wanted to write:

I do not know why people prefer niceties as opposed to the actual reality of the situation. They would rather avoid the present and pretend it does not exist. They would rather let problems pile up until they are virtually unmanageable, until they face them head on. Which makes me wonder, why? It is not as if we do not know the situation will get worse, we just rather tell ourselves that it is not true.

I feel this occurs because we rather not blame ourselves. If we let it get to a point where we cannot handle, then we can kick and scream that an injustice has been done to us -- that life is not fair. We want to be victims.

Victimizing oneself allows us to get away with things that normally we would get in trouble for. It allows us to get positive attention for a negative circumstance. We are comforted and told everything will alright. This causes us to feel better about ourselves and the current state of being. It may not be consciencely carried out, however, through positive reenforcement, we make these kinds of situations to repeat themselves, just to receive that coddling at the end.

If you don't believe me, then take this case for example:

An attractive woman is walking with her friend in the mall. She is dressed nice, her hair done and all necessary makeup is applied. A man walks by looks her straight in the eye and smiles. He may or may not be slightly attractive. Attractive would be better. After he passes, she then turns to her friend, spurning with anger, and says, "did you see that?! how could he look at me?!" She appears to be righteously indignant.

She isn't.

She delivers a negative message, just to receive a positive reply.

Her friend will then say, "oh my god, yeah.. that was weird. But I guess that means he thinks you are pretty."

She then responds, "Yeah I guess so!" And thus the cycle is completed.

What can we conclude from this?

We are fucked up.

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

2010-03-21T06:26:00.001-07:00

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!

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?

2010-03-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

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"

2010-03-16T20:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-12T08:10:00.000-08:00

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.

Your mission..if you choose to accept it...

2010-02-21T04:17:00.000-08:00

DUN DUN DUN

Well.. it is not as serious as I may be making it sound. But any sort of over-dramatization humors me.

Teehee.

My closest friend is going through a rough patch, a desert journey which can leave someone bitter and dry. Emphasis on the bitter. bitter. Ha. Perhaps bitter is not the word, but easily aggravated quite suits them. So I decided to be a good little friendy friend, and attempt to create a feeling of specialness which in turn would make it known to her that she is cared for.

After hanging out with a friend of mine that recently re-became my friend (odd I know, yet, when am I anything but!) at 3:30 in the morning, I decide to go to my friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart in BFE. The grocery list?

- One sunflower

- One greeting card with butterfly

- One plushy koala bear

These are her three favorite things.. (well not the greeting card, but the butterfly on the it!) Good thing I am a student of Fraulein Maria who became a part of the Von Trapp family, or... at least.. so says "The sound of music." You know that song that says:

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

Then I remember my favorite things

Then I don't feel soooooo bad

Woefully, I learn that the gardening department is closed. (game show loser jingle): wahwahwaahwaahwaahwaaaah. Sigh. So I searched for fake flowers. I looked first in the arts in crafts... dumdumdydumdum... nope. I looked in the sewing department... nada. I end up roaming the store looking through whatever ever aisle category came to mind: bedding, home decorations, etc. By this time I was thoroughly exhausted. It was 4:30am. Night night time for ordinary people, but who needs to be like that! Bah. So I decided I would forego the search for the time being to look for the right greeting card.

Apparently, if the world ran out of greeting cards tomorrow Wal-mart would be the red-cross for desperate people in need of inspiration, or perhaps just desperate. FOUR whole walls of JUST greeting cards. You would think that I would be able to find at least one with a butterfly, right? No. I was in there for over thirty minutes, scanning through every single category: birthday, love, thinking of you, get better soon, anniversary, etc. no-thing. I was ready to take my happy little derriere to the car and vamoose out of there, I was defeated. It felt as if my dial -- previously on hardcore, was taken down quire a few notches. I decided to take a peak at the more frugal section, the only ones I had ignored. Lo and behold, there it was. Two of them infact. Ridiculous.

Next on my task sheet, Koala bear. I headed over to the toy department, scanning for stuffed animals. Ah-ha! I had found them, one tiny little corner shelf way up high... hrmm.. this doesn't look too good.. First I pulled out a monkey, then a duck, a bear! Oh.. panda bear. meh. Oooo, what is this? Grey. Bear-like physique. Is it?.... It is! Scored on the first shot. What a turn of luck! Oh wait... it's a webkinz.. For those who have not caught onto the webkinz craze, let me explain my frustration.

These stuffed animals are not special in anyway. They don not use real animal skin, the thread is not made out of gold, nor is it water proof. It is a regular old stuffed animal. Yet they are priced at a minimum of fifteen dollars. As the mischevious Mindy from Steven Spielberg's "Animaniacs" used to say: "But why?" It is because it contains one teensy little difference from a "regular" stuffed animal... You can go online and name it. Wow. Now that's a good a reason as any to triple the price on a hand-sized bear if I ever heard one! Come on people! Have our senses of imagination been so skewed that now we need to hop onto the internet, and burn our precious little retinas in order to interact with the stuffed animals we hold and own in our own hands? Somebody stop me!

Ahem

So, I remained with Sir Webkins and marched on back to the gardening department, I thought to myself, maybe I had left prematurely. As I entered the gardening area I notice they have a rack of seeds, and even sunflower seeds! I thought to myself, perhaps this could be my redemption, better than nothing I suppose. A lot of other nonsense happens afterwards, looking for fake sunflowers (there were none). Then trying to find a fake flower that looked somewhat like a sunflower. Then look at cheap store white wine, because I am a HUGE wino in the making. Thankfully my budget keeps me far away from achieving that goal. Then going back to the toy department and analyzing every single toy on the shelf with a microscope in the hopes there would be at least an ameoba sized koala bear hidden within one of the many boxes there. But, to no avail. It was 5:45am and I was done for. Time to head to the check out! Three items in two hours and fifteen minutes. That's pretty good time management if I do say so my self! And I do.. so there.

Beep...

Ruffle Ruffle...

Cha-ching...

Thank you for shopping at Wal-mart

Thanks, Good night! err.. Morning!

Now, for those of you who kept a watchful eye on what I previously wrote, there were only two beeps. Does this mean something? Yes. It means I put myself through more torture and pain by choosing not to purchace the koala bear. What can I say? I'm a perfectionist. And that the excuse I'm using so people will be non-judemental towards me to my face.

I head on over to the CVS neighboring Wal-mart... nothing. Finding a cute little white polar bear that lights up, I debated whether or not I should comprimise with my previously set goal. In a moment of delirium I thought to myself, maybe I could say on the card, "like this bear you make the room light up"... eh. Too corny. So I decide to go over to her place and hoped that maybe I would find a Wal-greens or CVS open for 24 hours. As I'm heading over I realize there is a Wal-greens 20 blocks down, and decided to take a gander at it. I arrive...

cricket cricket

Just my luck. It is closed. Ha. The score?

Koala: 3
Me: 0

Darn you koala bear! This was getting to be harder than the experts edition of "Where's Waldo?" and making me more and more unappetized towards the search. But this mission was not about me, so I pressed foward.

As I get to her house, I decided to keep going down the road, perhaps I would stumble upon one of the stores I needed. Lo and behold, a 24 hour CVS where I least expected! Exhausted, I drove in quickly, threw my keys in my purse and rushed in. As I walked over to the toy section, I crossed my fingers hoping I'd find something, anything resembling a koala. Buzzer: Eeenk.The closest thing? A grey fluffy owl. I was so desperate, that for a few seconds I was considering cutting off its beak and making fake fingers so it would resemble that which seemed unattainable to me now. That was it. I had finally given up. After all that driving.. oh well. As I reached the front of the store, the lone cashier asked me what I was looking for. My first instinct was to leave it be and tell him it was ok, I didn't need any help. Using up my last drop of hope I went against my melancholic state and in a pouty voice I replied, a kola bear. He then told me in a think indian accent, Oh BEER? We have bottle of beer in back. Realizing he had misheard me, I repeated myself, to which he replied, Oh no, if not in back, not have it. That was it, the true end of my journey, time to head on over --

What's that?

As I had shook my head in the acceptance of my defeat, something had caught my eye halfway through the blink. Was it? Could it really beeeeeeee? Yes! It was! The last stuffed koala bear on a key chain leftover from the passed valentine's day. This man was my savior. The store roof ripped open shining down a beam from heaven turning dusk into dawn. Que the angelic choir.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Can you hear it? I could. I jumped up and down in ecstacy, then slowed down from the lightheadedness only a good night's sleeplessness can bring. Thanked him numerous times and exited the store. I headed back to her house and did the following, all shown to you with the help of my handy-dandy camera phone. bawr bawr-bawr bawr!

The end!

Bitter is not the word

2010-02-19T17:21:00.000-08:00

So, at the moment I am a very broke person (I know.. who in this country isn't?). I have to take two sets of antibiotics over the period of a week in order to wipe out the bacterial infection that has been invading my body over the course of the past two to three weeks. One of the antibiotics Metronidazole (Flagyl?) was cheap enough for me to afford on my own, however the other, Azithromycin (zithromax, Z-pack, etc.) is somewhat expensive for me purchase, and will eat into my rent money that I still haven't fully accumulated.

So I decided to get out of my comfort zone...

Way out of my comfort zone.

I asked my mother if she had any Azi-medication left over from a previous prescription. She told me she'd check and then get back to me. This is somewhat how it went:

Call #1: (me): ma, do you have it?

(her): let me check... I'll call you back

tap tap tap

.... 5 hours later ....

Call #2: phone rings

(me): hello?

(her): yeah.. I have it. but you have to come pick it up

(me): ok, sure. no problem. I'll pay you for whatever is left.

(her): ok, I'll let you know when you can come over

(me): alrighty then, thanks. bye.

two minutes later

Call #3: phone rings

(me): yes?

(her): okay, yes I have it.

(me): uh-huhh......

(her): but --

(me): but what? you want me to pay for it? I already said

I would, so what's the problem?

(her): no. that's not it. It is going to sound weird,

but I want you to take it over here

(me): take what over there? the medicine?

(her): yes.

sccccriiiitchhhhhhhh

This was the sound of the fabric of my mind ripping apart from the sheer ridiculousness of her demands, and how utterly perturbed I just became. My. Mother. Just. Went. Insane. was all that narrated.

ziiiiiiiiiiiip

back to reality...

(me): EVERY single dose???????

(her): yes, I know it might sound --

(me): ok ok, fine. I'll take it front of you. You can check

under my tongue too make sure I didn't stash it

(her): rye chuckle. You can come over at 8:30 tonight

(me): ok. I'll see you later.

(her): ok. bye.

I was currently with a friend, and we were both planning on hanging out together late into the night, so she tagged along with me to my familial excursion. We both headed in and were immediately turned dumb and blind. You could hardly see anything past my mother's beaming smile and constant laughter at virtually everything that came out of anyone's mouth. I was living a scene out of Philip Kaufman's "Invasion of the body snatchers." My spidey senses were tingling! I was -- well... you get the point.

All I could think was: where did my mother go?

Her opaque state of fakeness only made me more nauseous than the pills I was already taking. Only for an infinitesimal part of a second did I think, hmm... I wonder if she's actually become pleasant.... But only for a second! I was able to place my temporary short circuited thought where it belonged, hidden in a nice deep dark damp corner in the recesses of my mind when I visited her the day after all on my own. To which -- by the way, she specified to be another term of our exchange via a text I received at 3:29 this afternoon:

I don't want you asking people for

rides to the house every day

If you want I can meet you

somewhere (eg. FIU) and bring

the medicine. I will be working

there anyway.

My reaction: Wow.

Just wow.

I wanted to recant my beforehand statement that I would accept her odd (to say the least) demands. Yet I still went over because she had the upper hand, and well the only hand in the game. If this was high stakes poker, the only thing I would hold was a single lowly 2 of hearts, while she would hold a royal flush... in diamonds. Her behavior the entire time I was there resembled that of an ailing banshee, screaming and hissing wherever she flew. I went for my daily dose of antibiotics, but what I got was a daily dose of Methusa's rage (not a banshee, I know but.. eh!). I swear if I could paint an accurate depiction of how she looked throughout the ordeal, it would look something like this:

Scary? Honey, you don't know the half of it.

After an hour, her reign of terror ended only because she was called

back to the bat cave from whence my father came. Which left me a

few minutes to enjoy my many brothers and sisters. Mostly my little

sister Amy who movesher hands as if she were wearing a silly old

sock puppet while a song is playing because as she so adorably

says, the birdies (her hands) have to sing! She told me to do the

same in order to have the "Mommy" birdies (my hands) sing with

the "Baby" birdies (her hands). I just wanted to squish her little

head off, she was just too cute! Ahh.. I missed her.

I really felt the urge to leave after they all started tearing my purse

apart because they saw a little plastic bag with miniature chocolate

candy. It was time to bolt. I was no longer in Miami, Florida, no -- I

was in Pamploma, Spain. It was the festival of San Fermin, I was

El torro and they were all runners at Encierro, and I had to fight for

my life. Except, unlike the bull, I had no horns to protect me from

their high pitched screams and clawing hands, only my two feet --

as long as they were not stepping on them. I made it to the car. I

could breathe.

Exhale.

God I love those kids!

All in all, the visit was normal. As normal as you can get in my

parents house. I have to go back there again tomorrow, so we

will see how that goes.

It is getting late... so goodnight all!