I love getting mail, any kind of mail. Email, letters, cards, the fact that someone took time out of their day to spend a moment sending me a message. Imagine my surprise when here I am walking to the mailbox getting letters daily from different companies offering me credit. Did they not check before sending it out? Do they not know who I am?
I should call them and see if I have to pay them back, maybe the stuff is para-free, and I can go splurge on a shopping spree, guilt free.
My bills are a mess, but the children are healthy, it isn't cheap to keep them like that, I will be paying Mike's hospital bills until he reaches retirement.
I am catching up little by little, I am finally feeling less pressure and these idiots want to say thank you by extending my credit and offering my husband a various array of credit cards, from Mickey Mouse to Carnival Cruise. I don't want to owe the mouse, he is sacred, he is the symbol of happiness. And most surprising is that they come to my husband, like he needs help getting into debt. Money just walks out of his pocket. I want to go to Disney, I want the Mickey credit card, at almost a hundred bucks a ticket now too, that is a dream far from my grasp, that mouse is on crack, put the pipe down Mickey.
So I shred the pretty offers.
I sit by the garbage and rip them in half, then in half again, and one more time. If I am bored, I will shove it all into a 2 liter and fill it up with water, just to make sure that no one wants to put it together. It's really simple to tape together paper ripped in pieces, but not if it's submerged in liquid. That is a different level of difficulty, like stage 9 in Tetris.
Wouldn't it be hysterical if they went through all that trouble to steal my identity and then get denied for credit. HA!
All I am doing is making sure that we don't obtain any more credit cards, to go out and buy more crap that we don't need and Mike D will ultimately break. I was not meant to have nice things, and here I am 9 credit cards later, learning that very expensive lesson.
On Sunday night, I am sitting on the sofa and ask my husband about our debt. I wonder if I will ever go to prison for owing the wrong person, I read in the paper that collection agencies are now stalking you on facebook. Why the hell would I want to be friends with them, choose your friends wisely people. Oh and they don't just stalk you, they send messages to your friends about your bills. Holy Shit. But all my friends know I am broke and borrowing, no worries.
He pulls up my name on the internet on the laptop to see if I have a lien or some court bullshit that I owe and don't know about, you know the surprise bills.
He didn't find any, but he did manage to find one little piece of useful information.
Apparently when I married my husband almost ten years ago, some idiot (at least to me, a miracle worker to my husband) entered the wrong name. My husband's name is Gordon, and his last name is American. I know that I would never marry a Gordon, how do you scream to that, it's not cute to say Gordonito, too many syllables, shortening it to Gordo would just be offensive.
My husband wondered if there was someone else with my name, when we clicked the attachment, the papers were there, signed and dated, the name was definitely my husband's, but in the system, on record and in the computer, it was Gordon.
My husband jumps up off the sofa and goes into dance, he begins to sing the lyrics of U2's "It's a Beautiful Day" tells me it's not a mistake, to go find Gordon, he's got 3 kids to take care of.
I have heard it all since his discovery, I am living in sin, I am not his wife, I should learn to cook better to get myself a man. Giving him any orders, or requests have now become bribery a la college-slut style, it's asking him for something, and what will I do for it? Like I need the answers to an upcoming test, I don't need him to pick up socks that badly, back in the drawer they go, again.
Oh and now that he is single, he has plans for the weekend, apparently a one-night stand with a single mom of three kids.
We have definitely had fun with this revelation, telling my dad was a little different, he insisted that I immediately call the courts and have them fix it, like it's made any difference up until now.
He didn't find any amusement in it at all. "That was just some comemierda that made the mistake, they have to fix it." My husband and I hold our laughter, but not for long.
So now I must continue to avoid the credit offers, fix my husband's status and get his ass married, and maybe look up Gordon and check out the assets there before I make any drastic moves.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Escaped Again
I know that burglar bars aren't really "in style" anymore. I also know that they are supposed to keep the bad guys "out" of the house. My problem is keeping my bad guy "in" it.
I don't have the stupid habit of locking the door behind me, I don't, I should, I will now.
Saturday morning 7 AM, the house is still, The Office reruns are running on the television, my husband is sitting on the sofa in a daze waiting for the coffee. I know us woman don't know this, but apparently a man can sit on the sofa and the coffee magically makes itself, what he doesn't know is that I do have to rinse the pot, I do have to fill it, the coffee grains, filter, all that shit. Tinkerbell doesn't fly around any make stuff happen with a wand, it's my wifely duty. So he sits and waits.
I put the gears in motion and wait for the caffeinated drink to erupt from the machine. As I wait, I go outside to get the paper. Walk back into the house, set the paper on the coffee table, and grab the coffee. In his cup goes straight whole milk, the half and half is for she-who-preps-the-coffee, not for he-who-waits. I am not a morning person, and in my mind I think to myself, "That'll teach 'em."
The bread-winner gets all gussied up for work and by this time Mike D has taken over the remote. He is also a grumpy goose. The money maker walks out the side door and I sit with Mike watching annoying characters dance around, Mike smiles and laughs, all is well.
My laundry hamper has reached mountain proportions, we are talking overlapping the hamper limit, flowing over the back, and now clothes is being stuffed between the towels on my towel rack, because apparently the laundry also does it's fucking self. I hate housework, and laundry more.
I walk outside with the load in my arms smelling like an armpit from the trenches of a jungle and I stuff it into the machine, like teenagers stuff their bras and tighty whiteys (well they do) I pour the liquid and turn around to go back in, I notice weeds everywhere, again. I bend over and pull one weed, pull another, Mike D walks out to me.
I pick him up and go inside, prep his bottle and sit him on the man-sofa. I go back outside to my weeding.
After about 15 minutes I go in to check on the boys and get a drink, as I walk up the stairs to the kitchen, I find the front door wide open. I scream "Michael" in one breath. Frantically I run outside, no shoes, no bra, no mind, just pajamas. I go up to the edge of the porch and scream again, looking to the side of the house, by the garbage canister, nothing.
I run into the house and check all the rooms, closets, under the covers, I have been through this before. "Diego, I can't find Michael, help me look, check all the rooms again, NOW!"
I run outside to the middle of the street, looking both ways, the road seems to go on forever.
Two young men doing lawn work a couple of houses down come out from the back, they see me running aimlessly, my hair in my hands, almost like I could think better by yanking at the strands. They point across the street, and there sitting on the porch chair is Michael.
I run up to the house (he has actually chosen to settle himself into the meth house from the block, where parties never end, music never dies, drugs run wild and liquor runs deep, yes the house I want to visit, he beat me to it) in his hand is a Styrofoam cup, I grab it, empty. I smell it, nothing, he probably drank a cigarette like Snooki from Jersey Shore, the cup has no hints of alcohol, or even soda. I knock on the door, waiting for a hangover zombie to open the door and lead me to the dark side. No one answered. I walked out to the young men and thanked them.
They told me he was playing with the cups and they noticed him but didn't know where he came from, they noticed him alone and watched him.
The only thing he didn't do was light up the cigarettes sitting in front of him or roll up a joint, but give him time. I walked into the house, my face streaked with tears or sweat, I can't tell.
The weeds have lost their priority, for all I care the house could be covered by vines and uprooted by the massive oak tree out front, turning it into a tree house.
I am breathing deeply, the anxiety or panic attack, pick your word, comes tearing down my walls, I take a Xanax and set the tv back on for him, I glide the sofa, yes the big sofa people sit in to guard the door, now I am boarded up and he can't get out, he plays with the knobs of the window and leads me to believe, he just may climb out of there, I get the laptop, forget the laundry and for the next 6 hours watch over him like a hawk.
Alot of things could have happened, but this is how my weekend started. I haven't been able to blog or do much, guilt consumed my every thought, my every movement. I have learned to unhitch the doorknob, ghetto style, assuring that he cant get out. If God forbid a fire breaks out, the kids will just have to break a window. Which they did in their room, the only thing holding it together is tint put in place by the previous demented owner of this hell hole. Can you believe they actually tinted the windows purple. G-H-E-T-T-O fabulous, or Cubaniche style, one or the other, same difference.
Either way, my life is changing leaps and bounds with this hellion, and the only thing I can control is....ok so I have no control of much, but it gives me lots to blog about, it's been a hell of a weekend my friends. More to come.
I don't have the stupid habit of locking the door behind me, I don't, I should, I will now.
Saturday morning 7 AM, the house is still, The Office reruns are running on the television, my husband is sitting on the sofa in a daze waiting for the coffee. I know us woman don't know this, but apparently a man can sit on the sofa and the coffee magically makes itself, what he doesn't know is that I do have to rinse the pot, I do have to fill it, the coffee grains, filter, all that shit. Tinkerbell doesn't fly around any make stuff happen with a wand, it's my wifely duty. So he sits and waits.
I put the gears in motion and wait for the caffeinated drink to erupt from the machine. As I wait, I go outside to get the paper. Walk back into the house, set the paper on the coffee table, and grab the coffee. In his cup goes straight whole milk, the half and half is for she-who-preps-the-coffee, not for he-who-waits. I am not a morning person, and in my mind I think to myself, "That'll teach 'em."
The bread-winner gets all gussied up for work and by this time Mike D has taken over the remote. He is also a grumpy goose. The money maker walks out the side door and I sit with Mike watching annoying characters dance around, Mike smiles and laughs, all is well.
My laundry hamper has reached mountain proportions, we are talking overlapping the hamper limit, flowing over the back, and now clothes is being stuffed between the towels on my towel rack, because apparently the laundry also does it's fucking self. I hate housework, and laundry more.
I walk outside with the load in my arms smelling like an armpit from the trenches of a jungle and I stuff it into the machine, like teenagers stuff their bras and tighty whiteys (well they do) I pour the liquid and turn around to go back in, I notice weeds everywhere, again. I bend over and pull one weed, pull another, Mike D walks out to me.
I pick him up and go inside, prep his bottle and sit him on the man-sofa. I go back outside to my weeding.
After about 15 minutes I go in to check on the boys and get a drink, as I walk up the stairs to the kitchen, I find the front door wide open. I scream "Michael" in one breath. Frantically I run outside, no shoes, no bra, no mind, just pajamas. I go up to the edge of the porch and scream again, looking to the side of the house, by the garbage canister, nothing.
I run into the house and check all the rooms, closets, under the covers, I have been through this before. "Diego, I can't find Michael, help me look, check all the rooms again, NOW!"
I run outside to the middle of the street, looking both ways, the road seems to go on forever.
Two young men doing lawn work a couple of houses down come out from the back, they see me running aimlessly, my hair in my hands, almost like I could think better by yanking at the strands. They point across the street, and there sitting on the porch chair is Michael.
I run up to the house (he has actually chosen to settle himself into the meth house from the block, where parties never end, music never dies, drugs run wild and liquor runs deep, yes the house I want to visit, he beat me to it) in his hand is a Styrofoam cup, I grab it, empty. I smell it, nothing, he probably drank a cigarette like Snooki from Jersey Shore, the cup has no hints of alcohol, or even soda. I knock on the door, waiting for a hangover zombie to open the door and lead me to the dark side. No one answered. I walked out to the young men and thanked them.
They told me he was playing with the cups and they noticed him but didn't know where he came from, they noticed him alone and watched him.
The only thing he didn't do was light up the cigarettes sitting in front of him or roll up a joint, but give him time. I walked into the house, my face streaked with tears or sweat, I can't tell.
The weeds have lost their priority, for all I care the house could be covered by vines and uprooted by the massive oak tree out front, turning it into a tree house.
I am breathing deeply, the anxiety or panic attack, pick your word, comes tearing down my walls, I take a Xanax and set the tv back on for him, I glide the sofa, yes the big sofa people sit in to guard the door, now I am boarded up and he can't get out, he plays with the knobs of the window and leads me to believe, he just may climb out of there, I get the laptop, forget the laundry and for the next 6 hours watch over him like a hawk.
Alot of things could have happened, but this is how my weekend started. I haven't been able to blog or do much, guilt consumed my every thought, my every movement. I have learned to unhitch the doorknob, ghetto style, assuring that he cant get out. If God forbid a fire breaks out, the kids will just have to break a window. Which they did in their room, the only thing holding it together is tint put in place by the previous demented owner of this hell hole. Can you believe they actually tinted the windows purple. G-H-E-T-T-O fabulous, or Cubaniche style, one or the other, same difference.
Either way, my life is changing leaps and bounds with this hellion, and the only thing I can control is....ok so I have no control of much, but it gives me lots to blog about, it's been a hell of a weekend my friends. More to come.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Mike D finding the markers
Hi Mommy! Can I help you?Nope, I didn't hear any music.
Everything is fine in here, really just go clean something.
Put the cell phone down, you don't have to call Santa Claus, I was just kidding, a test, come on in. A please would have been nice, don't you say that all the time.
See, nothing to see here, just watching Nickelodeon's Music Huck-Huck Jam. Look at that Ni Hao....I want to sit with her at snack time, teach her some A, B, C's. Oh this, just a marker, you never gave me a pacifier, what do you expect?
Why are you screaming at me!!!!
Blah, blah, blah....I don't hear anything.
Ok, so I was thinking, it may be a marker, but now with blue lips, do I look like a club kid. 
You know I spent the day in the room trying out some moves. Are you ready?
Ok, so I was thinking, it may be a marker, but now with blue lips, do I look like a club kid. Can I get a black wardrobe? Think about it...
You know I spent the day in the room trying out some moves. Are you ready?
If I look to the side, do I look like the joker? 
I really did practice, don't laugh. Happy birthday, Happy Birthday, There's a party in my tummy. So yummy, so yummy. La, la, la. Listen to me. Oh, watch me dance.
Teach me how to Dougie.
Yes that is why I have CDs everywhere, One foot here, the other foot there, slide.....
And I'm up again. Follow the hands, mom, follow the hands. 
So you see...we really don't have to tell daddy about this, I am just finding myself at an early age.Can you call back Santa and tell him, you were joking. Love you mommy.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Tour De Ybor
If you know me, you know I am intrigued by murder. So when there was a tour in Ybor City about The Good, the Bad and the Ugly I was excited to attend a tour that just may quench my thirst about the mafia past and the background of how Tampa and the mob connected. Unfortunately that tour was last week, and I missed it, this tour was more about the buildings, the people who came over from Italy and maybe Cuba, with rafts I think, I don't know how they got here, I didn't pay attention, but I do remember cigars, they came over to roll cigars. There was no murder involved so during the tour I found myself bored and amused at other things.
The tour started at 5 PM, my sister Mara picked me up and we headed there an hour early so that we could catch up and catch a drink pre-tour. Knowing my financial situation, I snuck in two shots at home before leaving. (Unbeknownst to my sister.) Then we got to New World Brewery and ordered raspberry beer, very yummy. We met up with my aunt Marta at the bar where the tour began, and I had yet another drink. Five o'clock came and went, so I order one more. Then we were told the tour would start and I couldn't take my drink, so I chugged it. You can't waste alcohol, that is sac religious.
By the time the tour started the two shots kicked in. I walked and tried to listen, but just like high school and history class, I found myself playing with my phone and wondering why
I drank so much.
My head was spinning and the I felt invincible. I don't know what gave it away exactly, but my sister kept moving further and further from me. From time to time I would find her among the crowd like a leprechaun, there weren't alot of people on the tour but it was like the big groups of people you see at Disney, where they wear the same T-shirts. I now understand the flag. My sister was shorter than most of the tour audience, and I wish she would have had a big four leaf clover to hold onto so I could point her out easier. Or a big Cuban flag that would help me find her. It was like Where is Waldo in real life, without the funny hat, glasses and striped shirt, much much more difficult.
I would spot her and in what I thought was a whisper would do the "Pssstttttt!" and motion my hand, waving it towards me so that she could sit next to me. At this point, in my drunken stupor I couldn't figure out why she would look at me like she did, with her lip gloss shining in the sunlight and her eyebrows would become one. Like a uni brow, our true facial origin. We must be related to Freda. The chick with the red dress, and one brow, possibly a mole, but we didn't have that, thank God. My sister Nina has a mole, and so does Tito, in the same spot with a hair in the middle, they call it the "genius mole" and the legend is if you remove the hair, their geniusness disappears, (the fact that they made up that word should be a hint in itself) so they both have the mole with a hair, although I don't know what the difference would be if I plucked it or not. They aren't the brightest crayons in the crayola box.
The tour went on and we walked around like tourists, even though this is my backyard. We stopped at a building and I had to pee, but so did other people. (Not just me Mara!) So I stood there doing the familiar pee-pee dance we all know. I wasn't sure about the men's bathroom being occupied, so I opened it slightly and saw a man in a striped shirt, who didn't notice I opened the door, he was facing the wall relieving himself. I slowly closed it. Went to the woman's stall and waited, and waited, I opened the door, and whichever skank was in it before me left the light on so it looked occupied. I walked in only to find out the door didn't lock. I waited until another person came up and told her the door didn't lock to please make sure no one came in to interrupt my peeing, when I am drunk it's not like I can open and close the faucet, if I get interrupted I may stand up and just pee everywhere, then what do I do? Have Mara take me home and have to do the walk of shame in front of the tour people, it may be the highlight of the tour and make it a most memorable tour but I didn't want to be known as the girl who peed herself on the Ybor tour, that would be the ugly part, and then I would be part of the tour and then...well I would have to do it each time and I don't know that peeing on myself once a month is going to be good for my skin...(not sure how I got this far from the subject...moving on). Well no one walked in, and I peed like a camel after a five mile trek through the desert.
We kept walking, I am sure I dozed off here and there, my sister watched from afar, surely putting curses on me like a witch in Salem. (you do know they burned people for that stuff back in the old days Mara! burned at the stake and thrown into a river!!!) I can tell by the dirty looks, she probably didn't pay attention either, had they handed out a booklet and a test, I probably would have done better by sheer smartness.
By the end of the tour, I lost my aunt couldn't find her, she probably had to explain to her friends that I am a hermit and was drinking like a college student because I never get out of the house and was taking in all I could like cramming for an exam. I failed the exam, but whatever.
My sister was babysitting just fine. I didn't get hit by a car crossing the street, or arrested. I made it home in one peace and sober. My drunkness time span spent with her. I will be looking for more tours to have her take me too. Like Driving Miss Daisy, but more like the designated driver for Miss Drunky Mc Drunk Drunk. And to think I almost had a shot of tequila, that would have been just dandy. Then there would be another murder in Ybor to include on the tour.
The tour started at 5 PM, my sister Mara picked me up and we headed there an hour early so that we could catch up and catch a drink pre-tour. Knowing my financial situation, I snuck in two shots at home before leaving. (Unbeknownst to my sister.) Then we got to New World Brewery and ordered raspberry beer, very yummy. We met up with my aunt Marta at the bar where the tour began, and I had yet another drink. Five o'clock came and went, so I order one more. Then we were told the tour would start and I couldn't take my drink, so I chugged it. You can't waste alcohol, that is sac religious.
By the time the tour started the two shots kicked in. I walked and tried to listen, but just like high school and history class, I found myself playing with my phone and wondering why
I drank so much.
My head was spinning and the I felt invincible. I don't know what gave it away exactly, but my sister kept moving further and further from me. From time to time I would find her among the crowd like a leprechaun, there weren't alot of people on the tour but it was like the big groups of people you see at Disney, where they wear the same T-shirts. I now understand the flag. My sister was shorter than most of the tour audience, and I wish she would have had a big four leaf clover to hold onto so I could point her out easier. Or a big Cuban flag that would help me find her. It was like Where is Waldo in real life, without the funny hat, glasses and striped shirt, much much more difficult.
I would spot her and in what I thought was a whisper would do the "Pssstttttt!" and motion my hand, waving it towards me so that she could sit next to me. At this point, in my drunken stupor I couldn't figure out why she would look at me like she did, with her lip gloss shining in the sunlight and her eyebrows would become one. Like a uni brow, our true facial origin. We must be related to Freda. The chick with the red dress, and one brow, possibly a mole, but we didn't have that, thank God. My sister Nina has a mole, and so does Tito, in the same spot with a hair in the middle, they call it the "genius mole" and the legend is if you remove the hair, their geniusness disappears, (the fact that they made up that word should be a hint in itself) so they both have the mole with a hair, although I don't know what the difference would be if I plucked it or not. They aren't the brightest crayons in the crayola box.
The tour went on and we walked around like tourists, even though this is my backyard. We stopped at a building and I had to pee, but so did other people. (Not just me Mara!) So I stood there doing the familiar pee-pee dance we all know. I wasn't sure about the men's bathroom being occupied, so I opened it slightly and saw a man in a striped shirt, who didn't notice I opened the door, he was facing the wall relieving himself. I slowly closed it. Went to the woman's stall and waited, and waited, I opened the door, and whichever skank was in it before me left the light on so it looked occupied. I walked in only to find out the door didn't lock. I waited until another person came up and told her the door didn't lock to please make sure no one came in to interrupt my peeing, when I am drunk it's not like I can open and close the faucet, if I get interrupted I may stand up and just pee everywhere, then what do I do? Have Mara take me home and have to do the walk of shame in front of the tour people, it may be the highlight of the tour and make it a most memorable tour but I didn't want to be known as the girl who peed herself on the Ybor tour, that would be the ugly part, and then I would be part of the tour and then...well I would have to do it each time and I don't know that peeing on myself once a month is going to be good for my skin...(not sure how I got this far from the subject...moving on). Well no one walked in, and I peed like a camel after a five mile trek through the desert.
We kept walking, I am sure I dozed off here and there, my sister watched from afar, surely putting curses on me like a witch in Salem. (you do know they burned people for that stuff back in the old days Mara! burned at the stake and thrown into a river!!!) I can tell by the dirty looks, she probably didn't pay attention either, had they handed out a booklet and a test, I probably would have done better by sheer smartness.
By the end of the tour, I lost my aunt couldn't find her, she probably had to explain to her friends that I am a hermit and was drinking like a college student because I never get out of the house and was taking in all I could like cramming for an exam. I failed the exam, but whatever.
My sister was babysitting just fine. I didn't get hit by a car crossing the street, or arrested. I made it home in one peace and sober. My drunkness time span spent with her. I will be looking for more tours to have her take me too. Like Driving Miss Daisy, but more like the designated driver for Miss Drunky Mc Drunk Drunk. And to think I almost had a shot of tequila, that would have been just dandy. Then there would be another murder in Ybor to include on the tour.
So I went to a tour in Ybor and all I got was a picture of Jose Marti's ass.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Another dark cloud day
My husband called very early, right as I got into work. He gave me the Power Ball numbers, then the numbers that we played. I didn't see a connection. "They don't match, I can't quit, what's your point?"
He read them back, we missed each Power Ball number, 96 million dollars, by one digit. What in the name of all that is holy possessed him to call me with this news. He laughs, I hang up, this is not the call of the day for me...
Midday, after my husband has gone to work I get another call.
Every time that phone rings and Diego's school is on the line my hair stands up on the back of my neck, we have a dark history.
"It's half day and your son hasn't been picked up."
SHIT, I offer my apologies, call my dad, "Daddy please pick Diego up, it was half day and I forgot him, and before he guilts me...he is probably crying, pick him up two Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home." I hear a huff but he obliges.
I call my husband because inquiring minds want to know how the fuck this happened, dammit!
"What do you mean half day, it wasn't posted, they were advertising for the walk-a-thon. They always remind me of half day when I drop him off, I didn't see anything."
Of course they advertise the walk-a-thon, they need more money, they always want money, yes it's a ritzy South Tampa school, but even Bill Gates wants money, even if he gives it back to the kids Sally Sutherland promotes with flies and swollen bellies, they take your money, then do something to make themselves look good, it's still not their money.
My mom calls me at work, another call, important stuff..."I had Blockbuster hold Pan's Labyrinth and when I went to pick it up I went to the wrong Blockbuster, it's too far, isn't it on your way home, it's on Fletcher." No mom, it's a 15 minute detour, but to keep you happy and quiet sure.
"No problem, I pass by it everyday, have them hold it."
I go to Blockbuster, they give me the movie and swipe my debit, DECLINED! I pull out another credit card DECLINED! I don't even want to call for the balance, it may cause me to detour to the Skyway Bridge and make a hard right at the top.
I promise to pick it up Friday on payday and the nice man agrees, I think the anxiety, shaking and swelled up eyes ready to bawl helped.
"Mom, they are holding the movie until Friday, they had credit card problems and they couldn't put the card through, but you will have your movie I promise." If she knew I was broke, she would begin donating food to me, not the brand I like or the food, basically her expired stuff.
(I don't know exactly how to win the lotto, but I am getting really close.)
I pick up the kids and go home, Diego questions me about his flute skills, he plays Hot Cross Buns, all the way home. He plays in the living room, the kitchen, every area of the house that I am in. I realize my child is tone deaf. I let him play, every once in a while I shout a praise and smile, he lets me clean. Maybe he will leave it laying out and Juno will eat it.
Juno scratches the door to come in. "Diego get me the dog bowl!"
"Uh, mommy. Juno has no food."
"What do you mean he has no food."
He pulls out an empty container and smiles.
"Does your father know about this?"
"Uh yeah, I told him."
We go through the kitchen in a frenzy because there must be some dog food somewhere. Nothing. I run to the computer and google "scrambled eggs for dogs" we have an abundance of eggs (since my mother in law is out of town and eats them everyday) apparently it won't kill him, and I am well on the road to sending him off to the Pet Cemetery.
"Diego, we need to feed your dog. Grab eggs, what else will he eat?"
Poor Juno is eating out of the garbage, napkins and Styrofoam containers with remnants of food, he is licking and chewing and surely will be self medicating himself with outside grass for stomach issues that this will cause. Diego is looking for chicken, none is found, he pulls out macaroni and cheese, I shake my head. Ravioli, no. Ramen soup, no. I open the fridge and find hot dogs.
They were buy one-get one a week ago, there is one lonely hot dog in a yellow jello like mold. I didn't buy it this way and this is just what happens when they don't zip the plastic right. I consider the thought of washing it and chopping it up, then remember out last visit to the doggie ER.
I decide to open the new container, the poor dog is licking the empty dog bowl, my heart drops.
"OK Diego, how many hot dogs, I say two, how many eggs?"
"I say two, it's only fair for the hot dogs." I dwell on his answer, making sense only to him.
I pull out two hot dogs, chop them up and scramble three eggs. The laptop in front of me, I continue to look up ways to feed dogs during times of poverty.
Feeling guilty, I add Adobo, the poor dog needs at least flavor right?
I may not have won the Power Ball, but I managed to get Diego picked up minus the guilt, listened to a concert by my 9 yr old starving artist of a child, fed the dog, and now he will have brilliantly shiny coat according to Google. With as many eggs as he will be eating, you will need sunglasses to check him out, and since he sheds it will make it easier to find dog hair on the couch and furniture.
I begin to clean and make the bed, Mike D has scribbled in magenta and purple all over my side of the bed, of course. I couldn't leave him out of this day. I won't strangle him because I know one day he will be a famous artist and pay for my plastic surgery, unfortunately for me, my house is his canvas, and he signs every piece of artwork he creates. I just haven't figured out which is art and which is the signature.
And so the dark cloud has found me once again.
He read them back, we missed each Power Ball number, 96 million dollars, by one digit. What in the name of all that is holy possessed him to call me with this news. He laughs, I hang up, this is not the call of the day for me...
Midday, after my husband has gone to work I get another call.
Every time that phone rings and Diego's school is on the line my hair stands up on the back of my neck, we have a dark history.
"It's half day and your son hasn't been picked up."
SHIT, I offer my apologies, call my dad, "Daddy please pick Diego up, it was half day and I forgot him, and before he guilts me...he is probably crying, pick him up two Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home." I hear a huff but he obliges.
I call my husband because inquiring minds want to know how the fuck this happened, dammit!
"What do you mean half day, it wasn't posted, they were advertising for the walk-a-thon. They always remind me of half day when I drop him off, I didn't see anything."
Of course they advertise the walk-a-thon, they need more money, they always want money, yes it's a ritzy South Tampa school, but even Bill Gates wants money, even if he gives it back to the kids Sally Sutherland promotes with flies and swollen bellies, they take your money, then do something to make themselves look good, it's still not their money.
My mom calls me at work, another call, important stuff..."I had Blockbuster hold Pan's Labyrinth and when I went to pick it up I went to the wrong Blockbuster, it's too far, isn't it on your way home, it's on Fletcher." No mom, it's a 15 minute detour, but to keep you happy and quiet sure.
"No problem, I pass by it everyday, have them hold it."
I go to Blockbuster, they give me the movie and swipe my debit, DECLINED! I pull out another credit card DECLINED! I don't even want to call for the balance, it may cause me to detour to the Skyway Bridge and make a hard right at the top.
I promise to pick it up Friday on payday and the nice man agrees, I think the anxiety, shaking and swelled up eyes ready to bawl helped.
"Mom, they are holding the movie until Friday, they had credit card problems and they couldn't put the card through, but you will have your movie I promise." If she knew I was broke, she would begin donating food to me, not the brand I like or the food, basically her expired stuff.
(I don't know exactly how to win the lotto, but I am getting really close.)
I pick up the kids and go home, Diego questions me about his flute skills, he plays Hot Cross Buns, all the way home. He plays in the living room, the kitchen, every area of the house that I am in. I realize my child is tone deaf. I let him play, every once in a while I shout a praise and smile, he lets me clean. Maybe he will leave it laying out and Juno will eat it.
Juno scratches the door to come in. "Diego get me the dog bowl!"
"Uh, mommy. Juno has no food."
"What do you mean he has no food."
He pulls out an empty container and smiles.
"Does your father know about this?"
"Uh yeah, I told him."
We go through the kitchen in a frenzy because there must be some dog food somewhere. Nothing. I run to the computer and google "scrambled eggs for dogs" we have an abundance of eggs (since my mother in law is out of town and eats them everyday) apparently it won't kill him, and I am well on the road to sending him off to the Pet Cemetery.
"Diego, we need to feed your dog. Grab eggs, what else will he eat?"
Poor Juno is eating out of the garbage, napkins and Styrofoam containers with remnants of food, he is licking and chewing and surely will be self medicating himself with outside grass for stomach issues that this will cause. Diego is looking for chicken, none is found, he pulls out macaroni and cheese, I shake my head. Ravioli, no. Ramen soup, no. I open the fridge and find hot dogs.
They were buy one-get one a week ago, there is one lonely hot dog in a yellow jello like mold. I didn't buy it this way and this is just what happens when they don't zip the plastic right. I consider the thought of washing it and chopping it up, then remember out last visit to the doggie ER.
I decide to open the new container, the poor dog is licking the empty dog bowl, my heart drops.
"OK Diego, how many hot dogs, I say two, how many eggs?"
"I say two, it's only fair for the hot dogs." I dwell on his answer, making sense only to him.
I pull out two hot dogs, chop them up and scramble three eggs. The laptop in front of me, I continue to look up ways to feed dogs during times of poverty.
Feeling guilty, I add Adobo, the poor dog needs at least flavor right?
I may not have won the Power Ball, but I managed to get Diego picked up minus the guilt, listened to a concert by my 9 yr old starving artist of a child, fed the dog, and now he will have brilliantly shiny coat according to Google. With as many eggs as he will be eating, you will need sunglasses to check him out, and since he sheds it will make it easier to find dog hair on the couch and furniture.
I begin to clean and make the bed, Mike D has scribbled in magenta and purple all over my side of the bed, of course. I couldn't leave him out of this day. I won't strangle him because I know one day he will be a famous artist and pay for my plastic surgery, unfortunately for me, my house is his canvas, and he signs every piece of artwork he creates. I just haven't figured out which is art and which is the signature.
And so the dark cloud has found me once again.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Smelly Feet
There are certain smells that are bearable because they are yours and only yours. You can get near a person and smell their scent and "eh" it's ok, this is their unique smell, then another person comes and you smell moth balls, their signature scent, like a mall perfume, after that each time you smell moth balls you remember that person. You have an opinion, it is your right. Keep that in mind for a second.
On the way to pick up Mike D, I called my hubby, his cell phone is dying, mine is too. So we race to my mother's house. I pull up and he is there, I walk in and Mike D is asleep. My mom tells us we can go to dinner, as long as it's not her favorite restaurant Miguel's, my husband says "Miguel's it is!", she threatens to throw a shoe at him. We leave and eat.
I rush home, I have time to spare to go out and buy a book, an erotica I have been dying to get my hands on. I kick off the heels, yes like men do, and they fly away, where they land I don't know. I sit with my husband and force him to print my coupon for the bookstore. Grab it and run, we are talking erotica people.
Well, I didn't really run, I lost a heel, so I slipped on some ballerina slipper flats, not real ballerina, this body doesn't Pilate's, it pivots from side to side. The flats were stuck in the corner of the closet, and they were there for a reason, but time was limited, so the shoes went on.
I get my book, go to my mom's to get the baby, have my sister tell me how lucky I am because my mother was ready to kill my child. Out of nowhere my mom appears, "Oh you're here." She looks are Mike D with a broom in hand, "Bye Michael." She waves and looks at me, "He was ready to walk out to the back yard with two glasses, I stopped him, then came the attack." I looked at Mike D, dried snot all over his face, his wife beater was off a shoulder, he looked like Cheetah, with the Tarzan dress thingy, like the cave men, with one shoulder on, the other off. Very wild looking, he looked at me looking at him and showed me all his teeth.
I get home to a hubby watching the game, the laptop nowhere near him. I gesture for the laptop and he pulls it to his lap and opens it up, automatically going to the news page. I sit and wait.
Think me think, then get up for a moment, take off my magical slippers and sit right back down next to him. After 45 seconds, he starts to look around, not quite a convulsion but definitely a reaction due to a change in the air. He looks at Juno, I look at him waiting for him to turn over the laptop.
"Oh my god, do you smell that?" He continues to look at the dog, then he notices that I am grinning from ear to ear. He sniffs in little motions, as to not inhale too much, like it's lethal or something.
"Oh my god, it's your feet. Oh my god!"
"Oh please, just sit still for five minutes and you will be immune to the smell." I retort and giggle uncontrollably.
"Woman, it's been ten years and I still can't get used to it."
I lean over and grab ahold of my snuggie, and wrap my feet around it. "There, better?"
"No, not better, I use that as my covers when I watch TV, now I have to burn it."
Finally, he hands me the laptop and I log onto Facebook, ready to blog, but nothing to blog about, or so I thought. I fiddle with the laptop and he stomps away, huffing and puffing, probably not inhaling.
"Jersey Shore is on tonight." He says as he walks away, knowing I am excited for the next episode.
"Oh man, I gotta run and get ready to watch it in peace."
"Yeah, it's on Wednesdays right?" He looks at me and sticks his tongue out.
Dumb ass, it's tomorrow.
"You moron, you knew..." I shut up, pick up my slippers, hoping that they begin to grow mold and ferment in the closet, waiting for me to pull them out next time he pulls his shit.
For now I just sit and wait for the ammo to prepare itself.
Just like those idiots on Call of Duty, he is gonna be looking around doing something stupid and then outta nowhere BAM stinky feet.
On the way to pick up Mike D, I called my hubby, his cell phone is dying, mine is too. So we race to my mother's house. I pull up and he is there, I walk in and Mike D is asleep. My mom tells us we can go to dinner, as long as it's not her favorite restaurant Miguel's, my husband says "Miguel's it is!", she threatens to throw a shoe at him. We leave and eat.
I rush home, I have time to spare to go out and buy a book, an erotica I have been dying to get my hands on. I kick off the heels, yes like men do, and they fly away, where they land I don't know. I sit with my husband and force him to print my coupon for the bookstore. Grab it and run, we are talking erotica people.
Well, I didn't really run, I lost a heel, so I slipped on some ballerina slipper flats, not real ballerina, this body doesn't Pilate's, it pivots from side to side. The flats were stuck in the corner of the closet, and they were there for a reason, but time was limited, so the shoes went on.
I get my book, go to my mom's to get the baby, have my sister tell me how lucky I am because my mother was ready to kill my child. Out of nowhere my mom appears, "Oh you're here." She looks are Mike D with a broom in hand, "Bye Michael." She waves and looks at me, "He was ready to walk out to the back yard with two glasses, I stopped him, then came the attack." I looked at Mike D, dried snot all over his face, his wife beater was off a shoulder, he looked like Cheetah, with the Tarzan dress thingy, like the cave men, with one shoulder on, the other off. Very wild looking, he looked at me looking at him and showed me all his teeth.
I get home to a hubby watching the game, the laptop nowhere near him. I gesture for the laptop and he pulls it to his lap and opens it up, automatically going to the news page. I sit and wait.
Think me think, then get up for a moment, take off my magical slippers and sit right back down next to him. After 45 seconds, he starts to look around, not quite a convulsion but definitely a reaction due to a change in the air. He looks at Juno, I look at him waiting for him to turn over the laptop.
"Oh my god, do you smell that?" He continues to look at the dog, then he notices that I am grinning from ear to ear. He sniffs in little motions, as to not inhale too much, like it's lethal or something.
"Oh my god, it's your feet. Oh my god!"
"Oh please, just sit still for five minutes and you will be immune to the smell." I retort and giggle uncontrollably.
"Woman, it's been ten years and I still can't get used to it."
I lean over and grab ahold of my snuggie, and wrap my feet around it. "There, better?"
"No, not better, I use that as my covers when I watch TV, now I have to burn it."
Finally, he hands me the laptop and I log onto Facebook, ready to blog, but nothing to blog about, or so I thought. I fiddle with the laptop and he stomps away, huffing and puffing, probably not inhaling.
"Jersey Shore is on tonight." He says as he walks away, knowing I am excited for the next episode.
"Oh man, I gotta run and get ready to watch it in peace."
"Yeah, it's on Wednesdays right?" He looks at me and sticks his tongue out.
Dumb ass, it's tomorrow.
"You moron, you knew..." I shut up, pick up my slippers, hoping that they begin to grow mold and ferment in the closet, waiting for me to pull them out next time he pulls his shit.
For now I just sit and wait for the ammo to prepare itself.
Just like those idiots on Call of Duty, he is gonna be looking around doing something stupid and then outta nowhere BAM stinky feet.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Beware of Gator (no more)
A year ago, I began my gator hunt, no cages or knives, just me in heels walking around on my fifteen minute break looking for gators. I heard they were around, here and there I found a few, not very big, but where I work the building is surrounded by a big forest, a lake, and where I now have to smoke, down the street, is a parking lot next to a swamp, really I swear.
There is a small drainage pond in the back of the building, this is where I found a 3 footer, no big deal, I was not impressed, so I moved to the lake across the street. For all I know, that 3 foot gator that I saw was just a processed salad that floated around the pond in just the right light, I mean gators are brown, green, and yellow, coulda been a turd.
So I crossed the street... in heels.
My next hunt was just me watching the edge of the lake, on the other side, way across the lake a gator would come out and sun every once in a while, so I was just happy seeing him lounging out, scared to get too close but stupid enough to try.
Everyday I would get closer and closer, one day I just stood there, staring in a trance at the lake's reflection, wiping away the blades of grass that brushed against my ankle. For whatever reason I just didn't look down, why it took me so long? I was hell bent on seeing the gator. A sharp sting distracted my eyes and after a double take, I noticed the ants were half way up to my knee, my right foot was embedded in an ant pile. I cursed, I hopped, I jumped, I took off my shoes, and I was in pain, walked back to work in one heel, doing the walk of shame without the one-night-stand, not that I am allergic or was too worried, but it really itched. After all was said and done, I was at my desk with 27 ant bites, and a zip-lock bag of ice. A hell of a story. But I didn't tell the story, Rosa did. She is my smoke buddy, she made sure that the story would be told, and she didn't pee in her pants because I would blog about it. But she laughed her ass off. The lake was now off limits.
Off to the swamp, I love the swamp, I am a Forensic Files fan, Dexter, and any murder mystery, so I go out there and look into the swamp, thinking one day they will interview me because I found a dead body, an arm, a foot, or a person hanging out in the distance, I don't typically speak much, because I look long and hard for something, and one day I will find it. I have my goals in life and priorities.
Sometimes Renee goes with us, she doesn't smoke, she is our tobacco free advertisement, our nicotine patch, bitching and moaning about the smoke, but she is still there, she just moves away from the smoke trail and we look for ways to blow the deadly fumes to her direction, all in fun of course. She has to move often, my inner bitch laughs at this game. It's like playing Frogger with a cigarette and a friend, making her move forward and backwards, side to side until she gets to a safe spot.
This particular day, I was again looking for a crime scene. I got out, went up to the swamp and as I was getting close, a loud splash was just feet away. Oh my god, was it Nessy or the Lake Placid monster. I went to run and find the beast, but was rudely distracted by the two chickens that accompanied me on my quest for being The Crocodile Hunter replacement.
The passenger door to the car was open facing the swamp, Renee forbids us to smoke in the car. Both Renee and Rosa dove in, I am not sure which got in first but Renee's torso was horizontal into the steering wheel area and Rosa was on top with part of her foot out. Somehow they tried to close the door and couldn't because Renee's foot was in the way. From what I saw, it looked like an orgy gone bad. For a moment they reminded me of dogs when they get stuck together, you know the humping thing, then they get stuck and can't seperate, that is what I thought. They tried to budge, but the car only had so much space. They screamed, in fear and in desperation to get into the car. We aren't talking about children, two grown ass woman trying to get into the same seat, they dove in at the same time and were practically stuck in the door way, my poor Yaris was now a low rider, and it had hydraulics, because they bounced and shoved to both get in. I turned and looked and watched the fiasco take place. My face was scrunched into the Rock eyebrow stare, as I tried to figure out exactly what they were running from. They pointed and could barely speak, mostly because they were laughing, I am sure someone peed their pants but neither would fess up.
I went to the area they point and lifted the branch, they screamed some more. I walked into the swamp as much as I could and found nothing. Pacing and staring into the ghetto like Everglades I tried to get one of them to hold up the big branches so I could go in and investigate. They screamed obscene things to me, and asked if I was insured, who would take care of my kids, and assured me that they would not try to save me, some assistants they are.
"It was big, a monster, didn't you hear that thing." They asked.
"Yes, I heard something, but for all you know, squirrels were humping and tree branch fell into the water." They were not cooperating with my investigation. As far as I was concerned, they would not be interviewed when I found a body, they were fired from my taskforce.
The more I got closer, the more they screamed and eventually my time was up, and I was empty handed, completely devestated at not being able to discover exactly what made that sound. I jumped into the car and went back to work with the siamese twins.
Today they found the gator, or a gator, less than a mile away, the police brilliantly handcuffed the damn thing and it made headlines. It looked like it was caught in the middle of an S and M session. But that should not be the only one, so the hunt will continue tomorrow, I will let you know when I find something. Or when I am able to get Renee or Rosa in just the right spot to push them into the swamp and run like hell, there's something to blog about. Watch your backs and don't get too close ladies.
There is a small drainage pond in the back of the building, this is where I found a 3 footer, no big deal, I was not impressed, so I moved to the lake across the street. For all I know, that 3 foot gator that I saw was just a processed salad that floated around the pond in just the right light, I mean gators are brown, green, and yellow, coulda been a turd.
So I crossed the street... in heels.
My next hunt was just me watching the edge of the lake, on the other side, way across the lake a gator would come out and sun every once in a while, so I was just happy seeing him lounging out, scared to get too close but stupid enough to try.
Everyday I would get closer and closer, one day I just stood there, staring in a trance at the lake's reflection, wiping away the blades of grass that brushed against my ankle. For whatever reason I just didn't look down, why it took me so long? I was hell bent on seeing the gator. A sharp sting distracted my eyes and after a double take, I noticed the ants were half way up to my knee, my right foot was embedded in an ant pile. I cursed, I hopped, I jumped, I took off my shoes, and I was in pain, walked back to work in one heel, doing the walk of shame without the one-night-stand, not that I am allergic or was too worried, but it really itched. After all was said and done, I was at my desk with 27 ant bites, and a zip-lock bag of ice. A hell of a story. But I didn't tell the story, Rosa did. She is my smoke buddy, she made sure that the story would be told, and she didn't pee in her pants because I would blog about it. But she laughed her ass off. The lake was now off limits.
Off to the swamp, I love the swamp, I am a Forensic Files fan, Dexter, and any murder mystery, so I go out there and look into the swamp, thinking one day they will interview me because I found a dead body, an arm, a foot, or a person hanging out in the distance, I don't typically speak much, because I look long and hard for something, and one day I will find it. I have my goals in life and priorities.
Sometimes Renee goes with us, she doesn't smoke, she is our tobacco free advertisement, our nicotine patch, bitching and moaning about the smoke, but she is still there, she just moves away from the smoke trail and we look for ways to blow the deadly fumes to her direction, all in fun of course. She has to move often, my inner bitch laughs at this game. It's like playing Frogger with a cigarette and a friend, making her move forward and backwards, side to side until she gets to a safe spot.
This particular day, I was again looking for a crime scene. I got out, went up to the swamp and as I was getting close, a loud splash was just feet away. Oh my god, was it Nessy or the Lake Placid monster. I went to run and find the beast, but was rudely distracted by the two chickens that accompanied me on my quest for being The Crocodile Hunter replacement.
The passenger door to the car was open facing the swamp, Renee forbids us to smoke in the car. Both Renee and Rosa dove in, I am not sure which got in first but Renee's torso was horizontal into the steering wheel area and Rosa was on top with part of her foot out. Somehow they tried to close the door and couldn't because Renee's foot was in the way. From what I saw, it looked like an orgy gone bad. For a moment they reminded me of dogs when they get stuck together, you know the humping thing, then they get stuck and can't seperate, that is what I thought. They tried to budge, but the car only had so much space. They screamed, in fear and in desperation to get into the car. We aren't talking about children, two grown ass woman trying to get into the same seat, they dove in at the same time and were practically stuck in the door way, my poor Yaris was now a low rider, and it had hydraulics, because they bounced and shoved to both get in. I turned and looked and watched the fiasco take place. My face was scrunched into the Rock eyebrow stare, as I tried to figure out exactly what they were running from. They pointed and could barely speak, mostly because they were laughing, I am sure someone peed their pants but neither would fess up.
I went to the area they point and lifted the branch, they screamed some more. I walked into the swamp as much as I could and found nothing. Pacing and staring into the ghetto like Everglades I tried to get one of them to hold up the big branches so I could go in and investigate. They screamed obscene things to me, and asked if I was insured, who would take care of my kids, and assured me that they would not try to save me, some assistants they are.
"It was big, a monster, didn't you hear that thing." They asked.
"Yes, I heard something, but for all you know, squirrels were humping and tree branch fell into the water." They were not cooperating with my investigation. As far as I was concerned, they would not be interviewed when I found a body, they were fired from my taskforce.
The more I got closer, the more they screamed and eventually my time was up, and I was empty handed, completely devestated at not being able to discover exactly what made that sound. I jumped into the car and went back to work with the siamese twins.
Today they found the gator, or a gator, less than a mile away, the police brilliantly handcuffed the damn thing and it made headlines. It looked like it was caught in the middle of an S and M session. But that should not be the only one, so the hunt will continue tomorrow, I will let you know when I find something. Or when I am able to get Renee or Rosa in just the right spot to push them into the swamp and run like hell, there's something to blog about. Watch your backs and don't get too close ladies.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Educate a Cuban Today
Oh Yili...how I love thee.
I am a parrot head, you know those crazy people who get together for the Jimmy Buffet concerts, they get drunk, they smoke what ever you hand them, and they enjoy the same old songs that Jimmy sang back in the 70's. How do you not love Jimmy?
The last Jimmy Buffet concert I went to I was pregnant, still not a chance in hell I would miss this offer, 2 free tickets from a friend. We went, I had fun, I enjoyed the 2nd hand smoke, all of it. And longed to join in the festivities. But being pregnant I could only enjoy the music sober. And like a bloodhound rubbernecking to the smell of party favors, just sniffing up and inhaling bits and pieces, I may have inhaled but never got to smoke.
I told my co-workers, so excited I could pee, most were clueless. My Yili asked if he was a country singer. I sang a piece of Margaritaville, nothing. Cheeseburger in Paradise, strike two. Come Monday, strike three, you're out. I work in the Little Havana side of the building, no one really knows much about music that has English lyrics, and well I can't comment on their music or telenovelas because I am too enthralled in pop culture here and now, not back in Hialeah, not in the 80s. I love Hialeah and Miami but you just don't get that rich Latin culture in Tampa (at least not the quality) except for 2 stations that are not worthy of my time, or unless you are buying spanish CDs and I just am not into that. But really how do you not know Jimmy, I bow to the man, drink to his name, he is a legend and an amazing entertainer. I have him on DVD and CD, and play him out like my Beatles CD, lets not go there, although they know of the Beatles, they only know "She loves you, yeah yeah yeah." No way I can bring up Yellow Submarine or Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I love you John, Ringo, Paul and the other one, Billy or Michael or whatever (is it another John).
Just the other day, I got a message from Yili it read- "Do you know who Bob Marlin is?"
I had to hold myself back from climbing over the cublicle like Spiderman, and putting her ass back on a boat to Jamaica this time to show her who he was. I know my Yili and usually these messages have to do with...well you know who the hell she was talking about. How did these people come to work with me, had fate found a list of conversations that would torture me and just sporadically send them my way. I must be on God's sitcom list up there, I know it.
I responded "Bob Marley".
"Who is that?"
How the fuck do you respond to that. Sure it was like me asking her "Do you know of Julio Iglesi?"
She would just laugh and laugh and laugh, everyone knows Julio Iglesias, and just to be a bitch I could say do you know John Church, or Julio Church, because that she may take a while to get, but eventually it would click, and then smoke may come out of her eyes and ears from the cranks going into overdrive. Church is Iglesia in english. Just to have fun with her and time her delayed reaction.
Bob Marley is the stuff legends are made of, he is amazing in all he did, and he was all about peace, like my John Lennon. Drugs had a big part, but usually it does, you need it to deal with the hell of a world we live in now. Marley is big in the islands, all of them, I guess but Cuba, most at work knew him, but she didn't. I sang alot of songs and she was clueless, I showed her pics, famous pics, with the red, green and yellow rasta colors, nothing. It was like a light bulb with no flicker. There was no chance I would ever get through to this one.
I reluctantly gave up, I still plan on handing her a CD, not that she will listen to it much, she will give it back in a day and continue her Wisin and Yandel. And I will feel defeated, this kind of stuff is what I like to share, some people like to send out emails on how Jesus loves you, I don't know that Jesus ever used the internet, but I guess he is channeling himself through these people, they spread the word, or they send chain letters about how if you don't forward you will die and be chased by a demon, raped and gutted while your family never finds your body, crap like that. It's fear and religion, well this is my religion, I believe in happiness and paying it forward, in music being a big part of life and smiling and singing along, and in the fact that no one is better than me and I am better than no one. But for the love of all that is holy, please how do you go on living and breathing without knowing Jimmy and Bob, and Bon Jovi and Blink 182, the list goes on and on, I will never attempt to bring these people up, it would leave me as a college professor at a lecture and they would get it all wrong in the end just pissing me off by swiching songs and bands. But the top of the list, the Beatles, the Beastie Boys, the Bobs and Jimmys, and Billy Joel, she doesn't know his ass either. I just don't know how she was shackled and kept in a cave about them. Maybe she knows were Bin Ladin is, maybe they shared caves and we are just looking in the wrong place, I will ask her tommorrow if she was hanging with Fidel wearing a towel on his head, speaking tounges, to this I would respond, No Fidel wasn't practicing Santeria and getting possessed, you have been bunking with someone who we have been looking for, tell me where you were, I will follow. (back on track)
Please spread the word and pass the pipe, let's make the world a better place with music sharing, hand a CD to a Cuban, they are missing out on a lot, they ration things in Cuba, so they are probably scared to take the CD, but assure them that Fidel isn't watching.
Your life is a movie, totally unreahearsed, totally unexpected, the only thing you have control of is the soundtrack. Love you guys...Bita
I am a parrot head, you know those crazy people who get together for the Jimmy Buffet concerts, they get drunk, they smoke what ever you hand them, and they enjoy the same old songs that Jimmy sang back in the 70's. How do you not love Jimmy?
The last Jimmy Buffet concert I went to I was pregnant, still not a chance in hell I would miss this offer, 2 free tickets from a friend. We went, I had fun, I enjoyed the 2nd hand smoke, all of it. And longed to join in the festivities. But being pregnant I could only enjoy the music sober. And like a bloodhound rubbernecking to the smell of party favors, just sniffing up and inhaling bits and pieces, I may have inhaled but never got to smoke.
I told my co-workers, so excited I could pee, most were clueless. My Yili asked if he was a country singer. I sang a piece of Margaritaville, nothing. Cheeseburger in Paradise, strike two. Come Monday, strike three, you're out. I work in the Little Havana side of the building, no one really knows much about music that has English lyrics, and well I can't comment on their music or telenovelas because I am too enthralled in pop culture here and now, not back in Hialeah, not in the 80s. I love Hialeah and Miami but you just don't get that rich Latin culture in Tampa (at least not the quality) except for 2 stations that are not worthy of my time, or unless you are buying spanish CDs and I just am not into that. But really how do you not know Jimmy, I bow to the man, drink to his name, he is a legend and an amazing entertainer. I have him on DVD and CD, and play him out like my Beatles CD, lets not go there, although they know of the Beatles, they only know "She loves you, yeah yeah yeah." No way I can bring up Yellow Submarine or Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I love you John, Ringo, Paul and the other one, Billy or Michael or whatever (is it another John).
Just the other day, I got a message from Yili it read- "Do you know who Bob Marlin is?"
I had to hold myself back from climbing over the cublicle like Spiderman, and putting her ass back on a boat to Jamaica this time to show her who he was. I know my Yili and usually these messages have to do with...well you know who the hell she was talking about. How did these people come to work with me, had fate found a list of conversations that would torture me and just sporadically send them my way. I must be on God's sitcom list up there, I know it.
I responded "Bob Marley".
"Who is that?"
How the fuck do you respond to that. Sure it was like me asking her "Do you know of Julio Iglesi?"
She would just laugh and laugh and laugh, everyone knows Julio Iglesias, and just to be a bitch I could say do you know John Church, or Julio Church, because that she may take a while to get, but eventually it would click, and then smoke may come out of her eyes and ears from the cranks going into overdrive. Church is Iglesia in english. Just to have fun with her and time her delayed reaction.
Bob Marley is the stuff legends are made of, he is amazing in all he did, and he was all about peace, like my John Lennon. Drugs had a big part, but usually it does, you need it to deal with the hell of a world we live in now. Marley is big in the islands, all of them, I guess but Cuba, most at work knew him, but she didn't. I sang alot of songs and she was clueless, I showed her pics, famous pics, with the red, green and yellow rasta colors, nothing. It was like a light bulb with no flicker. There was no chance I would ever get through to this one.
I reluctantly gave up, I still plan on handing her a CD, not that she will listen to it much, she will give it back in a day and continue her Wisin and Yandel. And I will feel defeated, this kind of stuff is what I like to share, some people like to send out emails on how Jesus loves you, I don't know that Jesus ever used the internet, but I guess he is channeling himself through these people, they spread the word, or they send chain letters about how if you don't forward you will die and be chased by a demon, raped and gutted while your family never finds your body, crap like that. It's fear and religion, well this is my religion, I believe in happiness and paying it forward, in music being a big part of life and smiling and singing along, and in the fact that no one is better than me and I am better than no one. But for the love of all that is holy, please how do you go on living and breathing without knowing Jimmy and Bob, and Bon Jovi and Blink 182, the list goes on and on, I will never attempt to bring these people up, it would leave me as a college professor at a lecture and they would get it all wrong in the end just pissing me off by swiching songs and bands. But the top of the list, the Beatles, the Beastie Boys, the Bobs and Jimmys, and Billy Joel, she doesn't know his ass either. I just don't know how she was shackled and kept in a cave about them. Maybe she knows were Bin Ladin is, maybe they shared caves and we are just looking in the wrong place, I will ask her tommorrow if she was hanging with Fidel wearing a towel on his head, speaking tounges, to this I would respond, No Fidel wasn't practicing Santeria and getting possessed, you have been bunking with someone who we have been looking for, tell me where you were, I will follow. (back on track)
Please spread the word and pass the pipe, let's make the world a better place with music sharing, hand a CD to a Cuban, they are missing out on a lot, they ration things in Cuba, so they are probably scared to take the CD, but assure them that Fidel isn't watching.
Your life is a movie, totally unreahearsed, totally unexpected, the only thing you have control of is the soundtrack. Love you guys...Bita
Sunday, September 12, 2010
It started with a tan...
Mike D and Diego are outside playing with the silly hose, on sale at the Wally World for $7 what a bargain!
Diego is the adjuster of the water pressure, from the kitchen window I see him take off the water, Mike D looks into the hose, Diego blasts it full force, instant screaming with a tantrum to boot, Diego is laughing his buttocks off. I knock on the window and scream obscenities, he can't hear me, but he can see the rage, he smiles and steps away from the faucet.
The sun is suddenly out and I know I can get in 10 minutes of sunbathing. I go to the bathroom and look for suntan oil. Needing help, "Tito what can I use to burn fast?"
"Baby Oil!" He screams out.
A bottle is right in front of me, in my bikini top and too short shorts that I only use to clean because I barely fit in them and now they are like bikini bottoms, I begin to slather on baby oil, then he chimes in. "Don't use baby oil, it will give you skin cancer!"
I continue to rub it in like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to go into broil. He sees the baby oil. "You better take that off, if skin cancer doesn't kill you I will, take it off."
I found some suntan oil with a koala on it, seems safe. I spritz a little on, I am already slick in oil like a porn star, but not really. I show him the bottle and prance out.
I stay far from the boys, over by the area where my mother in law gardens, mounds of dirt and garden tools are all over the place, I adjust the Disney towel and lay down, praying for the sun to stay with me and not hide behind the clouds.
After 3 minutes (I know this because only half of the cigarette was smoked) I am ambushed by what felt like a dump truck. I open my eyes and wipe out the dirt. Standing there babbling about God knows what is Mike D, shovel in hand going back to the dirt. I get up and stumble, trying to walk backwards, the sun has me disoriented, almost like a brief dementia moment.
I see him smiling at me and point and babble some more. I have dirt on my face, chest, neck, stomach, an entire shovel full must have flown onto my body, now I felt more like chicken Parmesan. The baby oil only made it impossible to come off. I run and just want to scream, Mike D is now back to the silly water hose.
I wipe as much as I can off and knock on the door like the police. Tito just smiles, I simply say "Mike D, shovel, dirt!" His smirk is only wider.
Before going in I do what I consider jumping jacks to get off the excess dirt, Mike D walks in behind me, Diego runs to the bathroom, he is freezing from the air conditioning. I get Mike D naked and put on a diaper, his bath will wait, and he couldn't care less.
Me and Diego fight in the shower, both of us wanting to get out quickly, and suddenly there is a slamming on the bathtub, Mike D has the remote control in hand and just says "Baba Baba" He wants Yo Gabba Gabba, and I know I will slip and fall in the living room since I am slicked in oil and soaped up. I push a button and pretend to change the channel trying to trick him, he goes to the tv and comes back screaming, he has been fooled and this is the game we play until I can get out and give him DJ Lance Rock and the sex toys.
And let's not forget the Fruity Pebbles, yes! poured it all over the place, my house is his play ground, all over the table, chair and floor, another cereal sandbox. In the end I am still fluorescent white and just spent the day picking up after Mike D and his shenanigans. And how was your day?
Diego is the adjuster of the water pressure, from the kitchen window I see him take off the water, Mike D looks into the hose, Diego blasts it full force, instant screaming with a tantrum to boot, Diego is laughing his buttocks off. I knock on the window and scream obscenities, he can't hear me, but he can see the rage, he smiles and steps away from the faucet.
The sun is suddenly out and I know I can get in 10 minutes of sunbathing. I go to the bathroom and look for suntan oil. Needing help, "Tito what can I use to burn fast?"
"Baby Oil!" He screams out.
A bottle is right in front of me, in my bikini top and too short shorts that I only use to clean because I barely fit in them and now they are like bikini bottoms, I begin to slather on baby oil, then he chimes in. "Don't use baby oil, it will give you skin cancer!"
I continue to rub it in like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to go into broil. He sees the baby oil. "You better take that off, if skin cancer doesn't kill you I will, take it off."
I found some suntan oil with a koala on it, seems safe. I spritz a little on, I am already slick in oil like a porn star, but not really. I show him the bottle and prance out.
I stay far from the boys, over by the area where my mother in law gardens, mounds of dirt and garden tools are all over the place, I adjust the Disney towel and lay down, praying for the sun to stay with me and not hide behind the clouds.
After 3 minutes (I know this because only half of the cigarette was smoked) I am ambushed by what felt like a dump truck. I open my eyes and wipe out the dirt. Standing there babbling about God knows what is Mike D, shovel in hand going back to the dirt. I get up and stumble, trying to walk backwards, the sun has me disoriented, almost like a brief dementia moment.
I see him smiling at me and point and babble some more. I have dirt on my face, chest, neck, stomach, an entire shovel full must have flown onto my body, now I felt more like chicken Parmesan. The baby oil only made it impossible to come off. I run and just want to scream, Mike D is now back to the silly water hose.
I wipe as much as I can off and knock on the door like the police. Tito just smiles, I simply say "Mike D, shovel, dirt!" His smirk is only wider.
Before going in I do what I consider jumping jacks to get off the excess dirt, Mike D walks in behind me, Diego runs to the bathroom, he is freezing from the air conditioning. I get Mike D naked and put on a diaper, his bath will wait, and he couldn't care less.
Me and Diego fight in the shower, both of us wanting to get out quickly, and suddenly there is a slamming on the bathtub, Mike D has the remote control in hand and just says "Baba Baba" He wants Yo Gabba Gabba, and I know I will slip and fall in the living room since I am slicked in oil and soaped up. I push a button and pretend to change the channel trying to trick him, he goes to the tv and comes back screaming, he has been fooled and this is the game we play until I can get out and give him DJ Lance Rock and the sex toys.
And let's not forget the Fruity Pebbles, yes! poured it all over the place, my house is his play ground, all over the table, chair and floor, another cereal sandbox. In the end I am still fluorescent white and just spent the day picking up after Mike D and his shenanigans. And how was your day?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
How does your garden grow...
"I cleaned up the front yard." My husband spat, I could hear the sweat dripping from his
handsome face, taking in deep breaths as he waited for a response.(Reminding me of other chores, he has a long list of hard labor tasks that I demand of him from time to time)
I was speechless, and I was thrilled. Finally he worked on the outside of the house, we would no longer be walking into the shack in the woods. The grass was reaching mailbox heights, the weeds had begun weaving into each other, they were growing together forming almost a union, determined to grow into a big forest, soon the homeless would be knocking down the door thinking it was an outhouse, then Juno would have company and competition in the pissing wars.
"I'm thrilled, thank you. Do you feel like you may die, it's a hundred degrees outside." The heat makes him do silly things sometimes.
"No, I am fine, just picked up the kids, Mike fell asleep in the car, he weighs a ton. I am carrying him into the house now, and taking a nap, I did the yard work this morning."
Why the hell not, how he simply gets Mike D to fall sleep and is able to nap, is entirely beyond me. It's just not fair. Why doesn't that stuff happen to me. I want to nap, I want peace, why am I the only one that washes dishes, clothes, and pooped behinds. His chore was finished, that's it, he is done for the day, really?
Stuck at work on a Friday, I wished for a nap at that very moment. Instead I stayed late.
When I got home and pulled up to the front yard, I can only describe the sight as a naked mole rat. I don't even know what a naked mole rat is, but it was what came to my mind when my husband asked me what I thought of the yard.
At first, I said great, but since the response lacked enthusiasm, he prodded and poked and tried to get more details of my opinion of the yard. So I did.
"It was naked. That is what I thought of "naked", not just naked, but..." I had a hard time with words, so I tried one of my off the wall analogies.
"There is stuff still in the cracks, the cracks haven't been wiped down, look at all the crap sticking out. And the mailbox hedge, well that was forgotten. That stairway to heaven over there, that trail to hell hasn't seen clean water in ages. And ultimately I was set up." My eyebrows did that thing. "You are asking and really you sound like I was supposed to walk into the Playboy Mansion with all those perfect naked bodies and women who keep themselves trimmed and nicely manicured. Instead I walked into the assisted living facilities for Playboy retirees. The bushes have been let go, yes the body may be naked, but really there are things just unkempt. Do you understand?" I scratched my head. It must have escaped his attention, just like my analogy, he didn't follow me at all, so I tried again.
"Are naked amazon women attractive, without clothes you may have gotten what you wanted, but really all that shrubbery and the hairy armpits, do you really want to say "beautiful", NO, that word has been chased away to the back of your mind along with your libido at that point."
I am not sure that I made much sense to him, but I made perfect sense in my head, and I am sure that he will never ask my opinion, or next time he will hold back. Please see my mailbox below, tell me was I that far off, doesn't that just remind you of a bush woman hoohah?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Mind Freak
In case you were wondering, yes, Juno struck again, he actually hit my bed this time, so I am running around getting the sheets washed before the hubby gets home and lets him loose into the ghetto, out the front door and burning his beloved blankie. I hear it all the time, "You pee in my bed dog, and you are gonna become a victim." The sheets are getting washed, a gallon spilled onto the bed, I swear, the dog must be missing organs to hold that much in. Look...
Do I really need to tell you what happened next?
If only that were the only spill. But no.
My dad has done alot for me, more than I expect, and often I wonder if I deserve it.
Then he goes and gets my kids addicted to ice cream, mike d eats ice cream a good 3 times a day, and he isnt picky. But we really need to stay away from chocolate because then he poops like a bunny and I get to hear my mother in law..."What did your mother feed him, he is pooping balls, like a rabbit, no bueno." Ok, brainiac, I will send her tofu, rice and a variety of other vegan korean foods that she will probably pass out to once she opens the canister and the smell slaps her in the face, eyes bloodshot, head spins, my mother is passed out. Yes we will send my mother some of your food. (I didn't say that)
The last time my parents went to Vegas, they called from the Criss Angel store and got a hat, of course we all fight over it. Diego wears it well, most kids dress up as Harry Potter, not mine.
So he manages to play with cards and try to do tricks, he holds things with his finger behind his hand and makes it appear that he makes things float, pencils, sticks, etc., very cute. He tried card tricks with Uno at first, but I gently explained that was not a magician move, there are about 20 of the same cards. He briefly gave up the cards and now has begun to balance things, that is his newest Criss Angel trick. What does he balance you ask? Why Mountain Dew cans of course. They must be full and he sips the can until it balances on it's own, then he shouts "Mindfreak!"
This is the before picture.
Do I really need to tell you what happened next?I stepped away to wash dishes and felt the cold splash on the back of my feet, I didn't turn around for fear that Diego would be injured if I faced him and he gives me the "I didn't know" look, because I have a short temper with this sort of stuff, stupidity.
But I said, not turning around, "Get a towel, now!" very calmly, I handled it rather well. He ran and now I have even more towels to wash, and yes I could have taken a picture, but really dog pee and Mountain Dew are the same color, almost. Although in about an hour, with his Molly Maid cleaning skills, we will probably look like flies trying to escape that sticky flypaper crap. So if you ever need entertainment for a party, call on me, and I will gladly send Diego to keep you entertained and busy for hours, I am not promising quality with his tricks.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Juno's Incontinence
I love my Juno, (my 2 year old Beagle) I really do. Juno's just a little more than I can handle. Three kids, laundry, a husband, mother in law, mother, and mike d is more than anyone can handle, poor Juno has no chance.
I cleaned the entire house this weekend, yes I did.
Today my hubby was off from work, so I didn't come home to the same house. I actually came home feeling like I had a stomach bug. But I had to eat something. We ordered Chinese and my hubby went out to pick it up. I got out of the shower and put on my pajamas and sat to watch TV, knowing that once the hubster got back I would lose the power of the remote and it would be baseball for me. I cushioned my butt into the sofa and put my elbow down.
Put my elbow down into a puddle of pee, yes, good old Juno peed on the sofa. And it didn't stop there. I stood up and took off my shirt wiping the sofa, hoping that the neighbors wouldn't peek into the window. Wearing a bra and pajama pants I walked towards the bathroom to get a towel, stepping into another puddle. Now my foot was dripping, the towel was still far away, I hopped into yet another fucking puddle.
What was I to do, I held my t shirt in one hand and now removed my pants, the property value on my house plummeted, I threw my pants on the floor and began to make my way to the towel. A more naked than not towel head dancing around in a frenzy. I only had so much "me time" to spare. I shimmied to the rest of the house with a towel under my feet, cursing at the dog the entire time, he doesn't speak English, so I really let loose.
In one shot, my dog has peed a trail from the sofa into the living room to the steps in my bedroom ending at the door to the backyard. Since dogs don't speak I can't blame him. How did I know he had to pee, I just got home. There had to have been at least a gallon.
Towels and pajamas thrown into a corner, I ran to spray the sofa with Windex (Windex cleans everything!) wiped the area well, put back the spray and grabbed the remote, meeting my husband at the door before I had a chance to plop my ass back down. I handed him the remote, giving up the battle before it began.
Apparently no one remembered to let the dog out and I payed the price with very precious "me time". Go Rays.
I cleaned the entire house this weekend, yes I did.
Today my hubby was off from work, so I didn't come home to the same house. I actually came home feeling like I had a stomach bug. But I had to eat something. We ordered Chinese and my hubby went out to pick it up. I got out of the shower and put on my pajamas and sat to watch TV, knowing that once the hubster got back I would lose the power of the remote and it would be baseball for me. I cushioned my butt into the sofa and put my elbow down.
Put my elbow down into a puddle of pee, yes, good old Juno peed on the sofa. And it didn't stop there. I stood up and took off my shirt wiping the sofa, hoping that the neighbors wouldn't peek into the window. Wearing a bra and pajama pants I walked towards the bathroom to get a towel, stepping into another puddle. Now my foot was dripping, the towel was still far away, I hopped into yet another fucking puddle.
What was I to do, I held my t shirt in one hand and now removed my pants, the property value on my house plummeted, I threw my pants on the floor and began to make my way to the towel. A more naked than not towel head dancing around in a frenzy. I only had so much "me time" to spare. I shimmied to the rest of the house with a towel under my feet, cursing at the dog the entire time, he doesn't speak English, so I really let loose.
In one shot, my dog has peed a trail from the sofa into the living room to the steps in my bedroom ending at the door to the backyard. Since dogs don't speak I can't blame him. How did I know he had to pee, I just got home. There had to have been at least a gallon.
Towels and pajamas thrown into a corner, I ran to spray the sofa with Windex (Windex cleans everything!) wiped the area well, put back the spray and grabbed the remote, meeting my husband at the door before I had a chance to plop my ass back down. I handed him the remote, giving up the battle before it began.
Apparently no one remembered to let the dog out and I payed the price with very precious "me time". Go Rays.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Great Escape
We got a new door, a gorgeous new door for the living room. I love it. I have a thing for doors. Wooden dark stained doors. One of my favorite picures is of doors from Puerto Rico, I am in awe of the color contrast and consider them works of art.
My hubby and dad installed the door, my hubby stained it in a dark shade of wood, the door is one of my favorite things to stare at, the blood red walls and the door brings tears to my eyes, if I squint I can imagine myself in a castle.
My hubby and dad installed the door, my hubby stained it in a dark shade of wood, the door is one of my favorite things to stare at, the blood red walls and the door brings tears to my eyes, if I squint I can imagine myself in a castle.
I sit down on the laptop and have the typical Nick Jr on in the background, I strategically place the laptop in front of the TV on my knees to do my best to remove the visions of dancing sex toys on tv for kids. I mean Muno in red looks like a french tickler and the pink one Foofa like a sperm come to life, then the robot, well he is electric and needs batteries I am sure, need I say more. I just LMAO when I googled images of french tickler and an image of Muno is smack dab in the middle, I must not have been the only one to make this comparison.
As I surf the web, I hear a click and look up and mike d has opened the door, waving bye bye and closing the door behind him. I sprinted to the door and caught him going down the porch steps, he was takin off, just leaving, I am sure he was going to my mother's but at two he wouldn't get too far. I grabbed him and the tantrum began, dragging him through the door and locking the door behind me.
I stomped to the bathroom where my husband was taking a shower and told him that we must lock the doors up like a new york apartment, except we were keeping the children from escaping rather than keeping intruders from coming in. We decided to make a trip to the Home Depot when he got out of the shower and I walked out into the living room.
Empty.
My gut had me look out the window, and there was mike d, standing my the car door playing with a branch he picked up from the front yard, if that was his choice of a defense weapon it better have thorns. I pulled the door open, knowing now that he unlocks it like a ninja and sneaks out without a good bye even and went up to him bending down to his eye level.
Without luck I am sure, I lectured him on strangers and the police that would pick him up if he would pull the whole Shawshank Redemption scheme again. Grabbing him by the hand and bitching away.
With mike in my arms, I took the convict to be to the warden, telling my husband of his stealth like getaway. Home Depot had jumped next on our to-do list. We strolled around the locks and picked up, went home only to find that my home was seriously built by the blind and impaired, the door and the surrounding frame didn't level out and the lock, now open was useless.
I know I shouldn't be but my husband drilling holes into my beloved door, brought tears to my eyes. Would it end up like one of those doors in a barn, did we have to donate it to Mr Ed and watch it destroyed and split in two, no I really didn't want any tools near my door unless it was to remove the whole thing to another house, because where ever we go the door goes with. Period. We decided that when we aren't going out we will shove the sofa in from of the castle door and hope that there will be no more escapes from the maniacal mastermind.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Teeth
Ay Tito!!!
I called my 18 yr old who is house sitting for a friend.
I sent him pic of 2 12 packs of Mountain Dew, his favorite soda. He obviously didn't get the text.
"Did you see I got you 2 12 packs?"
"Bud Light?"
"No child, Mountain Dew you ingrate."
"Oh."
"Ok, I am hanging up the phone right now if you think I am buying you beer, you are only 18. What are you doing?"
Here is the good part...
"I am watching a movie."
"With who?"
"By myself."
Oh my angel is watching movie and vegging out on the sofa, how nice. I love this moment until...
"Which movie?"
"Teeth."
"What?"
Our phones are very good with reception, I could have sworn the word started with a Q and it should have, because this is his reply.
"No mom, Teeth, T-E-E-T-H, it's about a woman who has a tooth in her vagina and she is biting off everyone's wieners."
Excuse me, I am now silent, letting the response sink in slowly.
"It looks like a shark tooth, it's hilarious."
That is the end of the conversation, this is why I do not ask him too many questions, I find out way too much information that I really don't need to know.
I called my 18 yr old who is house sitting for a friend.
I sent him pic of 2 12 packs of Mountain Dew, his favorite soda. He obviously didn't get the text.
"Did you see I got you 2 12 packs?"
"Bud Light?"
"No child, Mountain Dew you ingrate."
"Oh."
"Ok, I am hanging up the phone right now if you think I am buying you beer, you are only 18. What are you doing?"
Here is the good part...
"I am watching a movie."
"With who?"
"By myself."
Oh my angel is watching movie and vegging out on the sofa, how nice. I love this moment until...
"Which movie?"
"Teeth."
"What?"
Our phones are very good with reception, I could have sworn the word started with a Q and it should have, because this is his reply.
"No mom, Teeth, T-E-E-T-H, it's about a woman who has a tooth in her vagina and she is biting off everyone's wieners."
Excuse me, I am now silent, letting the response sink in slowly.
"It looks like a shark tooth, it's hilarious."
That is the end of the conversation, this is why I do not ask him too many questions, I find out way too much information that I really don't need to know.
Refugee Reunion
Ah yes, we are not the Fugees, we are the Cugees, an extensive family of Cubans who get together every chance we get to drink, party and gossip.
Today is my cousin's baby shower, well not my cousin, actually my mother's cousin's wife, yeah that, I think.
Just to put it in prospective, my great grandparents had 6 children, from there like rabbits we began to multiply, some of us in Miami, others in Tampa. For this festive occasion, those who could, got together to celebrate. Woo hoo.
I went out with my mother and sisters to Wally World to get a gift, I purchased a mega box of diapers with Dreft. Who couldn't use that, that is my signature gift, diapers, I know they will be used and not returned for cleaning supplies and toiletries. I also decided to give up my monster stroller, as you can see below, mike d moved into if for the day. When I brought it into the house, his lips made an O figure and he said "WOW!", he never says this, but being that we don't use it because it doesn't fit into my car, he was amazed, this was just a new toy. The damn thing is huge, I think I may be able to walk the Yaris in it. It's too much aggravation to lug that beast around. Of the 3 strollers I have, this is the Disney one, only for theme parks and such because I can recline it and he can nap, I think I used it three times. So below is part of my gift. Minus the child.
What Cuban party doesn't have this, it's a staple, I immediately stuck my fingers in and began to pick as they cut it up to serve. Stuffing chunks into my mouth, knowing that I would have little time to actually sit and eat like regular people.
( You know the pictures on this blog are horrible, they are too small.)
Today is my cousin's baby shower, well not my cousin, actually my mother's cousin's wife, yeah that, I think.
Just to put it in prospective, my great grandparents had 6 children, from there like rabbits we began to multiply, some of us in Miami, others in Tampa. For this festive occasion, those who could, got together to celebrate. Woo hoo.
I went out with my mother and sisters to Wally World to get a gift, I purchased a mega box of diapers with Dreft. Who couldn't use that, that is my signature gift, diapers, I know they will be used and not returned for cleaning supplies and toiletries. I also decided to give up my monster stroller, as you can see below, mike d moved into if for the day. When I brought it into the house, his lips made an O figure and he said "WOW!", he never says this, but being that we don't use it because it doesn't fit into my car, he was amazed, this was just a new toy. The damn thing is huge, I think I may be able to walk the Yaris in it. It's too much aggravation to lug that beast around. Of the 3 strollers I have, this is the Disney one, only for theme parks and such because I can recline it and he can nap, I think I used it three times. So below is part of my gift. Minus the child.
I wrapped the gifts and walked the stroller to the party. There is my gift, enjoy it. One less thing to clutter my shack of a house. As you can see it pretty much takes up a quarter of my living room. Please know that I disinfected it before hand. It has been in the back storage for 2 years, with God knows what creatures napping in it from time to time, I didn't find any, but if they held on and hid in a crevice, well now they have a new home.
The fact that this party was set in a park on the first week in September is insane. The women including myself, dressed up and caked on the make up, within seconds of getting out of the car, my face began to melt like a Dali painting. There was considerable sweat around my boobs and mike d was bored out of his mind, he ran from one park shelter to another, for the most part, all I said was "Micheal no!", the entire time there.
We were feet from a play area and my dad and I took turns chasing mike d, at one point he disappeared and we saw him at the top, he climbed to the very top of the play fort and I thought for sure a hospital visit would follow, instead of jumping he slid down the slide and my heart began to beat again. My dad said "That kid ain't scared of shit!", to this I responded, "Yes daddy I know." (Yes, I still call my dad Daddy, and what!!!)
As more people arrived, 4 grown men brought out a cardboard box, and placed in on the table, wondering what kind of gift comes in a rectangled cardboard box and orchestrated by 4 different people, barking out 4 different kinds of directions, I stared, and really felt embarrassed, I should have known it held a marinated, cooked and ready to serve pig. See below.
What Cuban party doesn't have this, it's a staple, I immediately stuck my fingers in and began to pick as they cut it up to serve. Stuffing chunks into my mouth, knowing that I would have little time to actually sit and eat like regular people.
( You know the pictures on this blog are horrible, they are too small.) After such a heavy job of delivering the pork, the men (knowing it is illegal to drink at the park) went back to the truck and I spotted the Heineken's from the party. I longed to down an ice cold beer, but there were no woman there, and I knew that it would be frowned upon to go partake in the better of the shower games. So I took a picture instead. Sorry I can't make it bigger, but yes, THEY ARE DRINKING WITHOUT ME. Little shits.
OK here we go, my mother decided to donate the shower gift games, as seen below, they are not wrapped in your typical baby shower wrapping, no, we are speaking of my mother, instead, there is wedding decor and burgundy bows, my mother has to bring the classiness to the shindig.
But then again, as you can see the display is very deceiving to the eyes, she forgot to wrap the back of the gifts, she never ceases to amaze me, that is why I adore her.
And no we don't have sodas and punch at the party, once again, we have hidden alcohol and one of my favorite drinks below displayed by my Nina, as if she were showcasing a prize on the Price is Right, minus the big boobs, gaudy make up and horny old man (Bob Barker is a dirty old man, the Enquirer said so) Jupina is one of the most refreshing drinks ever, as proven to me during the day, with the heat hitting me and every part of me oozing in perspiration, this drink hit the spot, too bad it was not rum infested, had they decided to do this at home, I am sure the drink would have been much better, but no, they decided to make us all suffer in the unbearable Florida heat. They did pull out a fan, but I couldn't stand near it, because mike d kept trying to put his fingers in and touch the blades. So the fan was for everyone else.
These were all the pics I could take, I chased mike d around for the most part, at one point my dad took him to the car and put the AC on, and mike d was in the driver's side on my dad's lap pretending to drive, both of them need a break from the baby shower turned frat party.
I did have a little time before I left to eat, and how did I manage you ask. In his boredom, my little mike d collected 5 different Styrofoam cups and began playing bartender, mixing and pouring and tasting. I knew they had no alcohol, I was not worried, but Nina called and shouted, I knew what he was doing.
But then again, as you can see the display is very deceiving to the eyes, she forgot to wrap the back of the gifts, she never ceases to amaze me, that is why I adore her.
And no we don't have sodas and punch at the party, once again, we have hidden alcohol and one of my favorite drinks below displayed by my Nina, as if she were showcasing a prize on the Price is Right, minus the big boobs, gaudy make up and horny old man (Bob Barker is a dirty old man, the Enquirer said so) Jupina is one of the most refreshing drinks ever, as proven to me during the day, with the heat hitting me and every part of me oozing in perspiration, this drink hit the spot, too bad it was not rum infested, had they decided to do this at home, I am sure the drink would have been much better, but no, they decided to make us all suffer in the unbearable Florida heat. They did pull out a fan, but I couldn't stand near it, because mike d kept trying to put his fingers in and touch the blades. So the fan was for everyone else.
These were all the pics I could take, I chased mike d around for the most part, at one point my dad took him to the car and put the AC on, and mike d was in the driver's side on my dad's lap pretending to drive, both of them need a break from the baby shower turned frat party.
I did have a little time before I left to eat, and how did I manage you ask. In his boredom, my little mike d collected 5 different Styrofoam cups and began playing bartender, mixing and pouring and tasting. I knew they had no alcohol, I was not worried, but Nina called and shouted, I knew what he was doing.
"Bita, Micheal is playing bartender, he is playing with drinks and cups."
"Is he bothering you? No, leave him alone, let me enjoy a little peace, he isn't bothering anyone."
I looked down and found him taking a chug of one of the cups, looking up to me and smacking his lips, "Aaaah!"
I looked at Nina with the evil eye, basically telling to just leave him be.
My mother decided to change him, she pulled a diaper out of the bag and my dad hurried over. Now in the Cuban family I have, little kids running around in only diapers is normal, even changing them on the cake table didn't phase me. My dad came over and covered his hoo-hah, to this my mother was horrified, "Ay, really, what is your problem?" So for the two seconds his privates were in mid air, my dad covered them with a shirt and my mother changed him, smacking her lips, and telling my dad to quit being so prissy, she then let him run around, he made it straight to the faucet near by and began to jump in the puddle, now from waist down covered in mud. I looked at my parents, "Ok, now I am leaving."
I grabbed my 2 year old like a six pack and hauled him to the car, knowing I really didn't miss much, it's always drama and chaos with me. The dark cloud just follows me everywhere.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Playing in the tub (WARNING-not for the queasy)
I often wonder what it's like
To feel hopeless, at the end
Is it the feeling that I have right now?
Like my chest is caving in
I can't control my breathing
I feel dizzy, my head spins
The swelling keeps occurring
The disorientation it begins
The medication's wearing off
I take another dose
The clock tells me I'm late again
I take the pills and my eyes close
I think about the morning
Forgetting moments of the day
My body's getting tired
And it's time to sleep they say
Am I really crazy?
Am I really that insane?
As I deepen the small scratches
The ones I open to feel pain
Relive the way I made them
Slowly glide the razor through
Watch it as it bleeds some more
Watch it drip with thoughts of you
I'm forgetting why I live this way
Why I long to watch the blood
Why I don't think that it matters
Why this makes me feel so good
I can say that I am happy
To be a functional suicide
Everyday I find a way to die
Fills the emptiness inside
It may not take me anywhere
As my plan never manifests
But I smile as I live this out
I always fail at my private test
I float inside the bathtub
As I let the blood flood out
The water hits my chin
I sense drops of blood seep out
My hair is almost angel-like
As it floats around in space
I lift my arm up slowly
And let the drops drip on my face
To feel hopeless, at the end
Is it the feeling that I have right now?
Like my chest is caving in
I can't control my breathing
I feel dizzy, my head spins
The swelling keeps occurring
The disorientation it begins
The medication's wearing off
I take another dose
The clock tells me I'm late again
I take the pills and my eyes close
I think about the morning
Forgetting moments of the day
My body's getting tired
And it's time to sleep they say
Am I really crazy?
Am I really that insane?
As I deepen the small scratches
The ones I open to feel pain
Relive the way I made them
Slowly glide the razor through
Watch it as it bleeds some more
Watch it drip with thoughts of you
I'm forgetting why I live this way
Why I long to watch the blood
Why I don't think that it matters
Why this makes me feel so good
I can say that I am happy
To be a functional suicide
Everyday I find a way to die
Fills the emptiness inside
It may not take me anywhere
As my plan never manifests
But I smile as I live this out
I always fail at my private test
I float inside the bathtub
As I let the blood flood out
The water hits my chin
I sense drops of blood seep out
My hair is almost angel-like
As it floats around in space
I lift my arm up slowly
And let the drops drip on my face
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