I saw my sisters

I've always said I wish I had a sister. I guess that's because I have no biological sisters. Well, not exactly. See my dad had a daughter with another woman, way after he and my mom got divorced. Either way I don't really know her.

I've always leaned on my cousins and my girlfriends for that kind of stuff you're suppose to get from sisters. To be honest, I can't really name the stuff, but I know what it is. I see it in my friends and cousins with sisters.

Well, this last week I found out my cousin had a very aggressive form of cancer. She is 27. She is an Iraq war Vet. She is sooo strong. I love her. I've always known this, but I guess this past 10 days I have felt it almost every second of the day.

She was always a tiny little thing. She is 5 years younger than me and we were best friends when we were little. Sadly, when I became a teenager, hanging out with my 8 year old cousin was the last thing from my mind.

I still remember her like she was back then: long neck, super thin body, wearing cute ruffled dresses (tho I suppose we were all victims of that kind of fashion), chlorine stained front teeth (when she had teeth), and really happy. I guess she isn't that dissimilar now, except now she's full of life's scars. We all have them. I have them and I see them in her. Her scars weren't made the same way as mine but I recognize them. I empathize with the hurt and anger, and it hurts to see them on her. To not be able to heal them. To know that it's way too late to prevent them. Yet like all scars, they have toughen her up, perhaps to a fault.

When we were little, we'd sit on her livingroom couch and watch Carebears and ET (like Aaaaallll the time). We'd play dress up and smear our faces with makeup, bright red lipstick of course. We had such great and innocent times!

I now wonder when exactly I decided she wasn't cool/fun enough for my morose teenage butt. I know we moved so that made hanging out harder. My memory has her, then it switches to school and my angst filled butt hiding and hating my mother for quite a long time (prob 14-17).

Now she's grown and for some time now I have wished we could go back to being inseparable. But it's hard, life has happened. I left her alone when she needed me. I wasn't the only one but I was one of them. Now she thinks she doesn't need me or us.

I wish she knew that though she may not need us, we need her. We need her here, healthy, happy, smiling, clubbing. Oh yeah, she's one if those posting every time she went to the club. And that made me smile. I was always so happy to see she was having fun and enjoying her youth, lord knows I enjoyed my 20s.

So yeah, only now do I realize that though I looked for sisters all over the place, I have always had them here. I have a lot of sisters really. I just hope I can show them and I hope I can be a better sister than I have been so far.

I am hardly the most religious person, but right now I pray. I pray all the time. I pray for my sister. I thank God for each day she is here. I thank God for the chance to help her fight. I pray for the fight to last as long as possible. I pray for her to win.

I stopped for a moment and thought.

It's kind of funny. And I certainly never thought I'd be writing this, but I think "Mother Knows Best" finally.. hit me?

Alright, when I was a kid I constantly lived to do the opposite of what my mother want it. She wanted me to wear make up, so I refused. She wanted me to always get my hair done, so I didn't (tho I did wash it). She wanted me to not go out with my hair wet, so I always did. Tuck in my shirt, so I didn't. Get boyfriends, didn't. Learn to cook, didn't. Go to college in NYC, didn't. Stay at home, didn't. The list is really quite long, if not unending.

I basically was of the believe that mother's whole existence was to either annoy me or some how make my life complicated. She could never truly have my best interest in mind, "I KNEW BEST," not her.

Well.. so I'm older now (not that much older!!! ok, maybe a little, oh man, I remember my mom being this age!! but anyway…), and I guess I'm becoming a bit wiser. The older I get, the more I listen to my mother.

I realized today that when it comes to making decisions, like what job to take, and stuff that I'm totally at a lost about, just can't decide, well I seem to turn to my mom. She generally gives me safe advice. She tells me to think of the future. To not be impulsive. To realize that things can be worse later and so I should prepare for that. This is all very safe and sound advice, the kind I would never give myself. Now, the older I get, the more I want to hear that kind of advice. I guess I'm just not as carefree and risky as I use to be. Maybe I'm just getting old? Naaaaaaaaahhhhhhh. I'm just growing up.

I was reminiscing about my grunge days

So, I was listening to music today. See, I decided to make up a 90's Alternative playlist. The playlist, of course, contains: Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Gin Blossons, Pearl Jam, Blind Melon, Weezer, and many many more.

Around the 9th grade or so, back a million years ago, I decided I was in love with all those bands. MTV was a fixed channel that elicited full fledge fights with my older brother any time he dared change the channel. My mother was wise enough to get us a TV and leave us to fight with each other in our room. We shared a big room (yes! we were poor folks from the NYC, what do you expect?) The room was great, and my brother, (thank god!) was rarely around. He spent most of his time skateboarding or just flat out getting into trouble. But MTV was always around.

I loved coming home and just turning it as loud as possible then singing till I couldn't speak. I mean, how can you not scream as loud as you can to 4 NonBlonde's What's Up? Just the lyrics are amazing. To this day I feel like screaming to this song, and still some how connect with it. I guess it's the whole part:
I realized quickly when I knew I should
That the world was made up of this brotherhood of man
For whatever that means


Tell me that's not fucking true?!! Or even more, so many times I feel like this:
And so I wake in the morning and I step outside
And I take a deep breath and I get real high
And I scream from the top of my lungs
What's goin' on?


But something happened today while I was listening to these awesome songs. Well, I realized that the songs were never about me. What I mean is that I always felt like the songs reached into my soul and poured out my feelings. I suppose in a way they did, but my secret thoughts that the songs were written for me (because of my own narcissistic ideas. Yes, I'm still reading "A Culture of Narcissism) Then I listened to Live's "Lighting Crashes," and there's the part where he says "pale blue colored eyes," that kind of smacked me int he face and I realized fully that man, they totally never thought about writing songs to a poor Dominican girl in the New York City. I mean, I'm not saying Van Morrison was thinking of me when he wrote Brown Eyed Girl.

I just started thinking of all those videos I watched of all those bands that I love and not even one person in them resembled me at all. Like Smashing Pumpkin's 1979 video. My God! I remember watching this video and thinking my life was shit!! hahahah I mean, it was, to me, like teenage Utopia. There, no parents, a bunch of "cool kids" jumping into pools and having that ideal suburban life I had only imagined, or seen on TV. It all sounds really silly but it's so true. Of course, now I realize that those were just a bunch of models.

All this really leaves me nowhere. I mean, I love that music and always will. I do feel they spoke of the overall sentiments that all teenagers feel, particularly to us "Grunge Gen'" kids. Maybe that's one good thing about today's music, there's way more people that look like a poor Dominican girl from the New York City on tv, not many but more.

I woke up crying

I sometimes find my dreams both a curse and a blessing. I've had many wonderful wonderful dreams. The kind that make you wake up with a smile, and a bit of sadness for having left the dream. I've also had many sad, ugly, and upsetting dreams. This was one of them:

Abuelo (grandfather) died when the clock said 5:51

I went into hospital where my cousin was working as an assistant but Abuela (grandmother, dead almost a year now), who was there kept calling him doctor. Franklin joked that she thought he was a doctor. Abuela was attached to a UV cord that was really long. As I walked, Abuelo came towards me and fell on me.  He was crying and in a lot of pain. We dropped to the ground, I couldn't hold him up. Then Abuela turned to me and said the doctor wasn't giving him enough drugs.  As she said it, the counter attached to Abuelo's UV cord stopped at 551. Abuela's was still going pass 700.  I yelled crying and wailing for the doctor who was standing watching us to call someone.

That was the end of the dream. This dream, by the way, started with me flirting and almost hooking up with Rich.

I woke up crying, sobbing really. I called my mother, she said what I had been repeating to myself for a while "it's just a dream." I now try to talk myself into calming down, before I use to just let the emotions roll whichever way they wanted to go.

My grandfather is still alive. He's currently trying to get laid. He was always a dog, always cheating on my grandmother, always bad to her. After she died he was so upset, I thought he would die. A few months later his former mistress was hanging around him and I think my aunt said she saw him sporting some viagra. Yeap, that's gross.

But I find that guys do that, a lot. I lived with a guy, two months after we broke up he was trekking through Europe with some other chick, and they ended up getting together for years. Another boyfriend started to date someone a few months after we broke up. A year later I told him I was seeing someone and he flipped. Apparently I was suppose to become a virgin again.

Men are such weird things. When I was younger I really wanted to be a man. Being a woman, particularly in a Hispanic family is extremely hard. I was never allowed to go out with friends, stay out late, do normal stuff. Nope, I had to be at home. When I was about 13 my brother told my mom he would no longer wash dishes. We had been alternating dish washing days before. He said, "I'm a man, and man don't wash dishes." She said to me, "Go wash the dishes." I remember the fury inside me. They're lucky my fury could not materialized because I'm sure it would've turned into a giant dog and just bitten their heads off. Well, I held out for a few days, but after a serious beating I begun to wash dishes every night till I left for college.

I now love being a woman. I'm not sure why. Maybe is because men have hurt me so much, and I don't understand how you do that - on purpose! I also know that women are much stronger than men, and I see men's weakness and find it repulsive. Women are beautiful, smart, strong, and caring. Why is that a flaw? It's not.

my mom brought up the age old question

"So you're not going to have kids huh?"

I thought she had give up on the idea, but I guess she hasn't. It's really funny.

The interesting thing is that this time I answered her honestly, without being defensive, sarcastic, or annoyed. I told her I don't think so. I explained to her the following things: I like my life. I don't want my life to change. I don't want to spend money on a kid. I want to use my money on myself. I want to travel freely. I want to hang out with my friends freely. I want to do whatever I want. I'm selfish, and I know it. I also know that children are a choice, so why would I choose something I know would change my life in a way I don't want it to change. I have a dog, and the nurturing I give to her is enough, at least for now.

I don't know if I'd choose to have children even if I got married. I have no innate desire to pass on my genes. At that, if I get married, I'd like to enjoy my life with my husband. I'm very big on the idea that you should get married to someone whom you love emotionally and physically. I'd like to have sex many many times - a day. That's how much I'd like to desire the person I'm with. If things cool down and it drops to just a few times a week then that would suck, but it's still better than what I hear from my married friends. I mean, kids kill sex lives. You can't do it anywhere but hidden away in the bedroom, and quietly. How boring! I'd get married to be happy with this new person, not to bring another life into this dog-eat-dog world. It's not even that, I mean I don't think the world is a horrible place and we shouldn't bring kids into this world. Not even close. On the contrary, I think smart people should have more and more kids (but they're usually smart enough not to have many), since usually the dumb and uneducated people are the ones that have lots of kids. I'd hate for that movie Idiocracy to come true.

Still, everyone I know who has kids. Well, I'm not sure having kids has been that great for them.

For example, most guys I know with kids then have the issue of: having the kid with someone they're not married to and don't like. Having a kid with someone to whom they're married to but now would love to leave but will never leave because of the kid. Either way, it seems like such a trap.

On the other hand, the women I know are all devoted mothers, to the extent I sometimes think it's not that healthy. What I mean is that their lives are consumed by their children. They can't see how their lives are basically simply that - their children's lives. I'm dreading the day when these kids grow up and these women are stuck at home alone. The sudden realization that your life just walked out the door to college, or whatever, and has no interest in even calling you.

I just don't like it. I see it, from the outside, and I just can't buy it.

Take a look at this New York Mag article on how miserable most parents are. I glanced at the cover of the magazine about 2 hours before mom brought up the "baby" topic. Funny huh?

I was tired, like a wookie

I thought, while riding the train, "man I'm tired, like a wookie." Nope, I've no idea just how tired wookies get, but I can imagine is something like this.

I'd be less tired if I had enough time to sleep. Unfortunately I'm currently a temporary, hourly employee. This means I have to get as many hours as I can in order to pay my disgustingly huge student debt.

Thank God there's no debters' prison!!  You know, that's where your creditors use to send you when you couldn't pay your bills.

I'm almost certain at this point that I'm going to die a debter.  At first, this realization made me quite upset. I mean, the shame!  But after some time my mind has shifted to a more relaxed outlook. I mostly laugh at the thought of being in my death bed and raising a big ol' middle finger to our educational system for forcing people like me to go into extreme debt in order to get a mediocre education, so I can spend over 40 years working to try to achieve the so called American dream that the media sells us.

Though I have to say that I'm more and more confused about the "American Dream." I suppose that's because my life's quite far from any kind of dream, much less some idealized "American Dream." I mean, what exactly is the American Dream now days?  And how do you get it?

I use to think you got it through education and hard work. However, education has left me with a debt so big I can't expect to pay it for like 30 years. And though I work hard and long hours, I don't seem to kiss enough ass to get ahead in my temporary job, which I got after the economy went bust and spewed me and millions of others out of our permanent good jobs.

I'm thinking the American Dream now's just a dream some people made up before they invented the Internet to keep us entertained. Are you entertained? I am, sometimes.

I decided to search for some passion in my life

Sometimes I ask myself why I'm such a bum.

I don't play sports.
I don't watch sports on tv.
I don't play an instrument.
I don't draw.
I don't cook.
I don't really exercise.
I have no passions.

I've never been able to understand why I've no real interest in being interested in any one particular thing.

I have so many friends that are crazy about: a particular sports, play some instrument, want to sing, want to go out hiking, blah blah.

I tried riding bikes, all because of a guy of course, and that never went anywhere. He got me a bike, for free, yay! But I rode it one time, because he came over, and that was it. I've moved a few times and keep carrying the damn bike with me but just can't seem to get my butt on it. I've told myself to do it several times, but then I couldn't pump air into the wheels. The thing must be busted! Either way, I'm scared to ride it. I don't think I can ride a bike anyway.

I tried playing volleyball in junior HS, then I graduated and that ended. Not to mention I wasn't crazy about it because my boobs are too big and all the jumping and running hurts me. Yes, even with 2 sports bras on. Some of us just aren't lucky enough to have little buds attached to our chests. Yes, I do consider that lucky. It'd certainly help me look less big in my suits.

So, I'm still looking for a passion. I think that'd help me. A passion, that isn't my dog. People think that's weird. So, something that gets me out of the house and socializes me, like I should do for my dog. A passion that gets me talking to people, maybe guys? I guess that makes me feel like I'm desperately looking for situations to meet guys. But isn't that what most 30 something single women are suppose to do? Yeah, that's a hell of another topic, and super loaded.

The funny thing is that I - love - people that are super into stuff. I guess I just envy them. They seem to intense about whatever they're into.

I'm still searching for some passion, something I like for no other reason than it makes me happy. I keep signing up for stuff, and never do anything, there's always an excuse. I just think a passion for something would bring just a bit of happiness into my life. I'm not sure how, but I guess that's the idea in my head.

I considered liking and old old friend

3. Paul

So, I met Paul ages ago. He's English and has come to the US a few times.

The last time he came, two years ago, we had a great time. We kept going out, getting drunk, mostly. That whole time, I had this feeling that he wanted us to get together. It's just that feeling girls get. He seem to take every opportunity to just be a bit closer to me. Though one time we got super drunk and he put me to bed, didn't try a thing. A bit odd but still sweet in my book. I mean I appreciate it when I guy I like takes the opportunity of being drunk to put the moves on me (if I'm sober enough and all).

We did not hook up. I just didn't feel that big of a connection with him. I also was very hesitant to even consider starting a cross atlantic relationship - which is of course what would've happened since I seem to always jump on relationships instead of just thinking we'd have a casual hookup and call it a day.

He left and I felt sad. I drove him to the airport and he gave me a big hug and a kiss on the lips. My lips were dry I remember, and I didn't like it. It's always nicer when someone kisses you and you have kissable soft lips.

Alright, so fast forward 2 years later. I decide I wanted to go visit him in England. First problem, when we were talking he said maybe I'd have to spend about 4 days of my trip on my own because he was going to have to work. I got upset. I was upset because I felt he should've dropped everything for me. Yes, that's the reason. I was also upset because I hate traveling on my own, I'm a big chicken shit. I'll go around the world, but I don't want to do it all on my own. I'd like someone there, or with me, or some kind of program. But just some backup. Yeap, chicken shit here. Anyway, I was like fuck it, and changed my trip to leave a couple of days before he was suppose to start his job, in order to be "considerate."

Everything's great, though I was very nervous. I was nervous because I asked myself whether I should hook up with him. From his last visit, it seemed he was more than willing and it was all going to be up to me. I just wasn't sure, yet the idea of starting something with some European guy, with his English accent, sophisticated ways, globetrotting life, and all that was quite appealing, quite appealing. It catered to my silly girl fantasies, so I wasn't going to pursue that but if it happened then I'd totally go with it.

I get to England and everything's cool. Except: he turns out to be super organized. I had a list of places I wanted to go and he was just very very committed to us hitting all those places. He insisted on waking up super early, and I insisted on complaining about it. The funny thing is that I could never sleep so I'd either wake up just when he did, or even earlier. It's hard for me to sleep on other people's beds. We slept in hotels a bunch of times, and he booked 2 rooms. It turns out that in England a "double" is just a big bed, while I thought it was two beds in one room. But that's apparently a twin room or something like that. So, I was kind of taken aback at the first hotel when we were given separate keys and thought, "no wonder the hotels are so expensive!" I asked Paul about it and he said he assumed that's what I wanted because he sent me the hotel reservations and I said nothing. I hadn't read the email. Worse, because I hadn't said anything about the double rooms, then we had already booked all our hotels as double rooms. We tried to change it but that became a huge deal and we ended up having to sleep in separate rooms the whole time. This turned out not to be such a bad thing.

As the trip went on, I got more and more frustrated because Paul was very distant, extremely polite to the point of seeming cold, and sometimes robotic and unable to just relax. This created issues between us because the more robotic he was, the more I acted like a child, felt like a child, and saw him like some really old guy (I think at some point I told him he was like my mother because he seemed so paranoid about me leaving my laptop on the backseat of his car!) I felt he thought I was mature so I'd make conversation to boast about all the mature things I did. He'd talk about his X's and I'd start talking about mine. I just really reverted. To the point that now I'm thinking I really am completely immature, and just pretend to be mature to be able to get along in this very ugly adult world.

One incident was weird - we were in Bath with his friend and had gotten very drunk. We were trying to make our way to the hotel and I'm not sure if I was talking, but out of nowhere he asked me "why do Americans say 'like' so much?" I got very upset. In general I took some of his ways as him thinking he was better because he was English. But I'm not sure, I just got mad and stopped talking to him. I then stumped towards the hotel, and at some point he was asking me to talk to him, and I tried to explain stuff, then we went inside without me talking to him and I just walked to my room. I went into the room then he knocked on the door, and that made me happy. He said he was there because he felt we shouldn't go to bed mad. I think that made me more mad. We then talked and he sat on my bed, and I think I wanted him to make some mood, but he didn't and left. I passed out. The details of this whole thing are vague due to me being completely trashed. The next day I met him with a smile and told him we should just not talk about the night before. I'm not sure how much he remembered.

Alright, one night we made our way back to his flat, after much drinking. We were talking about the next day, and I think I complained about getting up too early, or going to too many places. I don't remember exactly what it was that Paul said, but it was to the effect of me pissing on his country or not appreciating it. I know I almost cried, or started to cry, and got upset because I told him that was not true and very unfair. He apologized, but it fed my idea about him thinking quite highly of being English and looking down at us "Americans." At that, he'd made some comments that lead me to think that he's very nationalistic and anti immigrants to England. I'm beyond not nationalistic, but flat out believe in open borders to all countries. I'm of course an immigrant so that may explain my thinking a bit.

Anyway, so my trip was just that, complicated and weird. Sometimes I liked Paul a lot, sometimes I didn't like him, sometimes I thought he was so cute, sometimes I thought he was ugly.

I got back to the US and all that confusion, on top of missing England just mixed in. I, being myself, didn't hold it in but told him. He said he was flattered. We haven't really emailed much since. I figured I'd leave it alone, and try to forget. Though I secretly want Paul to turn around and realize how much he likes me, at which point I'll decide whether or not to give him a chance. Yes, irrational thinking, I know.

See other posts on Paul and I.

I got drunk and dreamed of vampires

I got drunk last night and had to go pass out.

I then had the following dream:

I go back to England. We're at some village and are staying in some large estate.

I try to talk to Paul but as usual he's very cold and seems to push me away. This all ends when I find out he's actually a vampire. And so are a lot of people around us. In our conversation, I find out that he pushes me away because he's a vampire and so couldn't share his true self with me. Me, being me, and feeling very intense feelings for him in the dream tell him to turn me.

I'm turned into a vampire, easily. I think it was a glass of wine or something. I'm sitting down at the time, while an older servant man hovers around me. He asks me if I'm ok while Paul stands back. I say I'm ok and just look at the room around me. Out of nowhere I start to see other people in the room. Some are quite solid, while others are a bit transparent.

This is when I freak out a bit and tell Paul and the servant I'm seeing ghosts. They say that that's normal. I guess vampires can see ghosts.

This changes my relationship with Paul completely. From that moment on we were connnected, or so I felt in the dream. He kept putting his arms around me and held me most of the time. He told me at some point that he hoped I lasted more than the others, to which I smiled and said I was going to be around forever.

The whole dream gets a little hazy after that. I know he kept holding me and we slept in the same bed, both things I had wanted Paul to do while I was in England with him.

Yeap, I have some interesting dreams.

Link to cartoon above

I told a guy at work I liked him

2.  Rich

I worked at a law firm for a couple of years but then got laid off. Thank you economy.  I then went on to work doing temporary work, after sitting at home for almost six months wondering how to juggle my bills with just unemployment and my dwindling savings. That's where I met Rich.

Let me just say that I was completely repulsed by Rich. He was tall, white, and I kept picturing him wearing Abercrombie & Fitch shirts, though work attire was business casual. Still, he just looked like every frat boy who walked the earth. He seemed mildly smart, a slight chip on his shoulder when it came to authority, obsessed with doing crossword puzzles, and with a giant Asian fetish. Let me point out that I've come to the conclusion that more than half the men in New York have some kind of Asian fetish.

Rich mostly talked to the Asian girls, simply being polite to the rest of us.   We had quite a few Asian girls: Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Fillippino.   He'd take every smoke break with them, flirted with them, and went out after work with them. All this completely infuriated me. After all, why can't guys give us all a chance. Though in general I have issues with guys going out with me or other girls simply because of our ethnic traits (I include white girls in this as well because I remember a lot of Black guys in college going out with white girls only. Some then talking bullshit about white girls when amongst other minority students.)

So, I spent weeks seething over Rich's behavior.  When finally I opened my eyes and realized that me spending this much time hating him MUST mean that I actually liked him. That was the end of me!  After that, I couldn't even look in his direction much less at him. I was 11 again, if that old. I then made the huge mistake of telling the two girls around me about my torturing crush. These two girls knew each other from before and generally talked about everyone. But me being 11 again (at work at that!), I swore them to secrecy. They were my new allies, who not only were nice, but like good friends of mine then encouraged me to pour my feelings out, unless I didn't have the courage. This was the trigger, me being a super competitive person who always brags about having bigger balls than most guys.

I waited my time. I kept turning to look at him, when no one was around in the one room they had all of us working. Finally, I found him in our little cafeteria place, alone. Because I had to prove just how ballsy I am, I just did it. I told him I liked him. He looked at me, a bit dumbfounded. He said nothing, that I can remember.

I felt good, but still, I wasn't sure what to do now. So, I talked to my best friend who told me I should do more than that, but flat out ask him out for a drink, then I'd know for sure. So, again I waited, and waited. Until I saw him go to the cafeteria, and like the stalker I was, I followed him. I again, did the whole smile thing, and asked him out for a drink. He politely, and with a very mortified look on his face, said no (I forgot his exact words, but that's the gist of it).

I was cool with it, I was even happy. I liked him but didn't, something very weird and odd like that. I just can't explain it, it's some girl disease or something.

Alright, so I was cool with it and told my confessed allies. We then had some work get together thing, where my "allies" and "best friends" proceeded to tell everyone about my having told Rich I liked him, and flat out make fun of me. I found out because this other guy, who then tried to get in my pants, told me - but that there's another story.

Needless to say, I've never even considered dating anyone else at work (this is a lie, I liked this other guy later on but that just never worked out).

I decided it was ok for girls to tell guys they liked them

Alright, so I've told 3 guys in my whole life that I liked them.

1.  Jon

Jon was in my college circle of friends. He was cute, funny, smoked pot yet could still have deep and involved conversations  (while I generally sat back and contemplated my inability to speak and my wonderment at the small group talking about Hume or Nietzsche).  He was a philosophy major, no surprise. He was laid back but not a total hippie type of character, very New England I guess. You know, the type who wears Berks, tries to rap when totally drunk and high, will never live in a city but is hardly just stone out in the field smelling the flowers.  He was adorable. I couldn't talk to him much because I flat out felt dumb around him.  So I resorted to just try to look as cute as possible.

I found out from my best friend that he watched rap videos and totally liked brown girls. Perfect.

One little problem:  I had tripped on acid a year or two before that and hooked up with his current roommate/best friend, Alex.  He was so hot. Cute face, hard hard body but not disgustingly ripped. Why do inexperienced people try stupid stuff?  I gave him a blow job then we 69'ed. It was bad. It actually turned me off having a guy go down on me, that was the first time. From then on I thought, what's the point of having a tongue just go up and down there?  He just didn't know what he was doing at all.

Bigger problem:  While I liked Jon, and while he and his roommate lived together, we all got drunk and high. I went home and Alex called me, he wanted to come over. I was kind of mad that Jon didn't seem interested, I was drunk, I was high. I said ok.  We made out then I started to. Give him a hand job. (Big caveat here: I had been with a guy before who for some reason, most likely due to his own violent masturbatory habits, liked for me to jerk him off rather roughly) OK- so I'm doing my thing, when out of nowhere Alex shrinks back. I stop and he pulls away from me even more. He goes on to touch it and check it out, then says "you broke it.". I almost died. I asked what the hell. He says "there's blood."  I freak, he gets up and goes home.  To this day I don't know if he told anyone about that night, but he probably warned his friends (including Jon) about the Dick Breaker.

Yet another little problem:  he never even flirted with me. I was just another girl.  Maybe this was a big problem.

Alright, so I got the courage to tell him how I felt. He said nothing. My friends told me how ballsy I was. The end.

I skipped yet another kids' birthday parties

I was suppose to go to yet another of my friends' kids birthday party but skipped it, preferring to going out with single friends and having some drinks and adult conversation.

It's horrible, but I have very little interest in children.

It's horrible because my friends try to get me to interact with them and their kids. I mean it's not that I don't like children, but I'd prefer to spend my time with adults.

I get invited to birthday parties, and this and that, and well, I can only do those things for a few hours. Generally, when I go to those things I do it wondering what other adult will be around.

Yeap, I don't have kids. I don't think I will have kids. This means I'm -SCREWED!!! - Why? because most of my friends will have children eventually. That means I better grit my teeth and start liking all those kids things soon, or later. I'm probably going to be on the later side.

I dig that my friends with kids can't live without them. I can't live without my dog either. OK - that's not true. After losing my first dog, I realized that I can live without my dog. It's hard but I can do it.

I guess I also don't get the desire of spending time with a little person that forces you to lie. Kids force you to lie because you always have to act better around them than you normally would. So you're always lying to them, and can't ever be yourself. I thought the point of growing up is accepting yourself and being yourself. But nope, we lie to kids so they know better. This is funny because in the end, they will no better but act badly, just like we did.

Still, I know that in order to spend time with my friends with kids I'm going to have to suck it up and just do what everyone else does - grit my teeth, put on a smile, and watch my mouth around the kiddies.

I thought a short vacation could change my world

I went on vacation to England for a couple of weeks.

I think I wanted my world to change. Maybe change by having me get together with Paul. Paul's my English friend, the one I went to visit. When my world didn't change, I began to rage against it and myself.  I got depressed. I hated everything.

So, I then told Paul I liked him, wanting him to step in and change my world.  He didn't.  He was nice and didn't say he was flatly not interested but simply said he was "flattered."

I guess that was worse. I think got angry at myself: for not being skinny, for not being white, for not being English, for not being pleasant enough.   Something is missing.

The funny thing is that I sometimes liked Paul, but mainly I didn't.  I didn't feel any chemistry between us. Our personalities sometimes clashed in a way that made me miserable at just being around him.

I remember sitting in my hotel room one morning and crying. I cried because he seemed so cold to me. I cried because he seemed to cringe at my touch, like when we took the train together. I thought perhaps it was him being British, not wanting any public display of affection, or maybe being disgusted at having me, a dark skinned person, touch him.  I noticed his repulsion from the first day. I tried to control myself, I'm a very touchy person. I think that was just what begun to make me feel too ugly, too fat, too dark, too immature for his sophisticated/stuffy British ways, too playful, too open, just.. too.

The being too dark is of course my own fears of being disliked by white people, or being thought as ugly- all remnants of my colonial scarred mind.

The thing I can't reconcile in my mind is that I thought he liked me before, when he came to America a couple of years ago. Maybe spending so much time with me did it. Maybe he's changed. The only argument against that is that I felt his coldness the moment I arrived.

I then got jealous every time he mention that Hungarian girl he had a relationship with years ago, which lasted two years. I'd get jealous every time he told me about the things they did: going to Monte Carlo, driving from England to Hungary, staying at some beautiful lake.  All things I'd love to do. But would I like to do them with him?  I think sometimes I did, and other times I wanted him to disappear, or just stop being so g'damn polite.  I mean, sometimes he just looked upset with me but instead of saying something, he'd put on a polite Brit smile and be so civil I could've thrown cabbage at him.

Yes, cabbage.

I got off work early

I left work early today. I got in the elevator. The doors shut. I threw my hands in the air and went "Woooooo."

I got out of the building, felt a piece of garbage in my pocket and crossed the street looking for a garbage.  I saw the trash can at the same time a crowd of people was coming towards me.  I turned my body, just averting bumping into some man.  At the same time my hand extended and I threw what was now a ball of paper. It hit the side of the trash can, it circled half the rim then went in.  The guy I almost bumped into said "nice shot," exactly what I was thinking. I gave him a toothy grin and said "thanks!" I then ran into the train to avoid making more conversation.

I went into the train, the express which means I'll have to walk about a mile to get home. But it's all good, I have a pint of sorbet in the fridge.

Everyone was all smiles in the train.  

TGIF!

I use to believe in "Turtle Power!"

I wanted to choose a turtle as my picture for this blog, but I couldn't find any that was just right. In general, I've always liked turtles.

I think my love of turtles started with The Teenage Mutant Nunja Turtles. I remember begging my mother for a turtle, just to forget about it after a few days of bringing it home.

The funny thing is how resilient turtles are in general. Everyone always talks about how turtles can just about live forever, but maybe that's because they are pretty strong little reptiles.

We got the turtle and put it in the tank for maybe a bit. After that my older brother and I had to take it out to touch it and play with it. Yeah, this was definitely no dog but when you're a kid you always want to touch stuff. It must be nuts to have no sense of touch. I mean, we may rely on all our senses, but I feel that kids rely even more on their sense of touch. That's why you need to hide all delicate stuff from kids, because of their innate need to touch new things.

So, we got the turtle and just let it loose in our small New York City apartment. The turtle, whose name I completely forgot, then disappeared. It went around the house as if it was in some South American beach, just completely free. We'd see it pop up all over the house: in the bathroom, in the kitchen, sometimes it'd meander by the livingroom while we were watching cartoons. It was completely carefree. I suppose we weren't the best pet owners. Sometimes we'd put it back in the tank, just to let it loose again within a couple of days.

You'd wonder what a turtle eats in a New York City apartment when not fed. I wonder too. I've always imagine that the poor thing was just stuffing itself with led, or sheetrock scraps, or even cockroaches (though I don't think turtles eat cockroaches). Needless to say, eventually the turtle disappeared and was never seen again.

We got one more turtle after that, it didn't fare any better.

I kept watching "The Teenage Mutant Njnja Turtles." I loved that show. My favorite was Michael Angelo. He was just so cool, so California, so American. I've always found it funny how some people think that immigrants have no interest in assimilating. Maybe some of us can't because of religious reasons, they get here when they're too old, or sometimes fear in general. As for the majority of us? We can't wait to shed out fobbiness!! (FOB= Fresh off the Boat) I mean, I still get happy when people comment on how I have absolutely no accent (which is not true, I'm sure I sound like some "valley girl" sometimes).

I learned English by watching cartoons. I'd sing along the opening songs to every Disney Afternoon cartoon: Duck Tails, Chip n Dale, Gummy Bears. Looking back on it, Im certain now it took me a while to get the lyrics. But it didn't matter that I didn't understand everything, I was in cartoon heaven. I guess it's the same reason why people watch Spanish soaps and variety shows, though the half naked women dressed to the 9 and gesturing like they were puppets has little to do with it.

I was in the train

On the way to work this morning I just started writing.

So, I decided to sign up for a public blog, for many reasons. One being what I wrote below while riding the train to work today. I think maybe if I try to put more of my thoughts down then that will help, at least that's what I always hear people say so I figured I'd try it.

The blog has to be public, to satisfy the narsarssist in me. ( I'm currently reading "The Culture of Narcissism." More on this particular book to come) But it absolutely has to be anonymous because generally I'm ashamed of some of my thoughts and they also make me feel guilty. I was raced Catholic, so that right there explains the whole guilt thing.

Here it is:

I am so angry and in so much pain that a lot of times I just want to hide. That's why I seek friends and lovers, I want them to help push the anger and pain away. I feel lonely when I don't feel pain or anger at the surface, and at those moments I find myself looking for friends or lovers to help me. I think I want a guy to love me but maybe I just want someone, anyone, to cure me from the pain.

Trying to push the pain away I sometimes hurt myself. I starve myself because I think I can't get friends or lovers because I'm so fa. Mind you, most would say I'm not fat, but I deep down don't believe this because I'm just not as skinny as I want to be. I hate my fatness and myself for making myself fat. When I lose any weight then anything sets the pain off and I binge eat. I eat when I'm lonely. I eat when with friends. I try to control how much I eat but generally I have no breaks. I can control my eating when I'm starving myself. So either I don't eat or I eat a whole lot. I don't understand how to eat normally. I don't even know what that is. I think I use to know. I think in college I knew. But even then I remember starving myself.

I never thought of starving myself till elementary school. My mother use to say I was fat so I couldn't be her daughter. My cousin, who was super skinny, should be her daughter or was more like her daughter, she use to say. So I started not touching the school lunches. I'd have maybe the fruit cocktail. Even that was too much. I'd go home and refused to eat because I ate so much at school. Still I couldn't resist the cookies, icecream, all the sugar filled crap. This sweet tooth is the worse. Sometimes I think I'm going to get diabetes, and sometimes I want to get diabetes, I think then I'll control my eating sweets.

I know all this sounds really fucked up, and maybe I am. I sometimes think I'm a real nutcase, then I get some revelation from my friends and feel better. It sucks to feel better about yourself because other people are suffering, or are kind of crazy, but I do.