No Need To Explain

There are certain songs that you listen to, pay attention to the lyrics and think "Man I wish I could say this to someone. This is just how I feel." Very rarely, do you find one that it is EXACTLY what you want to say, word by god-forsaken word.

This one is for you. For my old friends, old lovers, my new friends, old and new heartbreaks...every single one of you. Every word. All for you.

"If I Could"

A brand new baby was born yesterday
Just in time
Papa cried, baby cried
Said "Your tears are like mine"
I heard some words
From a friend on the phone
That didn't sound so good
The doctor gave him two weeks to live
I'd give him more if I could

You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could

Down the middle drops one more
Grain of sand
They say that
New life makes losing life easier to understand
Words are kind
They helped ease the mind
I'll miss my old friend
And though you gotta go
We'll keep a piece of your soul
One goes out
One comes in

You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could

Land on Boardwalk, Pass 'GO' & go directly to Gmail..

The dice rolled awkwardly across the uneven board, clanking louder than I felt comfortable with.

I barely registered the number it landed on, and moved my piece to the next stop somewhat absent-minded and sneaking a third look at my cell phone. I let out a disappointed sigh, and simply pressed the screen to make it light up and show me the time. I had only put the phone down 3 minutes ago? Oh.

Back to the game, I guess so. Pay up the rent for landing on the hotel property, sideways glance at phone, no light blinking. Right. The game. I'm losing, my dad's taunting me...but I'm not really paying attention. What's that?! It's blinking! I grab the phone and check the messages...spam mail. Oh.

Funny how one can grow accustomed and sort of addicted to a blinking light. No emails. Well, nothing apart from spam anyways. I rolled the dice. My turn to pay again...

Maybe it'll blink again when I least expect it.

"And it's okay if you have go away
Oh just remember the telephone works both ways
And if I never ever hear them ring
If nothing else I'll think the bells inside
Have finally found you someone else and that's okay
Cause I'll remember everything you say."

Honesty. When does it pay off?

Really. When?

When I was 4 yrs old, my mom took me to a fabric store with her in our bustling little hometown in Puerto Rico. I have always been fascinated by these little string things...well mostly how the color palette is so nice and blended in the rack:

So, I'd just stand in front of them mesmerized while mom picked out her loot. I didn't know what they were for, I just knew I needed to have them all! Every color! So, on this particular occasion, right as my mom was paying for her things, I swiped two of these (one in red/orange and one in aqua blue) and slid them in my pocket. I just wanted to take them home to play with them. How? I dunno, but no one seemed to even notice. I walked out of there with a bounce in my step, with my secret treasure and holding mom's hand. About 2 blocks from the store, I decided to pull my new toys out to play with them while we waited for the taxi ride back home. *SMACK!* The back of my head was throbbing and my mom kept yelling at me asking where I had gotten that. "Did you steal those from the store, Yaritza?" Uh oh. She used my full name. I'm in trouble. Why? I just wanted to play...*TWACK!* So, she drags my sobbing ass back to the store, tells the owner I'm a thief and makes me apologize and give them back. She also asks them to call the cops, to which the owner, after seeing the terrorized look on my face, politely declined. As we walked out of the store again, I heard the dreadful words..."Wait until we get home". I knew she was gonna spank the living daylights outta me...and then tell dad. He'd spank me too.

I never stole anything again. Half the time I even accepted gifts from other people without my parents assuring me it was okay to take them. I can honestly say I never cheated on a test, however I was the geek everyone copied from. I never falsified my parents' signature for school. I never did anything dishonest in both work and school (maybe I did google or blog while on the clock, but of course, I got caught and reprimended).

That being said. Why did someone steal money from my wallet at work today? I've never messed with anyone, and I never had any problems there before with anybody. I had $500.00 in my wallet to pay the last rent owed in the place I was living in. Today at lunch, I used $8.00 from that for my 1456th salad in the past month. I, again, looked in my wallet before going into work and the money was there. I put my purse under my desk as usual, and trained the new girl all afternoon, until about 3 p.m. when I left her alone in the back office for a bit to see if she could handle the job without me hovering over. I came back at 4:30 and took off. When I went to pay for dinner shortly after that, I opened the wallet and the wad looked significantly thinner, I figured it had moved when I paid for lunch. When I desperately re-counted all my money, there was only $130.00 in there. I looked everywhere, KNOWING I never so much as opened my purse all afternoon for anything. I didn't pay for anything. It was just sitting under the desk. My purse doesn't close with a zipper so you can see the cell phone in there, the wallet and my sugar meter.

It didn't fall out. The whole $500.00 were together in a tight little bundle. If it wouldve fallen out, the WHOLE amount would've fallen out. Why was there still money left?! "Whoever" did it should've just taken the whole thing, instead of just mocking me by leaving behind some cash. That was my rent money. I won't get paid in my new job for a few weeks, hell I didn't pay half the bills due this pay period so I could have some left over for that damn rent and food till next paycheck.

What the freakin heck man. I hope you enjoy it. Relish in it. You don't do that to people. Heck if you needed it that bad you should've asked me if I could lend you some. I couldn't have afforded to give you THAT much but at least some!

I'm broke and I feel cheated. I should've had the whole stack of pancakes for dinner, not just one.

Intermission

Just wanted to say 'Good luck! We're all counting on you."

No but really, there is such a thing as a lack of words. The thoughts are still there, as are the feelings. The memories remain, the longing grows dormant...or just buys it's time, in order to creep up on the unsuspecting you.

I got the job, I begin on Nov. 2nd at the local hospital. Excited.

I moved back into my parents, and now have internet again...why? I'm not sure. Things have changed, and I hope it's for the better.

I feel, and probably am, the planet's shittiest friend. So I can't really blame anyone for the loneliness at the moment. Maybe I'll be forgiven. Perhaps nobody cares. Either way, to those of you I've hurt in any fashion: I'm sorry.

I'll continue working on my book, and praying for a cold winter. I like the cold.

Other than that, I have nothing to report from this front. Changes are happening faster than I can keep track of at the moment. The past getting farther, and although that's a good thing in some aspects...the nostalgia and melancholy of certain moments overwhelms my chest sometimes.

The sun will come out. A new day will begin. Chin up. Shoulders straight. Don't give up.

The Sea

by Lewis Carroll

There are certain things -a spider, a ghost,
The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three -
That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
Is a thing they call the SEA.

Pour some salt water over the floor -
Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be:
Suppose it extended a mile or more,
That's very like the SEA.

Beat a dog till it howls outright -
Cruel, but all very well for a spree;
Suppose that one did so day and night,
That would be like the SEA.

I had a vision of nursery-maids;
Tens of thousands passed by me -
All leading children with wooden spades,
And this was by the SEA.

Who invented those spades of wood?
Who was it cut them out of the tree?
None, I think, but an idiot could -
Or one that loved the SEA.

It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
With `thoughts as boundless, and souls as free';
But suppose you are very unwell in a boat,
How do you like the SEA.

There is an insect that people avoid
(Whence is derived the verb `to flee')
Where have you been by it most annoyed?
In lodgings by the SEA.

If you like coffee with sand for dregs,
A decided hint of salt in your tea,
And a fishy taste in the very eggs -
By all means choose the SEA.

And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,
You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,
And a chronic state of wet in your feet,
Then -I recommend the SEA.

For I have friends who dwell by the coast,
Pleasant friends they are to me!
It is when I'm with them I wonder most
That anyone likes the SEA.

They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,
To climb the heights I madly agree:
And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,
They kindly suggest the SEA.

I try the rocks, and I think it cool
That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
As I heavily slip into every pool,
That skirts the cold, cold SEA.

Why Am I Even Remotely Surprised...

But it bothers me.

It's like acting as if nothing ever happened. It's knowing the wrong-doing, and looking the other way...since it wasn't done to you. Then again, I see things for what they are, not what I wish they were. Then again, I'm not the one dealing with it anymore. Then again when time passes you realize what friendship means to some, and what it means to others. I guess I can't compete with certain things, even though there shouldn't be any competition.

But it bothers me. You know what? It hurts. It only makes me want to not be around at all. I only mattered when I was utterly devoted. Completely immersed.

Have I said...it bothers me?

"Stay true to yourself because there are very few people who will stay true to you."

Little Boxes

We all go through it. That phase in which we fancy ourselves individuals, free thinkers, different than anything else that existed before us. Some of us want to be the one in the group that has that air of mystery about them, with the eerie sense of humor and questionably withdrawn behavior. Maybe we were the ones trying to hard to be the leaders of 'thinking outside the box', with our edgy style in clothing and outspoken liberal attention hogging skills (although inside you're obviously THAT aware about your own short-comings).

We waste countless years trying to 'find ourselves', define who we are in others eyes, where we stand politically and religiously...though in the end the majority of us end up following into our predecessors in one way or another. The best we can really do is improve ourselves to the best of our ability, not for the sake of being the center of attention or to create a persona that people can know us by, but to give our life some sort of satisfactory meaning. Not by any one's standards, not by a book definition, just to be.

I can still be a weirdo. I can still dress silly. I'll still get looks and either compliments or criticism from others. I'll follow others and be followed by some. But I'm doing what makes me happy, for me. Let's face it, we're living in a day and age in which everything has been said, done, written and dreamed by many before us. Sure we have a few ideals that are our own, but are we really that 100% different from Joe Schmoe over there? Oh my little snowflakes...we're just water.

Except me. I'm one of a kind. Grins.

"Little Boxes"

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,

There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same

And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,

And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,

There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

- Malvina Reynolds

Just People

While I was packing, I came across a notebook I used in high school when I first moved to the US from Puerto Rico. It was the first time I moved, my first experience in the All-American school scene. I don't remember that first year very fondly.

This particular notebook was my "Study Hall" one. Study Hall was a period during the day that they sat us all either in the cafeteria or the auditorium so we could work on our homework or 'study' by ourselves. Of course this was utter bullshit. You just sat there for an hour twiddling your thumbs, gossiping or playing cards. I actually just wrote during this period. Poetry. Or so I thought.

I looked through this notebook into my mind, 10 years ago. I had forgotten how upset school made me. In between my poems and songs, I found pages where I would just scribbled "Just Breathe, calm down" over and over. Another page had a mini rant directed at myself: "Why am I so mad right now? I never used to get mad before. Why am I so afraid of them. They're just students, just like me. But they're all staring at me. Why don't they like me. Why are they laughing at me? I used to fit in great at home." This one gave me a lump in my throat. I remembered what caused this rant. I had just ate lunch in a restroom stall...again. Hiding. All those scenes in the movies where you think the 'new geek girl in school' is being dramatic eating her sandwich sitting in a bathroom stall...yeah, it happens in real life. I had tried for months after I came to school to find someone to sit with, to not cry when someone stuck their foot out to make me trip and to ignore the giggles and pointing. I had been diagnosed with Social Phobia when I was about 10, but I had never let it rule my life as badly as it had those first few months.

So, I keep reading all these thoughts scribbled on dirty corners. Fading. I wish most of my high school memories would fade too. People in general are cruel. At least by my senior year I had met Shante. I had fit in with the ICP crowd (yeah...me!) and I had sort of fallen into a comfortable wallflower/wise-crack role in all my classes. Nobody would remember me after graduation, but they always seemed happy to see me and joke with me in class.

I better burn these. Even I'm beginning to doubt if I was ever sane. Next stop? Straightjackets and pudding! Yay!

Not my kid, not my problem?

Oh my dear, dear balloon boy.

As most of the world is aware of by now, sometime today there were reports of a 6 yr old boy from Colorado that had apparently floated off into the unknown in a home-made flying saucer looking balloon.

In the beginning we watched the headlines in horror. Poor child! How could this happen? Who would invest their time in home-made UFO's? Is he okay? So many unanswered questions! So much anguish...yet, I'll admit I laughed when I first read the headline. I didn't think it was too serious, I pictured the kid holding a bunch of helium filled balloons just being tugged away with the breeze. I've been called cynical. I've been told I'm not a 'kid-friendly' person before. I do like kids, I just tend to dislike parents who don't believe in any sort of discipline. So yeah...anywho!

Details started emerging of the aerodynamic child and his family. A little insight into the situation. First off, the family was featured on one of those pesky reality shows that make me want to wash my eyes with bleach after 3 minutes, called "Wife Swap". The concept is pretty much that. They pick two different families, trade the wives for a week so they can either correct the new family they get or learn from them. In this case, this is what ABC (network that airs the show) had to say about such a lovely specimen of a family:

"Wife Mayumi (43) and storm scientist Richard (45) take their three kids, Bradford (8), Ryo (7) and Falcon (5), out of school to go on storm chasing missions to prove Richard's theories about magnetic fields and gravity. If conditions are right, Mayumi wakes her family by shouting "Storm Approaching, Storm Approaching!" into a bullhorn. The family sleep in their clothes so they can leap out of bed and into the storm-mobile. Richard calls Mayumi his 'ninja wife'; she maintains equipment, drives the storm-mobile, films tornadoes and waits with the kids while Richard jumps on his motorbike, heads into the eye of the storm and launches rockets to measure magnetic forces. At home the family are as chaotic as a twister: the kids have no table manners and throw themselves around the house, and while Richard devotes every moment to his research, he expects Mayumi to cook, clean and run the house without any help."

Charming. I mean, I'm all for science and having a healthy family life. It seems like a cool thing to chase storms, I've always wanted to try it. I wouldn't take my kiddos along at such an early age unless it was relatively harmless, but hey that's MY decision right. I do have a problem with the father's obsessive behavior and his lack of involvement in kind of, at least teaching the kids some sort of manners. Alas, I am used to this. Not my kid, not my problem...kinda.

So! The world followed the damned thing on the news. Ooooing and Aaaahing as we saw it wobble. Wondering if the little lad was okay. Eventually, they brought it down and to everyone's surprise, it was empty. No kid. Everyone went into a panic thinking the little homefry had fallen off the thing and cracked his tiny noggin somewhere along the way. Not I. No sir. Nope. My brain betrayed the last 'nice' comment or worry I could've had for little Falcon (yes, that's his name. Falcon. As in bird. As in fly. Oh the humanity!). I immediately thought, "That little pecker is hiding somewhere at home! He's fine! Oh my GOD. The taxpayer money!"

Last we heard, Falcon was found at home hiding inside a box in his attic. You know what? Fine. I was glad he was okay. That's not what made me mad. Kids will be kids. Understandable. But something tells me he's not gonna even get a single stern word from mom and pops. Nada. Zero. Hell he can get away with anything any other day, this is just another adventure. My parents would've peeled my hiney if I even attempted to pull a stunt that would worry all my loved ones and make them wonder about my safety.

Here's your pat on the back little man. Glad you're okay, and next time? Oh next time steal your dad's storm chasing truck and go after a storm all by yourself and just as you're about to get sucked up by a tornado...JUMP OUT! Jump out and hide! Make us all look around for you and look to the skies to see if you've been dropped far away somewhere in Kansas. When we find you, we'll just hug you again and be glad you're okay. We'll shake our heads and say "these darn kiddos" with a giggle and go home and continue letting you do whatever you want to do forever and ever.

Oh and don't say sorry either, that's just unecessary.

It's okay to laugh at me. Go for it.

The first movie I remember watching and falling head over heels for one of the actors was "Stand By Me". No, not River Phoenix, though that would've been my taste in guys now that I'm older. I fell madly, insanely, obsessively in love with Corey Feldman. I was about...5 or 6 when I first saw it. I used to lay on the floor in our laundry room some days, and fall asleep on the laundry pile. I truly have no explanation other than I fancied myself a hobo as a child. Anyways, I'd dream of waking up on top of said laundry pile and above me Corey Feldman would be leaning down looking intently at my face. I'd see his messy hair, he was wearing a black shirt with a yellow Batman logo on it and his dog tag chain would be almost hitting my chest as he leaned in closer just looking into my eyes. He'd lick his lips, which is something he does repeatedly if you look at him in films or interviews, and I'd just think "He's such a pretty bad boy."

I moved from him to my Brad Renfo/Johnathan Brandis phase between the ages of 9 and 11. I used to watch every film ever made that so much as had a glimpse of Brad Renfro in it. The Client was an excellent film...The Adventures of Tom & Huck? Not so much. Sleepers, Apt Pupil and The Cure were my favorites with him. Sigh. Posters on my wall. Johnathan Brandis? I lost count how many times I watched his film with Chuck Norris "Sidekick". Gawd I thought he was just gorgeous and I felt like I could relate to him because he suffered asthma and well...I was a weezing lil thing too. Except he kicked ass and got to meet Chuck Norris and well, I still dropped to the floor coughing my lungs out after running from the couch to the fridge and back.

Who could forget my "husband when I grow up" phase with Brad Pitt. This lasted between ages...13 and um, well I'd still nibble his buttcheek if I could. It started with "Legends of the Fall" and sorta fizzled away with "Troy". The man was in my every daydream, his eyes...the way he cries, his jaw-line...his hair...mmm. Yeah! So! I used to have this little squee in delight because when I was about 11 my phone number ended in the digits 1331, which were the current ages of Brad Renfro and Brad Pitt respectively at the time. Laugh.

Now, I am about to confess to the world something that about...only 3 of you would know. You all poke fun at me and pick on me for this obssessive behavior. Yes. I am a Twihard. A what? A Twilight fan. No, I don't have Twilight merchandise from Hot Topic or posters on my wall. No, I do not in any shape or way approve of the crapfest adaptation of the book Hollywood pulled on us. Yes, I know, Stephenie Meyer's writing skills are that of a hormonal ape with too much access to emo music. I never claimed they were literature classics, no, not at all. But *I* love them. I will re-read them over and over. They mean something to me. Yes I bought the movie, yes I have the soundtrack (which is not at all bad! mucho indie music me likey!). But most of all, I am again having myself a celeb-crush on the 2 leading guys.

Sure I liked Rob Pattinson when he came out on Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire. I thought he was cute. Now I just wanna steal him and do mostly illegal things to him. No, I'm not a 'twihard' fan who would look at him and call him "Edward" or see him as a real damn vampire. Gimme a break! The man is gorgeous, in my eyes anyways. The few people that have witnessed me in a "Rob Pattinson" frenzie will know. I became obsessed with him, even going to Los Angeles on vacation and spending half my time with my eyes peeled in case he was in townThe other leading guy? Taylor Lautner?? I'm not even legally allowed to have the thoughts I have with him. The kid is 17 yrs old! Holy mother of Jebus, those are some awesome 17 yrs! The boy has this devilish grin and dimples. I will not discuss below the neck because, I dont wanna go to jail. But may I say...D-A-M-N.

So there you have it, with the second film for Twilight "New Moon" rapidly approaching (Nov. 20th but who's counting??), I guarantee you folks I will be just like the pimply pre-teens and their soccer moms squealing and giggling and screaming my little heart out when I see the previews and posters. Not because I'm obsessed with fictional characters...Oh no suh!

Yari here sees real life gentlemen. Screw Twilight. Gimme yummy cuties. Gimme gimme. I'm 12 again...and I'm THIS close to buying a TeenBop magazine solely to hang their posters on my wall. Sigh. MMM. Mmm. mmm. Laugh all you want, they better never cross paths with me. Rawr.

Thief

Give me my poetry back, it was not your right to like it too. You didn't deserve to have it shared. It belonged to me, to my daydreams and my eternal hope.

I hate you for making me writhe in pain every time I hear 5 songs that used to mean different things to me. Now they remind me of a heartache, heartBREAK that should've never happened. Give them back, they shouldn't be yours songs...you used my own weakness against me. Make them MY songs again.

Wipe this bitter taste from my mouth on days like this. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I will forget. You will be dead to me, and there will come a day I will not wake up feeling like I do today, cringing when I heard MY song traveling out of your lips like it's your own personal melody.

Neruda was mine. Garcia Marquez was mine. Garcia Lorca was mine. Roald Dahl was mine. Raining In Baltimore was mine. Damien Rice was mine. Brandi Carlile was ALWAYS mine. Not a phase. None of those were a phase. It was who I had, who I read and listened to way before you screwed it up. They WILL be mine again. I will have my dreams back, and you will have nothing to do with it. Just the scum under my shoe I must scrape off and leave on some sidewalk.

Give it back.

100th Post...

Should I make it worth it? Should I make it mean something? Take it as you will.

The Power: It Rubs Off!

When I willed my life and outlook of it to be different, it took flight on it's own.

All that mumbo jumbo about "being the change" you want in your life actually turned out to be precisely that. It seems I was in this seemingly never-ending plateau that revolved around my warped view on what my daily life should be. I lived for others, who often involved themselves in a co-dependant relationship with me and could not move on with a life of their own. We thought our connection was all we had to live for and look forward to in the day, ignoring the countless other aspects about us that defined us as individual human beings.

Don't get me wrong, I am forever grateful for the people I've met and grown to love like my own flesh and blood throughout the past few years. However, looking back on myself, I am truly amazed some of you didn't kick me in the figurative nutsack a few times so that I could jump start my life...wait, nevermind, some of you did. My life was devoted to a font, a screename and the possibility of a real human behind it. Work and eat became a necessary evil in order to exist long enough to run home at the first chance and hop into the wonderful world of my laptop.

So when I decided to break the ties that were consuming me, I felt horrible. I felt so guilty about abandoning the people that needed me and loved having me around online. I love them dearly, and wish I could spend time with them...but...I had to do this. To give ME a chance to see what I could become. Yikes, and what a Yari have I become! I'm more outgoing and taking risks I wouldn't even fathom before. I'm trying to define my own course of action and become less co-dependant. I am my own woman. Today I went for a final interview, for a job I am confident I can learn to do very well. It's an actual career, doing something I love to do without having to deal with the disorganization there is at my current job right now. Over there you are trained, expected to perform, evaluated, rewarded and corrected. Systematic. There's rules and consequences. There's accountability. I want to be proud of what I do and see the results. Even if I don't get the job, I carried myself through that interview in a manner that makes me see I am more than what I thought I was. I'm a pretty smart gal, I've accomplished a lot and I have more to give of myself to society than what I have. I can have a future.

And so, the people around me that love me, have also been making changes. Catapulting their efforts towards a successful life in the future and making decisions they probably were afraid to do out of the pain it sometimes brings to break a comforting cycle. They are all amazing people, that don't need anyone else to tell them so or to hold their hand, for they can lead the rest of us like pros. Wether it's changes on their personal or professional life, they are going through so much right now, along with me. I'd like to believe that if I continue to strive to be better and I surround them with my positive energy, instead of bringing them down when I'm feeling low, they too will find the strength within them to alter their existance.

I want my future to be mind-blowing. To be more than just a 'comfortable' day to day routine. I want to share good stuff, and when I have sad moments or days, I don't want them to stop me from getting back up. Maybe I can. I sure as hell feel like I can. You guys can too. I'm proud of you. Here's to our future. Time to shine baby.

Time to shine.

Stranger

I am not me anymore.

These aren't my eyes staring back, nor my fingertips tracing this hollow face.

This isn't my body laying down on the bed, or my feet rubbing against each other under this foreign feeling blanket.

The voice I hear come out these fake lips, is not mine. Must be robotic, must be my imagination, it sounds nothing like me.

I do not recognize your name, I no longer have memories of us...of whatever love or friendship we shared.

All I see is darkness enclosing. The only sound is that of time ticking away.

Every day is harrowing. Everyday, the slow death of who I was becomes evident.

I am not myself. Look for me no longer.

Today, today...

I got flowers.

I opened a P.O. Box in my name for all future mail.



I miss my twin, and though there's no words I can say, I hope she knows she's in my every thought.



I sent home-baked cookies and brownies to Iraq.



It's been 4 yrs, and it's gonna be okay :).



I washed my hair, and wore new clothes.



I'm a day away from spending a weekend in New Mexico with friends.



I got calls from family in PR, my favorite aunts and uncles.



I'm gonna have cheesecake...well, a little bit.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, --

A ribbon at a time.

The steeples swam in amethyst,

The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,

The bobolinks begun.

Then I said softly to myself,

"That must have been the sun!"
* * *
But how he set, I know not.

There seemed a purple stile

Which little yellow boys and girls

Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,

A dominie in gray

Put gently up the evening bars,

And led the flock away.

-Emily Dickinson

It's okay to blog about boobs...

It really is! It's October, officially making it National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

My grandmother died in 1996, at the age of 62, after a short battle with cancer. It started off in her breast, but even after the masectomy that cleaned that tumor out and the chemotherapy, it had spread to the base of her brain and lodged in an inoperable place. It was later we were told that she had known, for 12 years prior to 1995, that she had a small lump in her breast and it was cancer. She was too afraid of doctors to do anything, and she never told the family. She always informed us that everything came back fine after her mammograms. She was too young to die, and it was a painfully slow and debilitating death. In the end because it was in her brain, she lost the ability to talk and move. She was a prisioner in her own body, unable to express herself, so in the end she would just look at you and tears would fall as you talked to her. She died on Saturday, December 6th at 11:00 a.m., a few minutes after my overnight shift with her was done. She was the backbone to the family and my greatest love.

This is not a post to sob story about it. I miss her more with each passing year, yes. However, this is a post to remind all my friends to promote breast cancer awareness. It's a touchy subject to bring up to loved ones or relatives...and in some cases we're afraid to do it our own monthly breast exam out of fear of finding a lump. Perhaps we have felt something, but again, are too afraid to make an appointment to follow up with the doctor. But don't be! Remember, in most cases when you catch something at an early stage it is most definately treatable and your odds of beating it skyrocket.

Don't be afraid, be aware! Squish your boobies today! Squish a loved ones boobies! Squish your girlfriend's boobies! If you're a guy, squish your own too! (yes there IS male breast cancer)

Here's links to wonderful sites about boobies, no not porn, breast cancer boob help!

The Breast Cancer Site

National Breast Cancer Organization

NBCAM

"Cancer is a word, not a sentence." ~ John Diamond

Ch..Ch..Changesss

I have (2) 18 gallon Rubbermaid cases full of dvds, and 2 boxes full of books.

That's all I've accomplished so far. I have to be out of this house by the 25th of this month. I haven't even tackled the clothes...oh, heavens, the clothes. Shoes? I collect them. No, not in a way a woman has too many shoes. I mean sneakers/converse. I have a crapload. Moving sucks.

Also, tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. I have an interview for that job I told ya'll about a few weeks ago in the IT dept at the local hospital. I'm so nervous. Sooo soo nervous. But it sounds like something I can do, and the guy sounds like someone I'd like to work for. Wish me luck.

Now, back to packing...and to iron my clothes for the interview. Changes a'coming.

~ Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending. ~ Maria Robinson

The Internet, sometimes I shouldn't click the link...

That's right. I had to click on a fabulous link simply titled "No Pot O' Gold Here". It seemed harmless enough. It only had a partial thumbnail of this photo, in which you only saw his arms and torso painted while his hands were in the toilet. So I thought "I wonder what he's doing?", and gingerly clicked, only to be greeted by the full scene a few moments after.

Upon analysis of this, I've realize there is no real explanation as to why a grown man would paint a rainbow on the right side of his body starting from his hand and stretching down to his ankle I'm assuming. Is this a failed Skittles commercial? Because I do NOT, repeat, DO NOT want to taste the rainbow under any circumstance. Perhaps, it's some sort of modern art expression one is supposed to dissect. The body joining both tub and toilet, beginning and end. Is it a sign he will not pee in the tub anymore? Or that he won't shower in the toilet? Continuity? So many options! However, that is not what the main focus of this picture is.

Sure this gem is priceless, unexplicable and down right facepalm inducing. But, it is the replies given by others who have stumbled, like me, unsuspectingly onto this which brought me giggles. Giggles that a naked man arching his naked, colorful silhouette into a toilet (of all things!) could not provide me. I will share my favorite comments, and perhaps you - my dears - can share with me some witty replies of your own!

Here are the some of the comments, in no particular order:

Ike: "For the love of God, couldn’t they have gotten an angle without the crack?"

dono1: "It’s unusual to find a rainbow under a moon."

dono1: "I hope he can pull it out. I imagine a plumber would charge a small fortune to remove a leprechaun from the sewer line."

bailey: "there has to be a reason"

Chass: "Yeah, I feel like a big art geek for being more bothered by the fucked up order of the colours, than anything else."

Megan: "This must be Roy G. Biv’s “special” cousin Gryob."

Ahh...I have no words. Special thanks to Picture is Unrelated for making me wish my glaucoma would speed up. (and for the always awesome pics!)

Air is only so important...

Between the ages of 4 and 11, my dad used to take me snorkling with him about 3 times a week. There was a secluded beach about 15 minutes from our house, tucked behind a row of old abandoned homes, and it had the whitest sand I had ever seen. The water was always crystal clear even to about a depth of about 5 feet, just a few feet short of where a coral reef sprawled crawling with life. It was our own little world for a few hours after I got out of school.

Now, I've always had asthma, but it was worse around that age. Any little thing would trigger it: sports, strong emotions, laughing and small changes in the weather. So while dad was used to being able to dive deep and see the corals from up close, in the beginning he limited me to using my snorkle close to the surface so I would have a constant supply of air. It still looked beautiful from above, but I wanted to get close. More importantly I wanted to be like dad since, being an only child, he was pretty much my best friend and I idolized/mimicked everything he did.

Eventually, by the time I was around 6, I discarded the snorkle and just had a mask. I remember how worried my parents would get when I used to go under, now swimming side by side with dad and my face inches away from the bright tropical fish and coral mazes. I had trained myself for a year almost, in a small pool my parents put for me in the yard. My best friend Alex would come over and he'd hold my hand tight, brushing the back of it soothingly as I dipped my face in the shallow pool after taking a few rapid shallow breaths. At first his counting would only reach until 10, before my panic would set in and the air in my lungs burned finding a way out of me. He'd notice my grip tighten and pull me out of the water, patting my back as I coughed half the contents of the pool out. With time I was able to surpass the 30 second mark, and he would feel my grip actually losen - also prompting him to pull me out thinking I had drowned. He then learned that I had taught myself how to relax while underwater, clearing my thoughts, concentrating not on how the air felt in my lugs and how much time had passed, but on how the water drifted between my fingers. I focused on things under the surface with me, like his limbs or my hands...or that tiny speck floating around me.

I remember the first time I went under without my snorkle, without telling my parents I had practiced before. My dad was a little ahead of me picking a baby octopus up so I could see it close, and when he turned around I was right by him with a sea urchin to show him. He signaled me to go up, and I signaled "OK" back but stayed under a little longer distracted by a purple and yellow fish. I suddenly felt someone yank me up to the surface by my hair and my mom running towards the water thinking I had drowned. "Can you breathe?! Do you need the inhaler?! Yari, you're pale!", to which I just smiled at them saying I was fine. I explained I had been training my lungs and I could do it on my own, to trust me, the all knowing 6 yr old. It took a while, but in time they grew accustomed to my sometimes 90 sec - 2 min dives without coming up for air. I was finally able to enjoy the true beauty and serenity, always remembering to come up for a breath of fresh air but never letting the darkness and panic take over.

I wish I knew why I thought of this today. I guess, suppose, what have ya, that sometimes we may feel like we are out of breath while being surrounded with the good and band things in life. The harsh times may seem like that panic that sets in when your body does the natural thing of wanting you to freaking breathe, making your heart race and your vision cloud as a sign of impending danger. The air? In my case I guess the air can be people/habits that I revert to, that comfort me, that make me feel like I'm going to survive...but how am I supposed to enjoy life (the ups and downs) for longer periods of time if I don't toughen myself up? I'm finally loosening my grip, and feeling everyday things slip between my fingers. I'm ignoring that need to go up for air, because I'm looking for things in life to focus on. Floating specks and beautiful fish I want to enjoy just a little longer, without drowning.

Do I make sense? Probably not. I guess what I'm saying is, air is only so important. It keeps you alive long enough for you to take a dive again and re-discover a new world. Or maybe I just miss Alex.

P.S. This is Alex, now age 27. We don't talk anymore. But between ages 4 and 13, he was my world :) Hooray for the good memories.