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.