I'm fair and impartial...

So see, just to make sure you guys get where I'm coming from. I liked the books. I wanna bone the dudes that are cast in the movies and the soundtrack to New Moon is very indie and decent.

But come on, people, really. What the FUCK do you need "New Moon" packing tape for? Bandages. Scarves. Duvets...packing tape. This just blows my mind.

So...yeah. No. I'm a twihard, and I do not approve of this crapfest.

Hi

I have no shame.

20 more days.

That is all.

(oh yeah and thanx to www.twilightguide.com for the pix)

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.