Blackest Friday...THE HORROR!

It was midnight last night, and I found myself fidgeting on the couch resisting the urge to get in my car and drive to Toys-R-Us for their Black Friday sale. I really had 3 things in mind. First, I really really want the Monopoly City Edition board game, badly. I'm not sure they had it on sale but I felt like getting it anyways. Secondly, I beg don't laugh at me, but they had the Twilight AND New Moon board games sold as bundles for $16.99, when just one of them runs about $25. Ok, laugh. Lastly, but actually what I want more, the Marvel Minimates Secret Invasion Box Set. My cubicle at work craves them, I must have them all, to keep me company. I also want the Heroes and Villains Box Sets of said Minimates. Anyways, I resisted and decided to head out shopping at 4 a.m. like a sane person. Balanced people shop that early...right?

At 2 a.m. I was still up, making sure I didn't oversleep for my big trip to Best Buy/Target/ToysRus at 4 a.m. I had it all planned out, my mom backed out last minute but I was still going to head out by myself and see what goodies I could pry of some soccer mom's cold dead fingers. I sort of drifted off, woke up scared at 4:16 a.m. and started getting ready, only to sit back down on the couch and think "Do I really wanna be one of THOSE people who acts like Black Friday is the Apocalypse of the year?" Was there really anything I could NOT live without? Not really...except those Minimates. But, I digress. I decided to just sleep a little longer, and head out at 6 a.m. Surely the crowds wouldn't be that bad that early? Heh.

I eventually rolled out of bed at 8 a.m., not really caring if I made it to the good sales or not. The way I saw it, I just prevented major money spenditude on my behalf on things I would almost immediately get buyer's remorse about. I had me some Jack in the Box breakfast, everything seemed calm enough there, aside from the people driving around like...well like people on Black Friday. I stared at Target, and instantly said "Not no, but hell no." No way. Wasn't going there. I opted to start at JC Penney at the mall, since they like chunky monkeys like myself and provide us with decent jeans/pants. I actually found a pair for $20 bucks I liked, whereas I usually find them for $46. Also, found a 1/3 ct princess cut pair of diamond studs (I was going to get them on "sale" for $179.99 at Zales, actually 1/4 ct) for $44.00 on sale and did an internal happy dance that I found a replacement I actually got for a pretty damn good price.

I headed out of there and walked around the mall for a bit, ended up at Journeys where I found a pair of RocketDog shoes that just screamed Yari! They were $25 on sale, so again, I did good and got em. Wanna see? Look:


Yeah, I rock. Anywho! After that I headed over back to the car and met up with Ricky for lunch, stuffed my face with a Pecan Cinnabon which was kick ass. Then headed over to ToysRUs *cue dramatic music*. The place was a freakin' madhouse. Insane. I have no words. Not only did I not find ANYTHING I was looking for, but the lines were snaking around every aisle along with kids screaming like they were being denied toys. Oh, wait, they were. Who the hell takes their little kids Xmas TOY shopping and then gets mad at them for crying when they realize: A) They can't get every toy in the place AND B) The ones they CAN get, they can't open for another month?! Yeah, smart move there mom and pop. So I hightailed it out of there, rather upset about my Minimates (ok and my Monopoly game) and skidaddled over to Best Buy.

Now THAT was awesome. Best Buy had the best deals by far, and not only that, but they were constantly re-stocking all their sales items. There was no panic, no rushing, no rudeness. It was crowded as hell, but even the line moved quickly and I was out of there in no time. However, as I was walking out of the Best Buy, a lady in an SUV just failed to notice people walking across the street to their cars and decided to just drive thru like the fuckin Indy track. She ended up hitting the outside of my right leg, specifically my knee, before I slammed my fist onto her hood leaving a very painful dent (painful for my hand, and knee). She hightailed it outta there, and I limped to my car. It aches.

Lastly, I attempted to go to the Midland Mall...yeah, I lasted about 5 minutes inside JC Penney and said screw it. Drove my happy little butt through traffic back home to tell you all of my lovely tales of shopping. I'll probably spend the rest of my Friday night hanging out at family's place in the west side...should be nice and lovely. *eye twitch* But, I have new shoes. I have nice earrings. And, quite possibly have a good weekend ahead, so I'm a little giddy.

Oh and this is yours truly today, rocking the flannel, cleavage and Boston cap on my shopping expedition:

Goat Love

Maybe it's that I've been cooped up all day, or simply that I'm a sucker for sweet guys with shaggy hair, but I sat down to write and got entirely sidetracked by what was on my screen.

The Chronicles of Narnia was playing on Disney Channel. How I got to that channel in the first place, I may never know. But, in front of me was the ever adorable Mr. Tumnus, walking through the snow wearing a scarf and playing his little flute to little Lucy.

My heart skipped a beat when they did a close up, on said faun, oh gorgeous satyr! The actor who portrays him is James McAvoy and he's not particularly good looking really. However, I couldn't help smiling when looking at him. I mean, the man's half a goat or something. He's fuzzy and has hoofs and, oh he's just lovely. I refuse to believe I'm suddenly attracted to mythical creatures, so I sat down with my sis and went down a tiny list of things I liked about goat boy.

She mentioned his nose, which yeah, it's sorta nice and round and cute. But that wasn't it. His eyes are very, expressive...sorta. But still, that wasn't it. He had a messy hair thing going on, some facial hair I rather enjoyed. He had a soft quiet voice, and a big heart. Besides, I've never been one to care much, if anything at all, about looks. I like sense of humor (sarcasm is a must), and not being expected to wear 'sexy' attire to go out. Jeans, converse, t-shirt kinda girl. Besides, I'm practically an walrus myself, who am I to judge? So hell, if you have a lil extra fur and hoofs, its okay with me!

There, I feel better. Now ya'll know I'm into kinky stuff. Oh, and as far as Mr. Tumnus, the scarf DEFINITELY did it for me. Oh. Yes. The scarf.

Obituary

I drove by the cemetery the other day, right around dusk. My eyes always scan it for the one tomb, automatically, that always makes me think of the day I'll die. The head stone is in shape of a marble guitar, and it always has a crown of fresh flowers around the neck of it. Even though I've, for the most part, decided on being cremated when I pass away, there's a part of me that would love to have a resting place like that one.

My parents, who were in the car with me at the time, asked: "Are you getting that because you like guitars?" I simply said: "No."

It's more than a sign of who I was in life, and I, do not simply like guitars. I feel their tone and vibration inside my chest with every strum. Every guitar is different, and I must have them all. But the point of my thoughts that day was not simply on the fact that it was a guitar shaped tombstone. My mind was running more along the lines of "What will people remember of me, if anything, once I've been gone." Not only in the first few years, but will they even think my name and who I was in life 20 yrs down the road?

I have no dreams of everlasting glory, of my name going down in books and people discussing me over ridiculously overpriced chai tea in some fancy cafe. In that sense, I have no ambition. I simply want to be happy. I want to live long enough to see my goddaughter Hannah graduate high school, and in the same hand, not outlive my loved ones. I would ask to live long enough to be able to relocate to my homeland again, but by then odds are I'll have no legs, be blind and in kidney failure. My remaining family members would be dead by then. So I'll skip that.

What I'd like people to remember of me? The time I wrote a play, selected the cast, directed and was the leading old lady in it when I was in 6th grade. I did it out of fun with my best friends, it ended up with us touring schools and doing it for teachers/students around the island. Do I want them to remember I wrote it by myself? No. I want them to remember that I died my hair gray and wore an inflatable tube under my moomoo, as "Tita" the 80 yr old break dancing grandma...(and break dance I did, slip showing and all).

I want them to remember my sense of humor, and the times I stayed up with them on the phone simply listening and offering the best comfort I could. Also, I want them to remember my mannerisms as I speak, the looks I give when I think no one is watching me, that tiny freckle I have of the corner of my left eye right above my cheekbone. It would be something if they heard certain songs and remember those were my favorites, or simply miss me. I'd like to be missed. Not just in the beginning, but someday when they're old...I want them to miss me. I would've been a good bingo partner, probably smudging the card with sticky chocolate-covered fingers.

It's my hope they don't remember that when I was 12 and found out grandma had cancer, I stopped visiting her for almost 2 weeks. I didn't want to accept she would die, and I really hope no one else remembers the way she looked up from her wheel chair and asked me softly "Why didn't you come see me anymore, because I have no hair?". I am ashamed of myself for that forever. Maybe they won't remember the times I wished my mom dead, whole-heartedly, as a teen...even though she's my life. Hopefully they will forget the times I lied about my feelings, or the times I simply denied them. Love should never be denied, love never need be faked. My many flaws, the words I spoke out of anger, the words I didn't say...those I hope fade out of their memories.

So many fears, wishes triggered by a simple guitar shaped tombstone, that's not so simple at all. Who was that person? Musician is but one label. Father? Daughter? Husband? Friend? I am all. I am none.

At that point in my inner ramblings, my parents interrupted with a very rude: "Why are you stupid and talking about wanting a tombstone anyways? You idiot, talking about death!" That's right, pops. I forgot we don't die. Must've been a glitch in the Matrix.

Will anyone be sad I've left this world too early?

Weak, Powerless, Oh So Willing!

This is a short post. It has ONE purpose.

This picture here is a little secret I'd like to let you in on...

That right there is my favorite part to kiss a guy. 100%, my favorite.

Sure some would go for something more lewd. More suggestive. No, not me. I love that tiny dent guys get on the side of their throat, to either side of their adam's apple.

I'm not talking about a wet, slobbery kiss either. My heart stops just imagining it. My lips, pressing softly anywhere along those trails. My breath softly caressing it, the warmth of the skin brushing my mouth and the vibrations of a groan transferring to my lips. I just gave myself the best chills ever.

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate.

- Delicate, by Damien Rice

What's the word I'm looking for...?

I have a problem with words. They don't convey enough when my eyes are clearly bursting with feelings. 99% of people I meet say something about my eyes. They're soulful, expressive, like bottomless pits, sad, secretive and more commonly: beautiful. Is it the color? I doubt it, they're so close to black that every attempt I've made at wearing light color contacts ends up in massive failure (why are we never happy with what was given to us as a default?). Is it their shape? I like their shape. Their almond shaped and with dark thick lashes, no need for mascara. It is because of that shape and color I've been labeled arabic, lebanese, greek? Everything except what I am. But what am I, if not simply human. Woman. One with who relies on her eyes, instead of her words.

In my head I come up with witty remarks, actual funny/smartass remarks, with words I want to tell you, my friend, and when I'm faced with you...they scatter and turn into a stuttering mess. Everyone that's met me online/social network, seems to have a different impression of the person I am. They look at the picture and at the words on the screen, and create this bigger than life personna full of anecdotes and talent. I surpass their mental standards, I'm everything they've ever looked for/wanted in a friend. They can spend hours texting me back and forth initially, they open up and offer their friendship to me, their comfort, a place in their world. But the time comes to meet me in person and what happens?

I am not a photo on the screen. I am not the invincible character with unlimited funnies to be supplied no matter how crappy my day was. I am scared. I feel so much, when I meet people initially. I feel even more when we hang out all the time. It's a loving gratitude that cannot be expressed in words. Hence, I end up a bundle of nerves, stumbling over my words while I look you in the eyes as if to say "please, dont listen to my words, look me in the eyes and you'll see I'm just trying to say 'thanks for being my friend, love ya' and not being a weirdo". But people don't understand that. They meet me and are somewhat baffled that I avoid eye contact, and struggle to talk loud. I play with my hands and fingers incessantly and tuck loose curls behind my right ear.

If you guys only KNEW how much I love poetry, ANY kind. Written word, spoken word, and those words you sing. I have so much to say, and all I have is a keyboard that can't do justice to the beautiful things I wish I could let out of my heart. The sad things that constantly have a need to escape from my chest. I write here, empty words, explanations, rants...with a few 'hits' here and there. Seldom do I write something that means anything, and comes out exactly how I wanted it to.

Actually, this just did. Maybe there is a word to describe the lack of them...

Words are deeds. The words we hear
May revolutionize or rear
A mighty state. The words we read
May be a spiritual deed
Excelling any fleshly one,
As much as the celestial sun
Transcends a bonfire, made to throw
A light upon some raree-show.
A simple proverb tagged with rhyme
May colour half the course of time;
The pregnant saying of a sage
May influence every coming age;
A song in its effects may be
More glorious than Thermopylae,
And many a lay that schoolboys scan
A nobler feat than Inkerman.

- WORDS by William C. Wentworth

Push, Pull, FACESPLAT!

I am often faced with the conundrum that are doors.

Yes. Doors.

I remember a time when a business would take the time to put a nice little sign that would instruct you to either "Push" or "Pull" to open said glass door, granting you access into the establishment. Given to the lack of man power to make such signs, or the sheer enjoyment of the employer at seeing people struggle with doors, this aid is no longer available for the poor unsuspecting me.

We all hate it, don't even deny it. It unleashes a secret fury, an overwhelming feeling of general embarrassment when you make the wrong choice (push instead of pull, pull instead of push) and makes you feel like the only human being unable to work a freakin' door. You know what I mean. You walk up to the place, not a break in your stride, feeling confident and in focus as to what you're looking for once you're inside. You walk up to the door and absentmindedly push it to get inside, only to find you made the wrong move buddy! Suddenly the door literally shoves you backwards with approximately 30 G's of force, loudly clanking and rattling as to make others aware that you have arrived in non-style. You feel the anger raise, and frantically look for the sign that's supposed to tell you not to PUSH, but to PULL. Of course, there is none. In some ocassions the stores even have the little bells that ring when you open the door, eventually open the door, or simply pull it with all your might only to have it ring as it refuses you entry. Again, you feel like giving yourself a giant facepalm. Oy.

I have decided to make a concious effort in order to memorize the workings of the doors in every establishment I visit in town and/or neighboring towns. From gas stations to grocery stores (those automatic sliding doors are also bastards that are broken down at times, leaving you standing in front of them like a child who's been locked out of the house... or in it?), from my building doors at work to restaurants. I refuse to be made a fool again. The Dollar General on 42nd and Dixie? You PUSH to get in. N-Tune music store? PULL, and it's tricky when carrying a guitar case and music book. Hastings? Those bastards. They have DOUBLE doors. The first one you push, the second one you pull. See? Double the chances to look like a jackass.

Doors will no longer stop me. I will remember them ALL. I will push when push is needed, pull when pulling is a must and simply stand there when they're automatic sliding doors that WORK. I'll show them all!

Next time I'll tackle people that put doors that swing open the wrong way inside houses, with doorknobs that also turn the opposite way to open said doors included! Case in point? My parents house. It's a goddamn funhouse in here!

New Moon and a Bleu concert

I'm back from my trip, and the time has come for me to follow the masses of screaming teenagers into the movie theater to witness the butchering of a story that meant the world to me (this was my favorite book of the saga), bad acting combined with unnecessary toplessness from werewolves that look like girly calvin klein models and...yeah, pretty good indie soundtrack. Nothing will deter me, for I shall go watch New Moon at 1 p.m. I will attempt to not laugh at the sheer cornyness of it all, I'll soak in whatever small details they remember from the story and had the decency to put in there for those who have them engraved into their head since they read it.

Also, my friends Jack and Marvin are coming down from New Mexico tonight to join Ricky and I to a Bleu Edminston concert in a local bar. Here's a youtube of him, yeah laugh at me because I like his country/alternativy sound. Ya'll can suck it, its not like I'm going to a Larry The Cable Guy/Tim McGraw fandango.

Alas, I shall review both movie and concert tomorrow, to your dismay. Mwahaha. I'll also review Iowa and cornfields. How quaint.

I promise that this will be the last time you’ll see me. I won’t come back. I won’t put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I’d never existed...Don’t worry. You’re human—your memory is no more than a sieeve. Time heals all wounds for your kind.
Edward Cullen, New Moon, Chapter 3, p.71

It Can Always Get Worse...

I am making the most I can out of the 10 minute break I have today. Haven't had a chance to text or chat with my homesycles the past week due to horrible signal on my cell up here in Iowa. The training is going fantastic, the little town is just beautiful beyond words...or maybe I really miss living up north. I ventured to several restaurants and the mall, got lost a few times, cursed and cried - nothing new there. Tomorrow my flight leaves in the afternoon out of a town nearby so I will wake up early and see the little sleeping town and take pictures/get some shopping done.

I normally don't check on www.endi.com that often, which is the site for the major newspaper from back home in Puerto Rico. I decided to see what was up in my little island, since I've heard the political situation is more more aggitated along with the collapse of the working class alltogether. I'm greeted by a hostage situation that lasted almost all day in a supply store, only to have SWAT find the robbers had fled leaving behind no clues. Also, a 19 yr old gay guy was stabbed, decapitated, dismembered and set on fire by a homophobe in a small town. I don't even have words for that except utter disbelief at reading something like that in this day and age. More corruption and economic crisis headlines, countless drug related murders...all the young people wasting their life pointlessly in drug wars. Protests left and right, against homophobia and the current governor with his crazy corrupt antics. Bleh.

Then I stumble upon the news of the moment, and a heart breaking one at that. Apparently 9 kids were headed to school early yesterday morning, when the school bus veered off the road and went off 50 feet down onto the highway below. Some say the driver fell asleep, other signs seem to point to him passing out do to being diabetic, while the kids and many other witnesses say he had a habit of playing 'zig zag' with the bus full of kids while driving. A game. He did it to scare them, and play with them. Whatever happened, ended up with the bus tumbling down and landing on its side...and on the 9 yr old little girl that flew out of one of the open windows. The loss of life, is always heart-breaking for someone. Even if it's your enemy, that enemy had a family or someone that at some point or another they meant the whole world to. As I countinued to read, already saddened that the poor child had such a painful, horrific death on her way to school, I came across the part that just twisted my lungs into knots. I quote:

(Via AP) The father of the girl, Felix Noel Guzman, arrived at the scene at the accident and for several minutes attempted to reach the body of his daughter, but was prevented by the authorities. Her body lay by the school bus, covered by a white blanket. After convincing the authorities, and with the aproval of the detectives on the scene, they led him to the body and uncovered it for identification - at which point he fell on his knees, gathered the body in his arms, and proceeded to kiss it all over amidst his sobs.

For his own safety, he was immediately asked to step away from the scene by the police. "She's my daughter! My life! I want to be with her until they take her away!", the man screamed drowning in his cries as he tried to stop the authorities that were trying to remove him from his daughter Paula Nicole Guzman's side. She was traveling in the bus with her four older siblings, who survived the crash and witnessed everything.

We've all, every single one of us, lost someone in death. Some in tragic manners, a few of us due to long drawn out illnesses. When my grandmother died, of cancer, I kissed her repeatedly all over. I didn't want the funeral home to take her from the house. You never forget their look. You will never forget the cries, screams. Sometimes, it was the silence and finality of it all that broke us beyond repair. He just wanted to cradle his child, kiss her and have her in his arms a few more moments until she would be gone from reach for the rest of his life. The mother couldn't even do that. She was over the side of the road with her other 4 injured children. The family, physically broken, emotionally drained.

Count your blessings, while you have them, no matter how small. It can always be worse. This made me sad. So sad. See you all tomorrow.

Happy Friday The 13th...

Count your blessings...you could be him right about now.

For lack of better wording...PUH!

I don't like when friends I really care for become predictable as soon as they fall in or out of love. Well, actually, it's not that which I really resent. It's when they utterly change who they are and how they treat their friends when they meet/date someone new.

Case in point, I really really really get along with a buddy of mine. He's fun to pick on, has a great big heart, every time I see him I just feel like hugging him...and he totally, absolutely, without a doubt always gets on my last nerve whenever we play jokes on each other. When he can't sleep, sometimes we sorta text back and forth to talk about boobs (yeah, we like em) or just how the day in general was. We both play guitar, so we kinda do that whenever we hang out if we have time. That is unless...

He meets someone new. If/when he reads this blog post, he will rant and rave saying "I have a GF!!! What do you want me to do be around all the time with you assholes and ignore her and not get ass?" No. No no no. By all means, hun, go get you some. Get you plenty. With many if possible (with protection, please). What I mean is that this fellow completely drops off the face of the planet when he finds someone to pull his poi-poi. He doesn't text at random hours like he used to or answer messages you send him. All of the sudden he doesn't listen to the music you used to bond over or jokes around, goes to concerts, etc. It's like he turns into a completely different person that, to be honest, makes me sad.

Do people honestly think you won't notice when they are with someone? You're talking to them and they are not there. I'm not an idiot. Really. You're only fooling yourself by pretending you totally paid attention to what I said. By acting like you didn't abandon you're entire way of being just to be someone you are not. If that's who you are, why does it only come out when you've hooked up? That's crap. But yeah sure, I'll still be here when you're bored. When no one else gives you attention. When everyone else has gone to bed. When they freaking mess up. I'll be here. Because that's who Yari is right? The eternal backup/safety net/back burner bud. :)

On that delightful note, I shall go pack for my business trip. Also, I shall nap, for the last 2 nights have been spent in a lovely waking up every 2 hours with a headache kick. Tomorrow morning? Breakfast, Barnes & Nobles, post office, guitar lesson, baby shower...then afternoon of absolutely, freaking, NOTHING. Maybe writing.

Special shout out to my homies: Twin, Scott, Mollysaurus, sporq and Rob!

(photo shot by lele saveri for Vice Magazine. It's a series called "Stood up", told in 5 shots. check out the rest of her work HERE!)