Staying Awake. Safer.

I have been debating about sharing something on here for quite some time. Normally I'd share the dreams and nightmares I've in the past, but often I make a reference to a recurring nightmare I've had since I was 7. Only two people know the exact details of this nightmare, aside from my shrink. For some reason I keep this one to myself most of the time, since I go over it enough times during my week...why replay the details?

But, I'm sitting on the couch drinking, and feel like purging that bit of me into this corner of cyberspace. I feel alone, even though physically I am not. I'll put another smile on. This is where it starts:

I am at my aunt's home in Puerto Rico. She's in the kitchen, and it's almost midnight. The air is hot, muggy, and she is making coffee for us. The house is at the foot of a big mountain, and it's almost a small group of homes...the night is too silent. I go to the front screen door to look out at the rest of the houses and my eyes are drawn to the top of the mountain just as a full moon is rising. I see this creature stretching it's wings, and just a pair of red eyes emanating from it's face. It's big, and although my eyes are sure it's a gargoyle...it looks like some demonic being that would haunt your memory forever. It does. Just as I am calling for my aunt to come see it, the thing jumps from the top of the mountain and falls towards the sleepy houses. I hear doors slamming, people screaming and gurgling, cries...death. I run to the back door and lock it, but I am too late when I reach the front screen door again. The demon has sliced it open and is standing in the bright living room, with my aunt's lifeless body in it's right arm, gripping her from her torn out throat. There's blood everywhere. I see it jump towards me, I feel it's nails slashing my face...it burns like nothing I've ever felt. It whispers a growl in a language I do not get. I don't have to. I feel another swipe of it's nails right under my left breast. I black out.

Then the second part of the nightmare starts...

I am in the same house, except I am on the first floor. There is an indoor garage in the first floor, with no solid walls...only metal gates that seem impenetrable. I am in living room, sitting on some old school couches covered with plastic...which annoys me to no end, because in the dream it is very hot, and I feel the back of my thighs sticking to the couch. I start hearing noises outside and turn off the t.v., which seems to also turn off all the lights in the house. I panic in the dark, and immediately feel my skin crawling. I hear a howl first...then several of them. The howls are getting louder, the growls indicate they are circling my house...I hear their paws in the outside gravel, almost like they are trying to decide where to slide into my home. I look outside the windows and see 4 of them pacing outside, sniffing the ground and letting out loud yelps. I hear a few of them on the other side of my home, and decide I probably should make sure the back door is locked. I run to the kitchen just as one of them was trying to walk in through the doorway. With some struggle, I manage to slam the door and bolt it...leaning against it feeling my knees wobbly and my heart in my throat. Just then I remember the front door was open, and as I'm darting to my living room to close it, I see that I am too late.

There's five of them in there already, four of them are gray with this odd color yellow eyes...mouths foaming. The biggest one (head of pack?), has the blackest fur I have ever seen, and it almost looks like every hair has a mind of it's own moving in every direction. His eyes are dark, blood red and his fangs are out in a constant menacing growl. I thought their attention would be on me, since I barged in on them. But they're all staring at something on my living room floor, and for a second, as I peer over the couch and at the floor, I feel the air knocked out of me and my world spinning.

There is a baby, sitting up on the floor. It's a boy, always a boy. He's wearing a light blue onesie, and is sitting on a blanket with toys surrounding him. He can't be any older than 10 months. He's just looking up at me, where I'm standing, with this gorgeous smile on his face...tiny little dimples. I see his face all day, even when I'm awake...Anyways, just as I'm about to do something to distract them from the baby, the black one launches towards him and knocks him on his back. They tear him to pieces, in front of my eyes and I can't run. I'm stuck there, watching my child...I'm assuming he's my son...being ripped from his limbs and his dead eyes staring up at the ceiling in horror. One of them drags what's left of his body off to the side, like a rag doll and continues to feast on him.

By this time the black one, once again, starts the attack. This time on me. I have no time to run, or even put my arms up to protect myself. I'm knocked down on my back and immediately feel his fangs slicing through my neck. I feel every ounce of pain, and the blood pooling in my throat, I'm choking on it but the pain coming from my arms being ripped apart is worse. I feel another one bite into my thigh, the burning and pain are excruciating. I know it's a dream, but I never wake up. Not until I hear I feel one last bite and a pair of jaws crushing the left side of my head.

And it's over. At least until 2 nights after, when, after fighting to stay away to avoid dreams...I find myself drifting off..and the image of my aunt making me coffee begins.

This has been my nightmare, every 2 nights, since I was 7 years old. I'm tired, but you already know that.

Biological Clock

Many of you who have known me a long time, have come to realize that I often say that Yari + kids do not mix. At all.

There's something about them that makes me nervous, and irritates me. They smell fear, and know that I am completely useless when it comes to dealing with them. I mean, when they're babies they're crying their heads off. Let's stop there. I never like to carry newborns. Why? Their heads might fall off. I'm serious. That's one of my fears. Or maybe dropping them? Same thing. Anyways, they cry and scream bloody murder. You've fed them, changed them, played with them, put them down for naps, they're not sick...why are you CRYING?! You have a right to cry if something's wrong...but just because you're fuzzy? Good grief.

Also, what the heck with kids being allowed to do whatever the heck they want? When I was growing up I was taught to earn things. I didn't get a toy every time we went out, nor did I die because I didn't have gaming systems or the latest out there. I was smacked right on the mouth if I so much raised my voice. I was beat, not senseless, but a good beating if I was disrespectful or I acted out in public/home. I was expected to do my best in school, and rewarded if I did. I was allowed to grow up at my own pace. Now I understand why they didn't let me shave my legs or wear make up by the time I was 11. I was still a kid then, no need to worry about looks or dating. I'm glad I was raised how I was, and the beatings made me respect my parents...not fear them.

That being said, for some odd reason children flock to me. I'm like cotton candy or their favorite toy. They're always crawling all over me. Babies reach out to me. I make them laugh and follow me around like my own lil' ducklings. I always felt like I was trying to hard to not show them how utterly afraid I was of them, or how inadequately prepared I am to deal with kids. They loved it. Apparently all it takes is spending time with them playing games and pretending to be a clumsy dork, a lot. I'm already that by nature so, yay? I seem to be an anomaly, as a 25-almost-26 yr old childless Latina woman. Aren't we supposed to have a kid or two before 20? People never grow tired of doing the whole sideways head pity nod when I tell them 'nope, no kids yet'.

For the most part that is a great thing! I can go out and come/go as I please. I don't have someone else's little life depending on my every decision. I can live life however I please, for the most part. I can drink as often and as much as I can. I don't have to change diapers or potty train. I don't have to worry about them getting picked on at school, eating their vegetables or if they're really sick.

I also won't ever feel someone growing inside of me, and spend the nights wondering who he/she will look like. I won't have a tiny hand grabbing my finger or a tiny coo escape as I look at those little eyes. There won't be the patter of tiny feet running towards me, or me picking my child up after a long day of work and just rocking them to sleep. I won't hear 'Mommy' being called out...or cried out. I won't kiss a wounded knee, or sing lullabies. I won't braid my daughter's hair or play baseball with my son. I won't even get a chance to be the horrible mom I think I'd be.

I can't have kids. So there. It's easier to say, I'd be the crappiest mom ever and that I hate kiddos.

I'll settle with a bunch of cats. Crazy cat lady.

Owning Up, Growing Up

I find myself making a lot of excuses for people lately. For their behavior, their actions, their emotions or lack thereof.

This shouldn't be my job anymore. I shouldn't try to find reasons for what they're doing or not doing.

I no longer believe anything said to me. Whatever was promised, planned, whispered to me...not a word of it. Because in the end, they're just words. Words said out of the need to fill the silence. Words said that you thought I wanted to hear, but you never really felt. Words that you spit out, scrambled to get out quickly before you really had the time to think about the impact they would have.

I'm done making excuses. Actions do, in fact, speak louder than words ever will. What you do, is not letting me hear what you say. You words are sweet.

Sweet poison. I die a little more, each day. But it's okay. It's the kind of death that makes me stronger. The kind of death you are bringing upon yourself, because you will end up alone. With your 1,001 reasons as to why anything is never your fault.

I will keep smiling. I will keep acting like everything's okay. That seems to make everyone feel better. No one likes someone honest? I can do it. You keep on thinking everything's cool.

Trust me. Everything's cool. *smirk*

The Breakup

I've been watching a lot of romantic films lately, something I tend to avoid due to the huge slap in the face most of them are. It seems that the best they can come up with is with two people who seem wrong for each other (or perfect for each other?) that go through an endless parade of embarrassing moments, arguments and cheesy one liners. Perfectly coordinated 'happy' moments in which the universe aligns and the lighting is just perfect for the one earth-shattering kiss, the heart-stopping touch of hands and the realization that they are 'the one'. So much for real life, right? Somehow the characters end up in this huge argument that leads to a break up, in which both of them are miserable and pining over their lost love. The torture, the misery, the loneliness becomes too much...and a nice montage of quirky love songs and images of them running through hell and high waters happens. They leave everything behind, abandon all that ever meant anything to them, just to run to their 'true love' and proclaim to the heavens above that they have changed. They will forever love them, worship the ground they walk on, and it doesn't matter where they live as long as their together. Right.

How about leveling with me? Here. Let me paint for you a real life relationship. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. After a series of awkward flirtation moves and they decide to go for it. They don't show you the small arguments you have over pancakes sometimes, or the way he snores your ear off and farts on your leg while he's asleep. There are days when you wake up hating the way his stupid hair is messed up, and mornings when the sight of his unruly cowlicks turn you into a sex starved maniac that just has to devour him on the spot. Where do they explain, that as men, they have NO idea how to understand us and our mood swings? They have no capability to comprehend why, sometimes, when they say small insignificant things, we give them a total different meaning in our head. We hear things in the opposite way you meant them or look deeper into them when all you meant was just that.

And so, the small arguments become too much for one or both people. What are the odds that you found the person that can deal with your ways or that you've found the one you're willing to put up with for eternity? Who is to say that they won't grow out of love, that YOU won't? It's really a game of chance, not fate. Coincidences, random occurrences that shouldn't be mistaken for 'signs'. There are no signs. Not unless you declare something you both have in common as something bigger than life that just HAS to mean you're meant for each other. Granted, there are first kisses that leave you breathless...make you see stars. But there's no coordinated fireworks and soundtrack for the happy moments you have as a couple. All you have are memories to keep forever and savor on lonely nights.

When you break up...it's never even. Ever. The heartache is not shared 50/50. You both might go through the initial hurt, the first few days. However, in time only one of you will be singing this...and it's a damn shame, to carry it alone:

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing

Just praying to a God that I don't believe in

'Cause I got time while she got freedom

'Cause when a heart breaks, no, it don't breakeven.

Her best days will be some of my worst

She finally met a man that's gonna put her first

While I'm wide awake she's no trouble sleeping

'Cause when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven.

They say bad things happen for a reason

But no wise word's gonna stop the bleeding

'Cause she's moved on while I'm still grieving

And when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven.

Oh you got his heart and my heart and none of the pain

You took your suitcase, I took the blame

Now I'm try and make sense of what little remains

'Cause you left me with no love, no love to my name.

What am I gonna do when the best part of me was always you and

What am I suppose to say when I'm all choked up and you're okay,

I'm falling to pieces

I'm falling to pieces

I'm falling to pieces.

(One still in love while the other ones leaving)

I'm falling to pieces

('Cause when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven)

~ The Script

Edge

I've been going for weeks now. I'm getting more sleep, having less nightmares and even daring to go out on the weekends. But right now, I feel tired. I feel lonely, even though I'm never alone and I'm not sure I want to even write anymore. Who reads? Who cares? It's no longer cathartic.

I'm very hungry, and once again, my bank account is in the red. So cookies and a hot pocket for dinner it is. Better than nothing. Way better than nothing.

I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the ocean. I'm not afraid of falling or being pushed over. I just want to jump, and feel the water wrapping around me...going further into the depths of murky water. Cold water. Black all around me. A few struggling breaths, but such a sweet release.

Thank you all, for reading. Even if you pass judgment by what's written here...even if you feel the urge to label me or think you know what I'm all about. Thank you.

May your lives be full of love, brightness and warmth. Of eyes that only live to look at you, of ears that exist to hear your voice and lips that would die without at least uttering your name once in their lifetime.

Blessed be.

53 Days of Solitude

53 Days of sunshine

Of dreaming without rain.

50 and 3 days since you're mine-

But do you feel the same?

53 Days went swiftly,

Just passing like a breeze.

After 3 days and some 50

I loved you all with ease.

53 Days of whispers

And promises to keep.

It took 3 days plus 50

To miss you in my sleep.

53 Days, but really,

I only needed one

To know the 52 others

Were how my life begun.

53 Days of love true

Have changed my attitude.

Now 1 simple day without you,

feel like 53 of solitude.

~ Yari I. 05/2010

Cheesetastic

I've always been the kind of person that felt the need to show my affection for others by giving them material things. I guess it could've been seen as buying their love, but I always saw it as keeping their love. I thought I wasn't good enough to be their friend, that I didn't deserve the kindness or company they bestowed on me.

I remember in first or second grade...actually all of my initial elementary school years I would always use the money my parents gave me for candy or food to buy stuff for my friends. I'd buy them candies or lunch, and pretend I just did it because I had the extra money laying around. I never let them know I didn't eat or it was my candy I was giving them.

As I got older, around Jr. High and beginning of High School, I would spend my allowance the same way. On others. I wouldn't eat all week at school, save up money for a few weeks and then get different things for all my friends at the mall. Expensive things too. I would never buy myself any of that. I remember I got Pablo, the first boy I liked, a Calvin Klein cologne set ($80) and a Dragonball Z shirt he really liked from Journeys ($40). That was a lot of no lunches for Yari. I got my buddy Edil some Billabong swim trunks, a leather Volcom wallet and a Fox shirt ($150), just because. Pretty soon I realized no matter what I did, people would come and go...silly Yari.

As I got older, I started switching the gears in my head. I became this person who wanted to give people something to remember me by...a personal gift. Most of these are handmade, with references to inside jokes or something with a special meaning to the both of us. I tend to bake cookies and muffins, mail them with a card or a book to a friend. I'll write them a poem, or dedicate a short story to a memory I have with them. (Sir, Sir, step away from the pigeons =] ) Or maybe, just maybe, you've been close enough to me to have songs dedicated to you. They no longer play on the radio or in movies. No. Now, when I hear them, your face pops into my head and my love for you in my heart.

Last night I stayed up until 3 a.m. baking up a storm, framing a picture I took, filling out a card and listening through innumerable gigs of music finding the right songs to burn into 2 cds. I am exhausted and my back hurts from baking for hours. But I am sitting here smiling and humming in my head...because I'm so cheesy, I just can't help it.

Your sweet moonbeam

The smell of you in every single dream I dream

I knew when we collided you're the one I have decided

Who's one of my kind

~ Train

Words I Feel and Breathe

I have the last words of Frankenstein's monster swirling in my head over and over. I remember reading them for the first time as a child and thinking "How can someone feel such anguish and despair? So much pain? Such words..."

Alas, here they are. Truer than ever. I'm tired. I'm gone.

"Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of human kind whom these eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive, and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou didst seek my extinction that I might not cause greater wretchedness; and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hast not ceased to think and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them for ever.

"But soon," he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell."

~ Frankenstein, Chapter 24, Part Three

Homesickly Homesickly

This morning I woke up earlier than I set my alarm for, an indication that I was in for a long day. I got dressed in slow motion, staring at my shoes for a long time and my mind not really thinking about anything. These new happy pills sure are magical. I haven't cried or cut in 3 weeks. I also haven't felt much of anything. Just a dull blank. Can't complain.

I opened the screen door and walked out on the deck, immediately feeling the humidity wrap around me in a wet, suffocating embrace. The sun was coming out, and the temperature was rising steadily. My first thought was: "Christ. It's muggy and hot. UGH!", only to stop dead in my tracks and take in a deep breath...while holding down the knot in my throat. I remembered the last time I had experienced a morning like this.

This is how every morning in my sleepy, tiny hometown in the mountains of Puerto Rico is. You're already sweating and the hair is frizzy within 2 minutes of walking out your front door. I stood there, in my front yard in Odessa, Texas, staring at the red sand under my feet. Must have lost my mind for a few minutes, because I vividly saw my old bright yellow Converse shoes with the bright red laces stepping up the soaking grass hill on my way to my grandmother's house. I saw the plaid skirt, with the wide pleats and my white polo shirt with a gray vest...my school's uniform. My eyes almost saw my morning like I used to at age 15, the island breeze carrying the smell of sea up into the mountain, mixing it with the strong smell of tropical fruit coming from our mango tree in the yard. Then my eyes almost swept the front yard of my grandmother's house, and saw my grandfather's white Oldsmobile...with him smiling up at me behind his big, brown plastic framed glasses. I almost heard his voice calling my name.

Then some dogs started barking and I was brought back to reality. No trees. No roosters. No grandfather. Just pitbulls barking in the distance, the sound of a weed whacker going at it in some alley, the smell of sulfur that's ever present in the air here in West Texas. No one was calling my name. No one ever would. I had now traded paradise for desert, and plaid skirts for casual business attire. My braids for a simple pony tail. My college years for working years. My friends for a laptop. My dreams for someone else's.

Alas, the past is the past. Look at me, Grandma, I'm all grown up. Ain't it a shame...

I Think I Should Go Now...

The vinyl tiles felt cold, frail under my tender feet. For some reason I felt mentally drained, as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. In the soft, yellow lighting of my restroom, my skin looked creamy and my features soft. Staring at myself for what seemed like an eternity, I kept coming up with reasons why I am undesirable. I am 25, but my body looks like I've been through hell and back already. I traced the small scar on my eyelid with my fingertip, then carefully traced the hoops that now adorn my cartilages on both ears. Looks like they're healing, but I can't help but wince in pain as my finger moves my ears around a bit. Maybe they're not.

I look so tired, and so sad. I practice smiling, it looks so fake. Why do I have to force my smile on my lips most of the time? My lips are slightly bruised, nothing make up can't hide...I hope. My hands keep sliding slowly down my neck, as I trace my collar bone and every other familiar corner of my chest. My breasts are less than perfect, though with a nice bra I can normally feel like I have something to be proud of. Without one? Not so much. My small nipples were standing in attention, in this cold bathroom, as if urging me to quit the body inspection and get to showering pronto. I grab my breasts and squish them into the desired position, if only I could be that perky for the rest of my life. But gravity is already winning. Bummer.

I trace the soft scars down my stomach, and remember the days when I used to show it off and be proud of my abs. I stop there. I don't want to further investigate my wide hips and thick thighs. Real women have curves...or so they say. Confidence is carried within? Well I'm standing there, looking at a woman who's too fat to be sexy and too sexy to be fat. I have a long torso, so that helps. I definitely do not look my weight. But I can't find a corner of my body that I can completely and absolutely say I am proud of.

I let the warm water wash away two days of self doubt and questions. How can anyone call me things like 'beautiful' and 'amazing'? I lean my hand against the wall, and lay my head down, letting the shower spray the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades, feeling the coconut scent fill the steam forming around me. I cannot begin to comprehend why anyone would feel proud to be seen with me, when I am more than ashamed to be seen with myself. Who am I to pretend everything's okay and feed the hope that someone finds me attractive?

I'd had enough of the self loathing, as I reached down and turned off the water in my shower. I pressed my hot face into the soft, safe towel and felt the urge to just end everything. It would hurt a lot less if I finish things before they run their natural course, and I end up broken anyways. Everyone loves Yari. The Yari inside. The Yari outside? Well...she's only cute and loved when the people get to know the inside one. It's almost like my personality and good-nature towards others compensates the lack of virtues in the looks department.

So now I sit here in front of this laptop, in a pair of flamingo boy shorts and nothing else on. If I were thin, that would sound so amazingly hot to someone. But I am not. So it's just a fat broad in tiny undies, rubbing the lotion on her skin...

...she might as well get the hose again.

Aggression

I thought I'd have a significant blog post today...but I find myself a little peeved.

I'll keep it short and to the point. Men find it easy to hide behind the endless list of excuses that sound good in their head and insulting to our ears.

This whole "I'm a guy, just be straight with me otherwise I won't get why you'd be mad at me" line gets old. Quick.

We're not idiots, you know. As much as you'd like to pretend we don't know what you're up to or what you're really doing, specially if we're not there by your side, it's all a load of bologna. We know. We always know.

We know when you're busy with something else or when we're not top priority in your life, even if you swear up and down that your sole purpose for living is us.

You say you can't read our minds, yet you KNOW something's wrong when we're quiet or giving you monosyllabic answers. So you're not that dense after all!

How about you level with me. I'm not someone you can just bs around with. Relationships are 50/50. You mean to tell me you have time to do an array of things, but not 5 minutes to answer or check in with me?

You mean to seriously tell me you're sitting there pouring your little heart out saying you love and miss me...when I'm there? Literally RIGHT THERE. All you have to do is take the time to talk to me or reach out to me, instead of assuming I'm the one that doesn't want to talk?

Why do *I* have to make the first move? Why do I have to do anything? Why do I have to come up with the ideas, and the future and the planning? For once I'd like to sit back and see you follow through with all the 'dreams' that are to be had.

So what if I say this now: The ball's on your court. I'm tired of making the decisions. Of being the one asking first. Of being the one bringing up the serious talks. Give me the time, uninterrupted. Show me my place in your life.

Can't handle it? Then be upfront. End it.

It's the little things...

I was walking back from the hospital gift shop this morning with Shanidy, something that has become a sort of escape from our cubicle and into the world of micro-shopping. We normally do this every other day of the week, before 9 a.m. and it's become sort of the 'recap' time for us. To go over what's going on in life since we last saw each other at 5 p.m. the day before.

When I first started here, I will whole-heartedly admit I was terrified of her. Who wouldn't be? She's gorgeous, smart and upfront. I'm a tomboy, clumsy and simply do what I'm told for the most part. I was constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing, and felt rather inadequate by being me around her. She has a way of talking and taking command of a room. She is always heard, even if the outcome is not the one she wanted...at least she puts in her valid points on the table.

Then small things started happening...she'd think something I said was funny, even if she gave me a weird look. I started noticing that she was asking my input on things at work not just to be polite but because she really wanted to know what I thought. We started emailing back and forth during work, most of the time witty remarks that we didn't want to say out loud. Then we got sent on a business trip together to Iowa. Nothing brings two girls together like boys and corn fields, my friends. Whatever nerves I had left about being around her completely disappeared by the time the trip was over. The last night, she slept in my room...which means I slept soundly. I hate sleeping alone. I felt completely at peace. She was gone by the time I woke up though...that heart-breaker!

Since then, we've gone past the line of sharing. I know her stuff...she knows mine. I trust her with mine, and I hope she knows she can trust me with hers. Every time I think I have her figured out, she comes out of left field and completely surprises me. She makes me laugh, she makes me feel not so alone in this town anymore. She lets me be me, and I secretly love it when she raises her eyebrow at my nerdyness. Doing Zumba with her makes it hard to be grumpy at all the exercise...my lil white girl can shake that thing like no one's business.

So, this morning we were talking and I heard her say that she told someone else: "Yari is a friend first, coworker second." I did a happy dance inside, because that's exactly what I told someone she was a few days ago. She felt the same.

So what better way to celebrate friends and Fridays, than taking a picture of our awesome shoes in the morning sun. Oh. Shanadaaaaaa! <3

GRRRRRAAAAAH!!!!!

I have a few posts here that cover my favorite things. Now then, if anyone cares about them or remembers them is a whole other story. But lately, I found myself being grossly misunderstood by some or even looked at like I am insane when I get a bit upset at others actions.

So, if you're reading this, please use it for good and keep them top of mind will ya?

Yari's List of Dislikes/Hates:

1. I hate to be tickled. In any way. Even if you're just sneaking up on me or doing a romantic gesture, please...please don't do it in any area that tickles me. It makes me very...very mad.

2. I dislike 99.9% of R&B music. Don't sit there and try to get me to listen to songs, no matter how good they are of if they're classics. DO. NOT. LIKE.

3. I hate being called 'kiddo, girly, chickie'. I know you don't mean much by it, but to me it's a way to make our friendship/relationship impersonal. Like giving a gift card as a gift...it's nice that you got me something, but did you even TRY to figure out what I like?

4. I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE peach/mango flavored anything. I love the fruits though.

5. I hate being pushed into uncomfortable situations after I clearly explained I have an issue with them. i.e. I hate eye contact, it makes me very uneasy. So why are you looking at me in my eyes intently?? I hate pushy people.

6. I dislike mornings. I am not a morning person. Never was. Never will be. So don't take it personal if I just woke up and I'm not exactly a chatterbox. Leave me be. I'll come around.

7. I don't like people that don't understand what a fear of bugs/heights/dark is to me. Don't be an ass and throw a grasshopper at me or any other tiny bug thinking I'm merely 'afraid' of it. I will freak the HELL out. I will CRY. DO NOT CREEP UP ON ME in the dark. DO NOT PLAY ROUGH with me on a HIGH place. DONT. BE. A. DOUCHE!

8. I really dislike being given the runaround. Either you want to be my friend or not. Either you want to hang out with me or not. Don't keep me kinda waiting around on you. I am not one of those people that can get the hint easily. So just be blunt. The sooner, the better.

9. God I hate skinny jeans on dudes.

10. I don't like doing all the work for someone. Take the time to know me, that way you won't have to wonder if something's wrong with me or why I'm mad. That means, don't just take these 10 things and think that as long as you avoid them you'll be ok. If you really knew me, you'd know there's a lot more that annoys me.

Ask questions. I will answer.

Every May 3rd

I used to wait on that little dirt road by my house, sitting on the cement wall with the graffiti on it, every May 3rd. It was usually around 7:00 a.m. and in Puerto Rico that means the weather is cool, damp with unnatural amounts of morning dew and overcast skies. You'd think it would be a rainy day ahead, but living there taught you this was just a routine joke the skies played you every new day. In a few hours the temperatures would reach the triple digits and the sun would crisp you up like a thin piece of bacon in just a few minutes of standing in it.

None of that mattered. It was May 3rd, and in a few minutes I would see the house on the hill open it's front gates and your dad's chocolate brown El Camino make it's way down slowly, avoiding skidding in the wet dirt or getting stuck. I could make out the pale blue of your shirt on the passenger's seat and my heart would be racing it's way up my throat. It's not that I never got to see you, oh first love, for you were my neighbor and we played everyday till sundown. We even called each other at night to talk on the phone until bed time about Ninja Turtles and race cars. But I waited every year for this day, your birthday, to be the first one to tell you, as your car drove by on it's way to school, that you looked like an old angry crab. It always made you laugh, as I held on to the metal pile sticking up from the wall and swung out waiving and yelling those words at you at 7 a.m. Your dad just shook his head and the soft look on your eyes, the blush you had...told me you loved me like I loved you.

Our first love lasted from ages 5 (is that even possible?) until age 12, when my best friend Arelys made out with you in front of me...and you let her.

I'm 25 now, but on May 3rd every year I think of you and of us. Of innocence and happy days. The best years of my life.

So here I am, Alex, swinging from my blog wall and waving at you. Telling you that I don't know how you are, or if you're happy...but you most definitely look like a really...really old crab by now. Also, screw you for cheating. :)