I'm Going Alone. So Shut Up.

I normally enjoy going to the grocery store, it’s a weird statement coming from a 20-year-old, but I guess I just feed the I.<3.Shopping girly stereotype. It gives me an excuse to just drive around that calms my nerves (the young “OMG!!!111! It’s that a dog two blocks away? I’m so gonna kill him, I must crash against a tree instead” teenager I have inside can’t believe I just said that); I also like buying all the junk food I want, that my insanely nutritious mother never buys; and, I rarely get to do it, so I don’t get a chance to hate it.
I do manage to have fun while I’m there. For example, today, I was picking apples and while I was struggling to reach the shinny red ones at the top of the pyramid I decided to stand on the tip of my toes and stick out my butt. Of course, that didn’t make the job any easier, but I had a blast putting up a show for all the invisible people around me. I make the simplest day-to-day activities seem like fun, huh?
As I stand in line, I can’t help but look at what others are buying. It’s always interesting what you can learn about a person’s groceries, you can tell if they’re hosting a party, if they are a cat o a dog person, if they are cheap, if they have kids… You know, all that exciting stuff. But today, I looked at my shopping cart for a change, thinking what it said about me.
So, I stared at the Kotex pads, the three apples I carefully choose, 2 six-packs my mom asked me to buy, Nair wax, and a box of chocolate chip cookies that described me as an “alcoholic that wouldn’t want to walk around as if someone just shot at her vagina; likes to see herself as a healthy eater but she can’t fool herself for a long time… And who, under those jeans, doesn’t look so hot (but soon she will!)”; statement that, ignoring the alcoholic part, is completely true.
When I arrived at the register I was all excited to show off my ID. It’s not new or anything, but for so many years I promised myself that when I turned 18 (aka. Legal drinking *cough*sex*cough* age in Mexico) I would use any opportunity to show my ID followed by a “you think I’m underage? I’m so flattered”. Well, that day never came. I’m not much of a clubbing kind of girl (and in this day and age, in my town it’s a good thing); I thought I was an R-rated movie kind of girl, but these last two years I haven’t been, apparently, now that it’s legal for me to watch those moves, Pixar ones seem so much appealing (by the way, ToyStory3 fucking rocks… I laughed, cried, and got a bit horny by all grown up pixelated Andy); the only time I was asked for an ID was in a Sex Shop, and that time I forgot to bring it! But it was ok, my then boyfriend looked old enough for the both of us… Wait, did I just admit I went to a Sex Shop with a boyfriend? … I’m so so sorry, dad…
I lost my train of thought.
The point was that I was actually hopeful the woman at the cash register would ask for an ID but she didn’t. Could it be that I finally look my age…? Whatever, my mind is still thinking about hot Andy and all the new toys I could introduce him to (again, I’m so sorry, dad).
My exact change was the equivalent to 10 American cents; which led me to take the hard decision of not giving any tip to the bag boy. The old saying that goes “Little is better than nothing” is bullshit in this case. Those 10 cents were just an insult.

On the drive back I started thinking about all the things I rarely do… Cooking, cleaning the bathroom, ironing, grocery shopping. Activities that I try to have fun with, as I don’t do them very often. Activities that in a couple of months will be a big pain in the ass since I will be dealing with them on a daily basis. It won’t be long until I find myself yelling at pile of dirty laundry longing for the day those clothes cleaned themselves magically.
My only hope is that, when that day comes, I’ll find it in my heart to stick out my butt, giving my imaginary admirers a good show while I cry.

After a somehow deep and meaningful drive, I arrived home, just to find out the damn bag boy put all my stuff into the same heavy but frail bag. It ended up breaking, I kept the beers from falling out, but my pads didn’t run the same luck; and like an old cliché they landed in front of my neighbors’ house for a cute guy to see… Ok, it was actually and old woman, but it could have been a cute guy!
You may call it karma for not tipping the bag boy; I say you’re right… That fucker did deserve those insulting 10 cents.

Dying Nobly, for Some Highly Unworthy Cause

This isn’t exactly a subject I would like to talk about, to be honest. I’m the kind of person who, in front of an unfair situation in which she feels completely useless will just turn the other way. Just call me the ‘if-you-can’t-find-an-answer-pretend-there-isn’t-a-problem-at-all’ girl. This philosophy has kept me, my family, friends and the rest of lucky bastards alive.
You see, every single Mexican citizen at this moment has a gun held to his/her head, while someone whispers in their ears “dare to make a sound and I’ll blow your brains in a heartbeat”. You won’t believe this, but you get used to it… What you don’t get used to is the fear of being too close to someone who dares to make a noise, because They will shoot you too, it’s not like They actually care, your life won’t make a difference in Theirs.
I guess I could write about who “They” are, why is this happening and what it’s been done to fight it; but I’m pretty sure you can read all about it with a few clicks on Google. There’s nothing about this subject that I can say that hasn’t been said before.
Maybe, if you don’t know a thing about it, reading it from someone who is living it or, in other words, from a fairly-ignorant-20-year-old-middle-class-Mexican-girl perspective will give it that sense of reality.
I can’t really say how and when it all started, but I do remember the moment I realized we were all fucked. About three years ago, one of my big brother’s best friends was kidnapped. It was an amateur job, They saw him on an expensive car and thought “if his parents have the money to give his darling son this kind of car, surely they will pay a fortune for his flesh and bones”, he and a bunch of other unlucky ones were kidnapped. The money was paid and he was released in a couple of days; best case scenario, the guy has a great sense of humor and he recovered quickly. Still, I remember this incident as the first time I saw my big brother cry.
These trends started happening. “Express kidnaps”, suddenly people hid away their pretty cars, stopped talking about finances and everybody looked over their shoulders. After that, some people decided to feed from this fear; prank calls informing the abduction of a son or daughter, it was so plausible that a lot of citizens fell for it, even if their children were safe and warm in a friend’s house.
After a season when we really thought “things are calming down, huh?” a wave of terror emerged as an awful reminder of what happens when you assume.
Before I tell you what happened next, you should know a thing or two about my city. This place reached economic stability thanks to the fact that it’s located where two important railroads meet. Well, what makes you can destroy you, I guess. Now the city is being fought by drug dealers for its great location. I could go on and on about gun fights in bars, where a bunch of innocent people (including underage teenagers) have died; but I really don’t see the point.
They don’t plan to kill the working class; They ‘respect’ the working class… But if the working class is in the wrong place at the wrong time, fuck ‘em.

I've Had a Rough Night

I can't escape these friends
I've made since you left town.
They throw redundant parties
where I'm too often found.
And while I sit and watch girls and boys
trade views of new tattoos
I wonder if it's too late to call your mom
and catch up on some news.
She says you'll be home soon for me
And it'll be just like you were never gone.
I've got these "friends" in quotes
and girls boys* with asterisks.
I watch the time whither
and fall from my wrist.
Out on the porch Van Morrison
is bleeding through the walls.
I don't think your roommate
has been writing down my calls.
You said the distance
would make a difference,
But it didn't.
You and me,
we're both in love with you.

Dog-Eared Page
THE MATCHES


... Whatfuckingever, right?

Lovely my Ass

“You always get what you give”.

There’s certain true in there, at least that’s what I thought. For my own good I should start re-evaluating my own beliefs.
If you read a couple of entries here you’ll know I love comparing every single thing to sex. It may be a gift or it may be proof of how immature I am, but I do it. I can’t explain it, sex is sexy. And I usually don’t have a lot of problems with it, since I (most of the times) know when and where is it appropriate to do so. The thing is, a lot of guys work like this: “She’s joking about sex, therefore, she totally wants to fuck me… DUDE, I’M SO IN!”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered guys would “hit it” with me. But if someone jokes for the seventh time about how sexy would it be if I just take off my bra and start running around aimlessly I’ll start feeling a little bit like a slut. I don’t like feeling like a slut; unless, of course, we’ve discussed it previously (kudos to me for just ruining my credibility).
Every time I state this problem people’s advice it’s always the same “Tell him to go to hell”. *whimper* I can’t do that. I’m a wuss… And I blame my mom, she was way too nice to me; taught me all these nonsense about kindness, and to always say please and thanks.
I admire girls who can turn into bitches in 2.7 seconds. I have wet dreams about becoming this rude woman, who is able to improvise snarky comebacks and always dress fabulous… Whatever, I already accepted that it will never be me. There is, however, a nice way of dealing with annoying people; strategy I know well. In this new RealityTv world we are living, there’s something more hated than bitches and jerks: Boring people. I just completely shut off, I answer everything as if it was a “yes or no” question and I don’t even try to come up with a joke.
That always works…! Unless I’m dealing with horny boys. You see, these days, men can live without knock knock jokes while they’re having sex; shocking, right? That’s why, if they’re looking for a quick fuck they won’t give a damn if the girl is entertaining or not.

And there it is, proof. Neither my two word answers nor the big “I-Couldn’t-Care-Less-If-You-Live-Or-Die” tattoo on my forehead kept this dude from having a conversation with himself.
I guess I’ll just have to live with the fact that my sex jokes send a “I’ll sleep with anybody and include a set of ginsu knives for free!” vibe.

Now… Wait… I can’t stop staring at my creepy collar bone. It’s the position, I swear... I hope.

Here! … Suddenly I feel like me, my webcam pictures and my inconclusive rants belong on myspace.

I Didn't Exactly Flunk Out or Anything. I Just Quit.

Today, at 5:30PM I got into my car, didn’t tell a soul about where I was going. Drove for about 10 minutes until I got there, wishing for a longer road. My palms were sweaty and my throat was dry, ironic; meanwhile my brain was replaying over and over the same made up conversation.
Today was, after all, the day I chose to tell the Head of the Architecture Department I’m leaving, for good.
My reaction is not overdramatic, I swear. This dude has been our teacher for a bunch of classes; he’s 34 and has an amazing relationship with his students. Also, I used to have this little crush on him, and since I’ve always got good grades in his classes, I joked about what a big crush he had on me too (never told him, of course!). I guess it’s safe to say we get along great.
When I arrived, his office was empty; but, no problem, his secretary offered to call him up, wherever he was. I don’t know who the hell she was talking to on the phone, but she asked me to repeat my last name about 6 times “so you are…? I’m sorry who? I forgot, what was your…? One last time, please…”this went on until a point where I really doubted that was my last name; suddenly it sounded funny and weird... Whatever, he was on his way “if I could only wait for him a while, please”.
I waited, but my anxiety wasn’t going away. Judging by the way I feared people could actually hear my heart beating you would think I was about to ask my teacher to prom, or something. I had this huge scenario going on in my mind, which included him on a fetal position yelling at the top of his lungs “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME? I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING!”.
I tried to keep myself entertained with anything while I was there; keeping my mind off the subject. I didn’t consider my cell phone as an option, in the Blackberry/iPhone era it’s not cute anymore when you start playing Snake on your old ass Tamagochi… My shirt was a great plan B, though, since I couldn’t decide how many buttons I should leave undone, I ended up going for two (but now that I think about it, I should’ve unbuttoned one more… I mean, if I was about to “break up” with him I could at least give him something nice to look at).
Here comes the anticlimactic part. He appeared and… Nothing happened. Right after I told him, he suggested me the University of La Coruña, claiming he knows the principle there and gave me a couple of good advices.
Basically, this entry is dedicated to all of those who always expect the worst (and to those who actually think the world revolves around them).
On my way out I decided to climb the tallest building on campus and take a picture from there, thinking it may be while until I step foot into that place again.


Here it is, folks, this is how my former college looks under this lovely 38°C (100°F) summer weather. Please excuse me while I burn in hell…

Try to Relax Occasionally

The fact that I’m spending my summer days lying on my ass all day long is doing wonders for my back; however, some may think that not having a real life would leave me with not much to talk about on my blog… Well, I’m about to prove those non-believers wrong.

I finished filling out every single application form requested by the universities, along with my certificate of approved subjects, curriculum and a copy of my passport; all sealed up, waiting for those lovely people at UPS to send it to Spain. So…I’m being a productive lazy ass.

I just fell in love with Harry Potter books and movies all over again. Therefore, my sexual fantasies with Ron Weasley are back… My imaginary sex life is so great.

A few days ago I found the best blog in the freaking world: Confessions of a College Callgirl. I read the whole thing in two days; if you haven’t, I highly recommend it… A girl talking about how big her breasts are and blowjobs… I mean, what else could you really ask for?

You know what else is just awesome? Sims… So awesome, indeed, that last year I made two music videos using Sims3, and I just remember about them. Even though, now, I would change it completely (leave the song, erase everything else!) they’re still my babies, and since they aren’t major screw-ups, I have to be proud of them.

I’m ending this worthless entry the most logical way possible; stating that I just had a really amusing chat with a machine: (And yes, I did write “you’re are”, because I’m just that bright).