Friday, July 30, 2010

Inexpensive-looking Suitcases

I’m leaving in just a couple of hours, and I feel like I’m going to throw up my breakfast any minute now.

I’m lost for words; but I have a song!

Don’t look at me like that! Cliché would have been if I had posted Good Riddance (Time of your Life).

Wish me luck, fuckers!

(I’m sorry, I see there wasn’t any need to insult you. I thought I could pull it off… I can’t).

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Blue Pajamas with Red Elephants

This entry is, basically, the sequel to: Had the Whole Evening Free. It’s common knowledge that second parts are never better than the originals; so, being a true college kid: I’m not even going to try.

Without further ado, here they are folks, the new set of t-shirts I made.

I’m giving credit, of course. I didn’t come up with half of this; they did.

(And yes, apparently I’m pinching my own butt).

(… Now, I’m just rubbing it).

I got the quote from Harry and The Potters second album.

(I’m running out of places where to place my hand).

Cover art from The Matches’ A Band in Hope album.

It’s a bit hard to read, but it says: The troops are having a blast here.

Idea stolen (I, however, prefer ‘borrowed without a plan to give it back’) from here.

You see why I can’t sell these things? It’s not because I love them way too much to give them away; hell, I would even sell my kids for a reasonable price. Nope, I just like my life without lawsuits falling all over my head.

If you excuse me, momma is planning to send her new portfolio to Mexico’s Next Top Model…

Saturday, July 24, 2010

My Red Hunting Hat

Yesterday at night, I got home after a mildly interesting grocery shopping experience to find my neighbor, who’s about my age, outside of his home with a bunch of friends. Now, I must tell you I don’t know a lot about him; actually, I wasn’t really sure who, of that group of guys, was him. All I really know about him is that he plays the drums, since we were both teenagers, out on his garage (how very cliché of him, I know), and with time he has gotten slightly better at it; that and his dad is blind. Getting back to my point; I watched for a couple of minutes this group of young strangers, in the dark, while they were drinking beer and listening to Green Day; it wasn’t until I was safe at home when I realized how embarrassing would have been if they had noticed. However, while I was staring at them (like the creep I am) with “When I Come Around” playing as the soundtrack, I started thinking how my neighbor and I could’ve hit it off. It’s not a secret that I have the hots for drummers, after all; almost as much as I cream for guys who appreciate Green Day’s good old days. Maybe, if we had met somehow, he could be now my best friend, some annoying dude I know, a great fuck, a creep in the past, or the greatest love of my life. But he isn’t. I don’t even know his name, and I surely won’t miss him when I’m gone.

Nonetheless, this entry is not about him. It just got me thinking about all the things I am going to miss that I already accepted I can’t take with me (and by “accepted” I mean, threw a big fit that got me nowhere). But this entry isn’t about that either (I’m so sorry); actually it’s about what I’m taking with me. Some people may call them my “most valued possessions”, I prefer to avoid that term, since it would be embarrassing to call this shit valuable; these are just my “must-have’s”:

I need to get the tittles for my blog from somewhere, don’t I? And I admit this emo rich bastard is goddam entertaining and all.

What could I say about this? Of course I have to take my favorite band’s CDs.

Mock me all you like, I love Jack Dawson and I firmly believe next time I watch this move he won’t die.

Mexican comedy about two kidnaps; say what you want about Mexico, but if there’s something we can do is laugh about our situation. I’ll watch this movie everyday so I don’t forget my awesome accent.

This is even more embarrassing than Titanic. The 90’s were cool, ok man!?

I just have the first four seasons, the only ones my adorable and sexy Shannon Doherty appears (did that lesbian joke got your respect for me back? No? Ok).

I can’t even pretend to be cool now, right? … Moving on…

Well, here it is. That intro had a point after all.

This was my first CD ever; ok, not exactly, it was my brother’s, I just took it when he moved out, whatever, no one has to know that; unless I post it on the internet, but why would I do that?

Sunday, July 18, 2010

I Never Liked Romeo Too Much After Mercutio Gets Stabbed

As most 14 years-old, I used to have a fight against the world. I did what any socially inept teenager at that time would have done; I wore black oversized t-shirts and had a problem comprehending the correct use of eyeliner. Yes, I was part of the whole Avril Lavigne pseudo-punk wave. Saying that I’m ashamed of it would be unfair, the phase helped me overcome the fact that I didn’t have a lot of friends at the time; pretending to be a Punk gave me the option to say “people suck, I choose to be alone”.
February 2005
Girl meets boy. Boy shows interest in the girl. Girl drops on her knees, being him the first guy to ever notice her.
Let’s call him First-Kiss guy… Aw, did I just spoil it? FK was 18 at the time, he wasn’t particularly good looking but neither was I, back then; he was funny as hell, thought (but there’s a real possibility that I was so head over heels that I just laughed at whatever he said). The important thing for me was: He liked me. ME!
March 2005
I went out with a group of friends, including him… You know what? I’ll let the 15-year-old in me take it from here: So, we got, like, away from the rest. We got into his car, he had a car! I know, right? He, then, started, like, going on and on about Rap music and I was all like “I love rap, too!” I know, so embarrassing but what was I supposed to tell him? That I hated that effing music? I mean, right? Whatever. He, like, pulled off his car and I was like “Is he going to kiss me?” and he did! It was so retarded. I didn’t, like, know what to do, and he was, like, totally feeling me up, like, my boobs and all. I know, right?
After that day, he rarely spoke to me again.

I can’t even began to explain how mad/sad I was . Doesn’t even matter now; after a couple of months and hearing over and over Taking Back Sunday I was pretty much over him. Thanks to him I learned that not all guys that I invite to feel me under my bra are going to be interested in hearing my heartbeats along the way.
I saw FK several times after that and we held short but nice conversations. He left town about two years ago. I wasn’t angry at him; the way I saw it, it was my own fault I got hurt. I created expectations for a guy who never promised me a thing.

Now, for this kind of talk you were better off watching re-runs of 90210, I know. This is relevant to my life now; seriously, I’m getting there.
Around May (of this year) he sent me an instant message. We started talking and suddenly the conversation got heavy *drum rolls* He confessed me he really liked me, and after all these years he still thought about me. He told me the age difference freaked him out at the time, but mostly he was so damaged he just got spooked of how much he liked me. He now regrets it.
… I know, right?
It was a big ‘is-this-real-life?’ moment for me. All of a sudden my beliefs were based on a lie (I could be more dramatic, but I’m tired). Paraphrasing one of my friends: I thought I was dealing with a male whore but he turned out to be a pussy.

Months passed and he was ready to come visit me, he wanted to see me before I left the country. Alex happened (big hurricane that flood a bunch of cities), he’s ok, but he’s trapped there. Let me tell you something: I’m so fucking relieved.
The second part of this story is like a crappy sequel of a horror movie, where the screenwriters decide to add a twist to the story that will just not work. Suddenly it’s not about my expectations, it’s about his. He still remembers me as the self-conscious 14 year-old girl who would have said anything just to make him like me.
We are now this new shitty version of The Great Gatsby; he’s a guy who’s trying way too hard to recapture a moment with a girl who isn’t what he remembers anymore (and probably, never was).

Oh, again, the 15 year-old me wants to add a few words:
Who’s crying now, fucker?

Monday, July 12, 2010

Terrific Book of Short Stories

Some people seem like Barbie to me; knowing, since the day they were made what profession they’ll choose (I apologize for the crappy Barbie analogy, for a second I confused corny with inspired). Being an architecture student I’ve seen this, a lot; most of my classmates loved playing with Legos and did awesome drawings from a very young age.
My childhood was nothing like that. I was a hardcore Barbie fan (hence my need to mention her in every chance I get) and, to this day, people can’t tell the difference between a cat and a microwave from looking at my sketches.
I think I have considered every single career option that is out there; from being an astronaut to a unicorn, seriously.
When I was a 5 I loved my dog so I thought I could be a veterinarian; at the age of 9, I liked Melissa Joan-Hart and I wanted to be an actress (or a lesbian); at 12 I loved ‘nsync (who said that?), and therefore, the music career; and after watching a couple seasons of CSI, when I was 15, I thought being a criminologist would be fucking awesome.
Architecture never came to mind; however, being a writer did… All the time.
I’ve always had the need to write about something; from fan-fictions about how I met all 5 members of ‘nsync and they fell in love with me (seriously, who’s saying this shit?), to well-thought essays about teenage stereotypes and feminism from a Disney perspective… And now apparently I have a blog.
So, how did I end up choosing architecture? Huh… The first thing you need to know is that another subtle love I’ve been developing since the sweet age of 16 is graphic design, and I was sure as hell I’d choose that, even when people told me I’d end up living in a box. But one day I was talking to this guy, I told him all about it, and I still remember exactly what he told me: “Lucky thing you’re a girl, you can always depend on your husband’s money”. This is the moment when I burn my bra and yell at the top of my lungs “I WILL NEVER DEPEND ON ANY MAN’S MONEY!”, but that would be kind of hypocritical since my dad is my major economic support, that and I like my bra… You don’t burn a Victoria’s Secret bra.
I ended up choosing marketing. I heard somewhere I could then master in graphic design. Sounded like a great plan; its only flaw was that by the third day I was already bored out of my mind. I didn’t give a tiny damn about economy, or business for that matter. Then, I thought “Architecture is a kind of design… And I like having a roof over my head, sounds like an architect to me”. The next day I changed my classes and…That’s it. I wish there was more to that story, but there isn’t.
These days I find myself scolding the 17-year-old me for not being bright enough to consider journalism, career that would have put both my graphic design love and my writing abilities (cut me a break, I swear I don’t sound so retarded in spanish) into good use. The 17-year-old me is scolding me back, though, for thinking that at the age of 20 it’s too late to turn back; I don’t mean I won’t try to pursue the whole journalism path later on, I just mean I won’t quit architecture.
It’s frustrating as fuck to be stuck in a class where everyone around me seems to know exactly what kind of future they want; it’s hard to do a good job in projects when I don’t have the love and/or inspiration everyone else has. But, two years along the way it’s a little bit late to find that out.

Now, could you be a darling and forget I told you I was an ‘nsync fan?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Had the Whole Evening Free

Let’s pretend I just told you all about how much I’ve always wanted to make my own clothes since the ones on stores are almost never good enough for me; or how, when I’m see a drawing or hear a quote, I constantly think to myself “that’s a nice idea for a t-shirt… I’m sure a well constructed paragraph explaining those points would be the perfect intro for this entry. But I’m not known for my perfect intros, there’s no need to mess with my reputation.

About a month ago I bought a bunch of Hanes Men’s Fitted V-Neck T-Shirts with the idea of dying, cutting, sewing and drawing something on them… And, let me spoil that for you, that’s exactly what I did.

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This is what I was working with… I can’t find a funny way to say it isn’t exactly my size.

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First t-shirt I made. Not exactly perfection (it was time for a Friends reference, now); it was my first pancake, some may say.

The drawing is from the debut album by The Matches.

It wasn’t easy to take pictures of myself from a non-MySpace angle. So I took a picture of my reflection and then I mirrored it on photoshop. (If you come up with a simpler way, please, don’t tell me. I’m really proud of my solution).

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This one is a little bit better. I found that quote somewhere on the net, and I take credit for the font. Yay!

Somehow, this shirt reminded me of Karen Smith’s uniform from Mean Girls:

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I'm not comparing my rack to Amanda Seyfried’s… You know what? Screw it, I am. I have nice boobs.

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This IS perfection. I should be humble, but fuck that, this drawing took me ages and a few tears.

If you’re wondering they are the Fashion Club (from Daria) dressed as the Ramones.

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I took the quote from the internet as well… I already do my own clothes; you can’t expect me to come up with my own quotes too.

I still have 4 more shirts to go. I know what I want to do with 3 of them, if someone wants to share ideas for the fourth one, I will… Hm… Thank him/her, I guess. That’s all I can do right now; I have no money on my own and promising sex doesn’t sound like a good idea.

Thank you for your time, and for not noticing the bra lying behind me. Even if it sounds like something I would do, I swear I didn’t put it there on purpose… I noticed it when I was checking the pictures on my laptop; by then, I was too tired to repeat the whole thing without the bra… (Huh, there’s a sentence guys may not like).

Thursday, July 1, 2010

The Thing with Kids is...

As I said on my last entry, I fucking loved Toy Story 3. So much... I just watched it again. Yep, I allow myself to watch the same movie twice at the theatres. Who said recession?

Now, this is not a review… Especially since the only review I can come up with is… IT WAS LEGEN –wait for it- DARY! (“How I Met Your Mother” fans, I salute you)… So I’m not even going to pretend I’m a critic.

I’m also dropping the Hot Andy comments and the sex toy jokes (I just came up with 3…No, wait… 4! I just came up with 4 dirty jokes!)… It would just be way too weird to write about the sexual fantasies I have with an underage cartoon.

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(Add another dirty joke to the list)

The real purpose of this entry was to admit… I cried, just not as hard as I would have liked. On the inside I was sobbing as if there was no tomorrow; but I went to the movies with a friend who knows way too many ways to make fun of the fact that I’m an emotional trainwreck. So I just shed a silent tear behind my 3D glasses (what an interesting sentence I just made).

For a second let’s all just imagine this is not about talking toys; think they are soldiers, cancer patients, sick puppies… Whatever the hell you find worthy of your tears. It was overall a beautiful concept for a movie, the fear most human beings have of moving on, or letting go.

I’m thankful for the perfect timing of the movie, just now I'm able to understand it. Like the characters from this movie, most of us try to hold on to the things we know; we fight so hard to keep everything just like it is until the point when we are forced to realize it’s just not our time or place anymore.

At the end of the movie (I’m not spoiling anything) when Andy is heading out to college, his mom tearfully says “I wish I could always be with you”; since I’m leaving Mexico in a month, saying goodbye to my family and friends…I know exactly what she means.