Sucio.

Fuck it. I've been too busy and I'm entirely too tired to finish my recap. I'll post it this weekend. I don't care if it's late.

I'm already running late as it is... But I wanted to wish everyone a Happy and SAFE New Year.

So long, 2009!

2009

2009 has been one of my greatest years of emotional and mental growth. With that said, my quarter life crisis has been planted into my daily train of thought and it's starting to blossom into something much more than a typical crisis that comes and goes. I've learned a lot about who I am and what I stand for; I've learned what drives me and what breaks me; I've learned to take the lead when need be and when to step back and watch. I let the cards fall this year and the river has come up in my favor.

In the past year I've left behind a lot of relationships that were toxic to me and I've gained some incredible relationships with people that literally skyrocket my spirit into the clouds and far beyond planetary measurement. I've experienced the world from afar and cultured my soul forever and I'm constantly craving for more. I have focused my energy on what I love and what I need to do. Most and best of all, I finally love myself for who I am and not what other people want me to be.

Goodbye, 2009.

Welcome, 2010. :)

Nocturnal.

I'm officially nocturnal. I went to bed last night at 5 am and woke up some point before my alarm clock went off at 8:30. I stayed up for an hour or so, passed out, woke up around 11, ran errands and did some stuff, passed out agan, woke up at 4, made dinner and ran more errands, took a shower, passed out at again, woke up at 11:30 and now it's 4:15 am.

Someone please explain to me what the hell is wrong with my brain lately. It won't shut up and let me sleep. Thanks.

Recaps and Unavailability.

Writing my recap of 2009 is proving to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. I'm sort of walking on egg shells on the ex subject because I really don't want to talk about him at all in my recap, although he was around for a majority of the year. I feel like I'm completely devoid of any thoughts and memories of him yet I know he was there and greatly impacted many of my decisions I had made throughout the year. It's weird to think that I literally spent 6.5 years of my life with a person and I have no fond, strong or clear memories of him. I don't what I did but I feel as though I literally flushed everything I knew of him out of my system. All I am left with is a name, a time period and KNOWING he was there without remembering exact moments or feelings and even old pictures don't move me. My brain washed away the good times with the bad times. I suppose since the bad outweighed the majority, it was easy to lose the good memories. C'est la vie, as they say.

Lately my life has been anything but mundane. I'm juggling too many things at once and eventually I will lose sight of one of my juggling pins to only find it when it's too late and landing on my head. I've almost been living a fantasy life, and I'm constantly pinching myself to make sure the things that are happening are true. It's literally like my life changed overnight into this world of pleasure and self [good] torment. I'm not sure whether it's luck, karma or just my ability to see clearly, but something in the air, water, universe is aligning with whatever possesses me to do the things I do in a supremely fantastic way. This time a year ago I would have never considered flying as much as I have been and will continue to be flying so long as I'm temporarily satiated at the end of the journey. Like I said a couple of weeks back, I've learned not to ask questions (or at least unnecessary ones) and let go. It's been fun and I can't wait for more.

My 'secret' trip is in 8 days. I feel like I've been counting down for this for months and now it's just about a week away of seeing someone really, truly incredible and special.

Noche Buena

Tonight is our traditional Noche Buena dinner. I figured I would make a quick post about it now before I end up getting entirely too drunk to post later. Actually, that's a lie. I'll probably drunken blog later.

Pictured above is a 22 pound bone-in pork shoulder... Us Cuban folk call in lechon asado. The fat has obviously been scored and is melting beautifully into the meat and keeping it moist. The picture above was taken when it was 6 hours in. It will be in 12 hours total by the time I take it out. The entire neighborhood smells like roasted garlic and pork and I'm sorry that they can't enjoy this. I've even had a couple of neighbors comment on how the whole block smells like dinner and they asked when it would be ready.

Noche Buena is a special time for me. I get to spend this evening with my family and my closest friends and sharing my love of Cuban food with everyone. This year four of my best friends are coming and two of them bringing their parents that are like my extended family. I'm sure we will all be beyond hammered by the time we're half way done with dinner. Actually, I plan on drinking the moment I'm done frying things. Sadly, I won't be eating any fried goodies and I probably won't eat much dinner either as I plan on getting my daily caloric intake from alcohol. Hey, it's the special time of year when I can drink myself retarded and no one will care because it's what people do at these family gatherings. We drink, talk shit to each other and then drink some more.

Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope you all spend it with the ones you love the most.

Christmas presents...

For the sake of someone's sanity, I blurred out his name but thought I'd post this anyway. My friend left a present on my car because he's seriously awesome. I got excited thinking it was a book I wanted to read and had mentioned or whatever. I mean, being its obvious shape and weight I figured it was something along that line.

As it turns out, he just wanted to tell me how he felt about me. hahaha. AWESOME!


btw... it's a journal. :)

Sleep is for the dead.

The problem with having a really terrible sleeping disorder is when I DO fall asleep - a deep sleep - it tends to be at some sporadic, completely unnecessary hour that gets in the way of living like a decent human being.

For the past month or so I've been sans caffeine. I've made a conscious effort to really rid myself of caffeine in another attempt to cure my sleeping disorders. As it turns out, I stay up even LATER without the caffeine, which in turn means I sleep less. Somehow I've been making it through my work days without caffeine in my system and I'm not fucking up things as badly as I thought I would have. However, because I don't have that immediate caffeine high in the morning that pretty much sets the pace for my day, I just get stuck in this repetitive cycle of not making my brain tired enough to sleep. See, although I work out regularly, it only makes my body tired. I can lay in my bed sore and tired but working out doesn't stimulate my brain enough. Caffeine, on the other hand, stimulates my brain to the point where I often times overexert myself, thus leading to some sort of mini-anxiety attack. At least by the time I wind down, my brain wants to nap. For now and without caffeine, I'll try to read something boring then my nerdiness kicks in I get entirely too involved in what I'm reading and I find myself up until who knows what ungodly hour and then I have to force myself to try to rest so I can wake up just a few hours later.

For example, last night I was unable to fall asleep until almost 5 am. No particular reason why. I was just up being a creep like usual. When I finally fell asleep, I woke up around 7:30 thinking I was late for work. I had an additional hour to sleep in, so I closed my eyes and took myself to sleepy land. An hour and 10 minutes later, I almost had to take a spatula and peel myself off my frying pan of a bed. I walked into work 5 minutes later than I should have this morning. I proceeded to walk about like a vagabond all day, lost in the mundane world of law and lack of reasoning. The good thing about having a cloud for a brain when I'm in this state is that I can transport myself to this quixotic state of mind. I now have the ability to listen to music all day at my desk, and with the aid of Saralee, I banished my brain to Finland while I worked on some powerpoint project that made me want to stab my eyes out. After I came home, I made myself a very delicious dinner of sushi-grade tuna with
cucumber, avocado, red onions and pickled ginger. I made one for my mom as well and not my dad because he hates fish. He then proceeded to complain about how I didn't make him dinner so I made him a roll of sushi - he ate a few pieces and grossed out of the thought of eating raw fish. He makes absolutely zero sense to me. We often call my dad a bear but a bear would happily eat raw fish. My dad's like Yogi Bear and only eats crap from picnic baskets. My mom and I made fun of him purely based on that he thought tuna was too strong of a flavor and that he'd prefer to go to McDonalds. My poor dad, he has absolutely no palate. Getting back to my point, after dinner I went to my room to change and later take care of a few things I needed to take care of. I later woke up around 11 pm, with two dogs in my bed and I still had my shoes on. I don't remember falling asleep and I vaguely remember laying down. I guess when brain shuts down, it shuts down for the night and I have zero control over it.

Once again, I'm up at some ungodly hour when a majority of the people on Pacific time are asleep and are only a couple hours short of waking up. Bad sleeping habits are going to be the death of me, but hopefully not until I'm a million years old and completely out of my mind. For now, I'm just partially out of my mind. I will leave you with my ugly mug at 4:00 am. Adios.

Trash Day.

I've gotten a few messages from readers saying, "WHAT THE HELL MAN, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN YOUR LIFE!? WHAT'S WITH THE SECRETS?!?"

Okay, so I've been secretive. I'll admit it. Shit, I admitted it two posts ago that I'm being secretive.

The reality is, after going through a break up with someone after being with that person nearly daily for 6.5 years, it's hard to want to talk about your personal life via the internets so soon. It's not that I'm ashamed of anything, oh God no, it's that I feel like I need to have some personal space from people that potentially read this. I feel as though that the 'space & time thing' hasn't been long enough. It's not like what I write would fall on deaf ears - or blind eyes in this case. I just need some space for now. It's really that simple. :)

But readers - just know that I'm happy. Happiness is a great thing. I'm not being fake with myself by occupying time with nonsense, nor am I being codependent on anyone to mask any emotions or fill my head with stupidity. I'm not on a bullshit soul search and pretending to be someone that I'm not. I'm genuinely happy - all on my own. I've dedicated a good amount of time to myself. To read, to write, to think and just BE. I haven't been this happy with myself or in general in who knows how many years and it's the best feeling I could ask for. I think this is a well deserved good feeling. Don't get me wrong, I've had an incredible support system of family and friends and I would probably still be lost without them. However, I have learned to give myself ME time, something I haven't done in years.

When I write my 2009 recap (like I said, I'll be waiting until after Christmas to write it), I promise it will be personal and completely open. I actually started to draft it the other night, and slowly but surely I am adding more and more to it. I'm not even entirely sure how to cover the entire year, but I'll figure it out one way or another. I swear.

I know this post wasn't typically me, and neither have the past few posts, but I felt like I needed to explain a little. Are we friends again, readers?

So, in the "in other news" news - aside from my much needed vacation in january - I'm getting a baby grand piano again. Not that I've ever posted this - but I am a piano player. Like, a real one. I'm one of those that can actually play the piano but I get nervous and awkward playing in front of people so I play a couple of notes and fuck them up purposely. When I'm alone, I jam. I was classically trained since I was a baby. My grandma (the one I don't care for) played all over Europe and that was essentially her saving grace in WWII. After she came to the US, she opened up a piano bar in NYC and has had a successful recording career with piano. I suppose the piano playing runs in the family. Because of my rocky relationship with her, I abandoned formal lessons with her and had a piano professor for many, many years. I think 10 in total with Rosie (my professor) and who knows how many years with my grandma. After high school my parents bought me a beautiful Yamaha baby grand piano. Well, the ungrateful brat that I am, I wanted them to sell it and buy me a horse because I wanted to be in the horse world. So, they did. I ended up wasting nearly a million dollars (or so it seems) on horses and ignored my piano playing. Well, now that I'm horseless and haven't played piano in a while, I miss it. I miss being able to sit and just play for hours. The other day I went with my mom to look at baby grands again. I went looking for my old Yamaha... But instead, I decided to fall in love with something much better... A beautiful 5'1" baby grand Steinway. It's beautiful beyond words. it's love - true love. I get her after I come back from my trip. :)

Distance makes the heart grow fonder...

2 weeks and 6 days. I've never wanted to get on a plane so badly in my life. <3

E-Tickets.

I keep opening my e-mail just to look at my e-ticket. I keep pinching myself to make sure I'm really going on vacation in 3 weeks and 3 days. I feel like I'm being secretive, and in a way I am. I just don't want to jinx anything... But I guess you can't jinx what's already perfection.

Photographic Evidence.

In my old age, I've learned two things: The ability to handle my liquor and to not ask any questions.

Fortune Cookies.

Sometimes it just so happens that you end up at a restaurant with a friend, sitting at a bar, minding your own business and having a good time. Suddenly, you end up getting drunk, spending several hours talking to someone really delicious, playing fortune cookie wars with said person and suddenly have fortunes that match, especially when you end the fortune with "in bed."

I guess I'll just stop there.

Who needs sleep when disgust is running through your veins?

Earlier this evening I wrote this sappy poem that I decided not to publish because I didn't want to be portrayed as a sap, although I am one.

Well, I had a 5 hour phone conversation with someone that literally stopped me in my sap-tracks. Literally - stopped me while I was going a million miles an hour. She even threw me in reverse. She flipped the switch on my train tracks so fast that I just pulled into Normalsville Station.

All I know now is that I haven't slept because I'm thoroughly disgusted in everything I heard. Not disgusted in the sense of hurt, anger or anything else... Disgusted in the sense of, I feel like I need to take a cheese grater to my skin or dip myself in boiling water and hope that kills the heebeejeebees I have. It's like a have a million bugs eating away at my flesh. I'm SO disgusted that the only thing I can think of is how absolutely grossed out I am.

Well, in good news, after I finally sleep - I will be back to my normal, crazy self.

Also, T-minus 4 weeks and 6 days until I'm on a really amazing vacation that I don't want to jinx.

Frozen solid.

Sometimes as much as one tries to occupy the mind off of certain things, all it does is become a reminder that it's just occupying one's time with smoke and mirrors. When the show's over, the lights turn off and everyone leaves, it's back to reality.

I suppose I'm long overdue for a blog but for personal reasons I haven't been inspired to write anything that I've wanted to publish.

Unfortunately for me, I've been over-the-top drunk the past few nights and tonight I decided to take a break by not drinking and living off of coffee. Now I've been struck with the opposite effect of the jitters and twitches and I'm unable to sleep because my mind's running at warp speed and I suppose that doesn't help my cause for some much needed sleep. Sometimes I know as I'm drinking coffee that I SHOULD NOT under ANY circumstances be drinking coffee because I know that it will just wind me up tight and make me insane but I guess I love to do this because it's a habit I cannot break for the life of me. It usually makes for decent writing but when my mind's occupied, thoughts don't meld together like they normally do.

Since I've been back from Spain I've realized that I hate living here. I never thought I'd say I miss the city life because I hate cities but Madrid has a certain charm and essence to it that I can't find anywhere else. I miss my family, I miss the culture and lifestyle and most of all, I miss the food. That's typical of me to say but I don't feel guilty because the average person in Madrid walks several miles every day and I suppose eating sporadically throughout the day doesn't really matter. Plus, the Spaniards that are over-all skinny people don't put an extreme emphasis on beauty and thinness that we do here, especially in California. It's amazing how living where I do (just outside of Malibu) that I find everyone looks the same to me or if they don't, they get surgery to look the same as everyone else. Whatever happened to individual beauty and embracing flaws that makes one beautiful? I just don't see how a sea of Barbie dolls could possibly appeal to anyone, especially to other women who feel the pressure to sustain and maintain the bottle blonde hair and insane amounts of plastic surgeries to never be satiated with their looks. It makes absolutely zero sense and I pity any woman that stoops to the level because of pressure or for being so completely insecure she feels she has no other choice. Look in the mirror and realize that Barbie is made out of plastic and unrealistic and is really meant for little boys to learn [a very false] female anatomy and not for little girls to play dress up. I don't see how torpedo tits, fish lips, being unable to show emotion from injections and a nose too small for one's face is appealing. I just don't get it. Then again, I grew up in a Cuban-American home where our values were clearly different.

This rant was semi-inspired by this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYhCn0jf46U that has been popping up all over everyone's facebooks for the past several months and I'm glad that the women on my page are wising up. I'm happy to be associated with people who think for themselves and not let magazines and TV dictate what beauty should be. The other inspiration for this rant was some program I was watching on who knows what channel (I think the same channel that Intervention is on) about young girls (from tweens to young adults) feel the pressure to always look beautiful and develop all sorts of anxiety and social disorders from not being picture perfect. Do you know how sick it is to listen to a 10 year old talk about how fat she is when she's probably no more than 50 lbs? Do you know how sick it is to watch said 10 year old feel like she has to put on make up in the morning before school so that kids don't make fun of her looks? Do you know how sick it is that a 13 year old is already saving for a breast augmentation for her 18th birthday? This world is sick. No wonder people say Americans are fucked up... We are! Our youth has gone to shit and it's disgusting.

After writing this, I'm now looking into filling out a volunteer application for the Peace Corps and spending 27 months doing something good with my life. I need to cleanse my spirit for all the garbage I am subjected to each and every single day.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on THE CAT.

I think I died and went to Heaven. Albeit going through some rough shit in my personal life, I'm happy. I couldn't think of a better place to be right now because my head isn't in the right place. I mean, not that it ever is, but that because I'm actually more sad than crazy so being here is the perfect way to cure whatever the hell is wrong with me, which I may never really fully understand anyway.

Anyway, I'm entirely too tired and hungover to post about this trip... so here are pictures.

Get out of my head.

I can't wait for anything anymore.

I'm literally becoming impatient when it comes to everything in my life. That also includes the good, the bad and everything I am indifferent with. I'm not sure whether I'm reverting back to my childhood where I'm throwing temper tantrums but I'm literally on the brink of going completely insane. I know I keep saying this, but I'm getting closer and closer to that insanity being a real locked-down, padded room type of mental breakdown.

Right now, I blame part of my insanity on the fact that I'm getting on a plane in 2 days. I hate planes. We know this from previous posts, right? I'm not looking forward to 12 hours worth of plane rides, however, it will be worth it once it's done and over with. It will be nice to get away to a country that feels like home - one that I probably should be living in because it's so fantastic. I know the economy sucks and the job market does not exist for non-Spaniards (I will be applying for citizenship in the near future), but the food is great, the people are fun and plus I have great family there. Besides a Spanish-speaking vibrator, there's not much more I could want out of Spain.

The other reason I'm going insane is because I keep dreaming of things completely out of my reach that I have absolutely no control of. It's annoying when they're reoccurring and I don't even want to sleep at night because waking up in the morning is frustrating. I loathe frustration. I can deal with every emotion under the sun in one way or another, however, the only emotion I cannot deal with whatsoever is frustration because it's neither sad or happy, just indifference. And that, right there, pisses me off but I never get heated enough over it to just let it out in a crazy, hormonal rage. Again, frustration is exactly what it is: frustration. The best way to describe it is what I call the HARD RED DEATH (the female equivalent to blue balls). I have absolutely no way of curing said frustrations without dealing with the problems (or wanted 'problems') head-on. I should probably get on that. Soon, I hope.

Dirty rocker lust.

I think I'm finally coming to terms that I've gone completely insane. My mind just doesn't work right at all and I'm at the point where I think I'm going to let go and see where it takes me.

Earlier this evening, Katie and I went to Rite-Aid for her regular alcohol run and somehow I got distracted (surprise, surprise) and decided that instead of looking for her I'd rather try to stalk her out. Well, somewhere in the midst of this predator-like stalking, I crept around a corner and in the creepiest face I could possibly make with my body contorted into a way I cannot describe, I accidentally stalked a young-ish couple and almost said "FFFFFUUCCCCKKKK YOOOOUUUU!!!" to them. Literally, my lips where in the "FFF" shape and I partly uttered said "FFF" sound. I haven't a clue why I was going to do that, why I partially let go of myself to do that or why on Earth I didn't pee my pants from laughing so hard after. Katie caught me in the act of said "FFF" and she admitted to almost shitting her pants. Actually, she may have sharted because I could have sworn I smelled some butt leakage and it wasn't coming from my ass or underoos. Knowing Katie, it's perfectly possible. I suppose her lack of control of her bodily functions (not that she admits this, but I have a good whiffer) and the fact that she's probably the funniest person I know is the reason why I love her so much. In 5 days she and I will be in Madrid causing chaos and destruction to the point where we might get deported. Amazing.

Legal Crack and Nervous Postings

3:51 a.m.

Dom and I are both wide awake, both of us are victims to legal crack. For him, he's on his ADD medication and I'm who knows how many milligrams in on caffeine... Just know that it's a lot.

I'm thinking about making the switch to adderall. See, there's a hell of a lot less fat (I don't drink black coffee) and calories in a tiny pill of brain food. Side effects are anorexia and psychosis. I'm currently psychotic and that's nothing new. I can't imagine a tiny pill of brain food could possibly exacerbate my perpetually unruly behavior. See, if I combine that with my newly-adopted anorexia, I could just be the skinny crack whore which I guess could be a fun new phase in my life. That will give me more drive and reason to go be a fat chef in Spain. See, I really do have methods to my madness. No one ever said I was logical or ethical and by all means, I don't want to be. I suppose when I DO start "thinking like a normal person" is when the Apocalypse is coming. At that point, who gives a shit. The world will be imploding.

Mother of FUCK.

I just realized I cannot go to Spain without enduring the torture of a 10 hour plane ride, followed by a connection that's another 2 hours.

I will be refilling my prescriptions for xanax this week.

I have 8 days to realize that plane rides are the key to happiness.

How to write a SEX WANTED advertisement for your friend... Just don't let her know about it.

Okay, let’s just be honest here.

I’m looking for a friend with benefits for my good friend. She’s in serious need of some dick and I’m not going to let her call up old flings. There’s a whole world out there of new dick she needs to experience. She works full time and goes to school full time, which makes it hard to find time to go out and meet guys other than the skinny science nerds that dont know how to take off a bra or the bad pick up line creeps she works with. My friend literally has ZERO time to meet guys, or in this case, guys with any fucking (literally) potential. When she’s got some free time, she’s certainly not out at bars looking for some cock. If anything, she's probably munching my rug but that's not something that involves you or something you will ever experience for yourself, so don't ask if two twats are available for the fucking.

Back to the point... Being the good friend that I am, I promised my friend I’d find someone for her to fuck a lot so here I am posting an ad on Craigslist, as strange and unethical as this is. Thankfully, Craigslist is like Eharmony for whores and I want my friend to be a whore. This should be a good match, right?

So, here’s the deal. I’m going to interview you in person. We’ll meet at a coffee shop or somewhere local (to Woodland Hills) and I will get to know you for her. If I dig you, she will probably dig you (and not a grave). You and I need to know each other so it’s not all awkward and creepy when I take you to meet her. Remember, I NEVER picked you up off of Craigslist. We know each other from work or something. Got it?

About her:

She’s half Mad Scientist and half Sexy Dominatrix Kitten, although I think those percentages are screwed up because she's definitely mixed with Man-Eater, Innocent School Girl and Prostitute. I capitalized all of those because they are all breeds of bitches. She’s like the good girl gone bad, but in the best way possible. As for her looks, she’s 5’6-ish, beautifully hour-glass shaped with gigantic tits that don't sag down to her stomach, long brown hair she could use as bondage rope, naturally tan (so don't worry about color rubbing off on you) and has a big mouth for good conversation and I’m assuming blow jobs (I don’t have a dick, so I wouldn’t know). She’s also kinda got the hippie vibe to her without being dirty and crazy and she’s also a vegan but is NOT by ANY means a bible-thumping vegan. She doesn’t judge people based on eating meat. But either way, she’s hot and probably 124897219487219847 hotter than any real person that ever existed on Craigslist.

What she likes:

SMART guys, preferably guys into science since she’s a science nerd. Guys that are either vegan/vegetarian or vegan/vegetarian friendly. In other words, don’t try to convince her to eat meat (unless it's tube steak). Tattoos/Piercing = a-okay. The more you have probably means the more fucked up your are in the head, and I think she dig a little (a lot) of crazy (in bed, that is). Less pretty and more scruff, which means that if you could be mistaken for a girl when the lights are off, that's just not sexy.You MUST have transportation, otherwise you're useless and will probably be late to everything that is horny. MAJOR turn off, really. It doesn’t matter what you drive, so long as you're available shortly after the phone rings. A funny, fucked up sense of humor is a must. If you don't like dirty jokes, bad jokes, inappropriate jokes or are monotone, just fuck off.

What she DOES NOT like:

Lard asses. If you are pushing XXXXL and are more width than height, no thank you and stop eating McDonalds. If you have hair covering a majority of your body and you can’t control that you are part man-wolf, DO NOT reply as shedding like a rabid beast is not sexy. If you are not funny and cannot take a joke for the life of you, do not reply under any circumstances and make your way to a whore house where you will have better luck. If you love Jesus, Mary, Joseph and everyone else that never existed, do not reply and make your way to church for your dirty sins by being on Craigslist. If you have weird fetishes that involve piss, poop, animals or objects not found in a sex store, please do not apply and please seek help.

REQUIREMENTS FOR THE INTERVIEW:

MUST be within a short drive of Woodland Hills. MUST include a photo (many preferred) in your e-mail. PLEASE write back with SOME sort of response to this. Anything generic like, “single, male, tiny penis and boring” will not get a reply.

This is 100% for real. I need to get my friend laid before she rapes me in my sleep.

1 week and 4 days.

At 5 something in the morning, it's hard to get creative.

This evening my friend Amanda and I decided to do a late night dirty soy chai run. Somewhere in my twisted fuck-up of a brain I decided at 11:00 p.m. that a quad venti soy chai would be a good idea. Well, after a case of the rambles followed by shakes with some intermittent studying, I finally fell asleep at 3:00 a.m. Shortly thereafter I was rudely woken up by my boyfriend with a case of the sleep-rapes and now I am back to being wide awake with an unexplained and rather annoying itch to ramble to the world on a conversation topic we had. That topic being SALAD TOSSING.

Triggered by a funny event, Amanda looks at me and says something along the lines of, "WHO IN THE HELL THOUGHT OF THE SIMILARITIES OF SALAD AND ASSHOLE."

I look at her, being my normal fucked up self and say, "It all started with a single dingleberry."

See, after doing some research on the definition of salad tossing, I learned that the term came from the prison community and it used when a member of the prison yard, normally one of lower ranking, eats out the asshole of a higher-ranking prisoner and covers said asshole with salad dressing to "cover up the taste." Clearly I'm not a prisoner and I have thankfully never been to prison, but how does this whole ranking business work? Do you have a certain quota of asshole eating before you can step up a rank? Is it like Farmville where you earn XP points and graduate to the never level? Each time you graduate, you get more cool stuff and more boys eating your asshole and the less you end up eating? Who developed this hierarchy of prison systems anyway? Whatever it was and whomever it was, I don't get it and I suppose I never really want to, although that would be an interesting topic to do a paper on from the etic perspective. Albeit interesting, I don't think that'll ever come up for me in the nutritional anthropology field, although I'm sure that could be argued and I'm clearly not the person to do so.

For some reason, I feel as though that people in prison would have super clean assholes. Because if prison rumors are true, there's a lot of gay shit going on all the time and you wouldn't want to be passed around as a lower member of the prison and everyone talking about your stinky asshole. I mean, it's prison, what else is there to do except for gossip about dirty assholes and eat dirty assholes? It's not like they're knitting and crocheting.

Now, after doing this research and finding out where this definition came from, I don't believe it for a second. In my mind, that's not tossing a salad. I would imagine that the definition came about from someone eating a guy's hairy, dirty ass. See, I would relate dingleberries as pieces of tomatoes, shreds of paper as lettuce, the hair as bean sprouts, sweat as salad dressing - and who knows what else one would find in a really dirty hairy asshole. Probably shrimp heads and bottle caps - or at least that wouldn't surprise me. The point is that salad dressing doesn't make enough substance for an entire salad. What is a salad without the dressing and what is the dressing what a salad? Both must be present at all times for the puzzle pieces to fit.

Oh, and for the record - this conversation started because a really cute cop walked into Starbucks. Then he turned around to order coffee and his pants were so loose on his ass it looked like he was wearing diapers. I'm unclear on how ass-eating and diapers are related. When I figure that out I will post about it.

2 weeks and 6 days...

I'm going back to Spain.

I bought my tickets 4 weeks ago but apparently I've been too insane about going back to Spain that I haven't written about me going back to Spain. And no, that is not intended to make any sense at all.

Anyway, my sister and I are leaving on November 5th and we're spending 11 days running around like a couple of crazy drunks. I guess the only problem (not that this is a TRUE problem) is that I will be at the same hotel I was before, which is less than half a block in distance, while on the same block, as my cousin's apartment building... Which means I need to be on semi-decent behavior. Katie, however, can do whatever the Hell she wants and say whatever she wants because no one understands a drunk person's English - not even an English speaker can decipher what the Hell will come out of her mouth 30 beers under. So, I suppose that's the good news.

My cousins are picking me up from the airport and we're driving to their vacation home in Caceres, which from the pictures I cannot WAIT to be there. It was built by Romans in 25 BC, and still has a ton of the old Roman ruins and has a ton of Spanish palaces and forts. In other words, I will be enriching my brain and eyes in history and I'll be a happy camper from it. We will be there for a long weekend (Fri - Monday morning) and for the rest of the trip I'll be back in Madrid... which means the following: tapas bars. the prado. museo de la reina sofia. jamon bars. spanish beer on tap. more jamon. more jamon. more jamon.

Am I excited? Oh no, not at all.

A Vomit Story.

A couple days ago I was talking to my brother about some video he has of himself, drinking a gallon of milk, followed by puking it on someone's driveway shortly before said driveway's owner had a birthday party for his child. He followed this disgusting, in-deep-detail story of vomit with, "you should watch it sometime!" Let’s not forget the joyous, toothy emoticon that he sent me that ended our vomit conversation.

Suddenly, I had a brain meltdown and acid flashbacks from the acid I never did. It felt as though my mind fell into a black hole and I ended up in some part of my brain that only remembered all the vomit I’ve ever vomited in my entire life, every single horrifying moment where I thought I’d puke my brains out and die by drowning myself in the toilet bowl.

Flash back to 1992. I'm 7 years old and a student at the Lycee Francais, a private French school where they stuck the non-French speaking American kids in a room with Muzzy tapes. Muzzy was like the cookie monster, only fatter, dumber, unpopular and was always trying to fit in one way or another and no one ever took him seriously. Muzzy pretty much started every conversation in French introducing himself to another character saying, “I am the Great Muzzy!” All I know is that if I ran around introducing myself as THE GREAT ERIKA, I would have been put into a mental institution long ago.

The most humiliating day of my life was my first Vomit Day. I call it “Vomit Day” because it was the first time I had ever seen another kid puke in school. It must have been in the fall or winter, because I was wearing heavy jeans littered with tactfully, fashionably placed bleach marks and a heavy sweatshirt that I believe was red, knitted with dumb designs and I’m pretty sure my parents hated me for making me wear it. If they did not hate me, then they might as have been really high. It sort of explains why I’ve seen Puff the Magic Dragon so many times. It’s bad enough I had the teeth of a goblin, but dressing me like Kool-Aid man didn’t help my cause.

My classroom was enormous; I vaguely remember counting the steps it took me to get from my chair to the bathroom, which was a unisex bathroom, shared by two classrooms. It made for awkward situations when I’d be peeing and a child from the other classroom would open the door because the doors never locked. I’m pretty sure that it was illegal to subject children to that type of bathroom torture but I guess the French are free-spirited - even down to bathroom privacy. I now cannot pee unless doors are locked, otherwise I hold the doors shut and scream, “THIS STALL IS NOT AVAILABLE!” when I see feet walk by. Sometimes I take extra precaution and say it when I hear the door open, before someone has the time to figure out which stall I’m in.

Vomit Day was the day that I vowed to never wear my red sweatshirt again, as it was the most horrible day of my life. Like I said, my classroom as gigantic. We had an enormous, bright-blue table shaped like a “U,” and we had cubbies on one end of the classroom and arts & craft supplies on the other. I sat in the middle of the U, far from the cubbies and the furthest from the bathroom. I can’t remember if it was Thanksgiving, Christmas or just some bull-shit card making day but it was one of those days where we were making cards for our parents. I’m in the middle of writing, “DEAR MOM & DAD” when the unthinkable happens. The fattest kid in the entire class stands up and projectile vomits all over his clothes, his arts and crafts, his table buddies and everything around him, including at least 20 letters to mom and dad. It turned into a puke-fest because everyone started gagging and puking right along with him. I remember seeing the vomit slowly flowing like lava to the end of the table, dripping onto the floor, taking out pencils, crayons and anything that got caught in it’s path. Big chunks of probably croissants and cheese were everywhere, and everyone was stepping in them. It felt like I was in slow motion, seeing every single chunk and string of mouth-goo take out an entire half a room. It was like a war movie but instead of bullets there was chunks of undigested food and instead of blood there was yellow bile. The room smelled like death within 30 seconds and that’s when it hit me.

My stomach started to turn instantly. My nose was pinching itself shut, my eyes were closing and suddenly I was running towards the bathroom and I don’t think my feet have ever hit the floor at such fast speeds since. What I’ll never understand is how I ended up being the only one in the bathroom, how all the kids that were literally a foot away from the toilet never managed to make it - but I guess having to shred some humility was the power being holding it for so long, but I made it. I did, however, make it straight to the toilet and did not have enough time to close the door from the other classroom that shared the bathroom. They were older children, meaner children and after what seemed like an eternity the teacher from the other class just shut the door behind me. I’m pretty sure she pretended like nothing happened and didn’t bother to see if I was going to die; clearly I didn’t. I literally wept as I vomited my little guts out. I ended up getting snot and voms all over my damn red sweatshirt. I waited until MY teacher knocked on the door to ask if I was okay before I came out. I had enough time to try to wash off my damn red sweatshirt, but it never took away the puke smell. I spent the entire rest of the week being completely humiliated, as if I was the one that started the puke-fest.

To this day, I hate puke. I hate puke to the point where if I smell it, even if it’s mine, I scream in horror like I’m being stabbed to death. I even have an aversion to wearing the color red. I only own one dress in red and I still feel like I can smell the vomit when I wear it, which is rarely. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that if you have a puke video for me to watch, just know that I never will. If you’re ever drunk and puking, I will be unavailable to help you. If you’re sick, dying and puking - I cannot be there by your side. I am horrified by puke. But at a minimum, this story of my hatred of puke came from it.

Inspiration.

Sometimes I don't understand why I don't have a nice bed. I literally spend all my time in bed. If I'm not cooking, I'm in bed. I literally have turned into a pile of wet shit because I cannot seem to NOT HURT SOMEWHERE which prevents me from doing anything other than living in my bed. Obviously I sleep and fuck in bed. But it's more than that. It's my writing. It's my tv watching. It's my (un)comfortable table when I don't want to eat downstairs. I literally can do everything other than take a piss/shit on my bed but i guess i can do that too if i lined my bed with plastic wrap. I'm considering custom ordering a 6 foot wide roll of plastic wrap and put it on the head of my bed and pull down when needed. I suppose this could be rather disgusting, but when you're as nuts as I am, I guess sitting in your own feces on your bed could possibly be an option in life.

Anyway, I'm back to being an invalid. Not INVALID as in YOUR CREDIT CARD IS INVALID but IN-VAH-LID. As in, cripple. I donlt know what I did but I can barely walk and I'm a miserable fucking bitch. I bitch, whine, cry, whimper, screech, scream, growl, bite and anything short of having rabies. Rabies will come along sometime later this week when I'm still miserable and I'm found laying in the middle of a park at night being bitten by raccoons and squirrels. I bet that would be more pleasurable than laying in my God damn uncomfortable bed that makes me want to jab myself with blunt and rusty objects.

My point is that my bed is a piece of shit. It's been a piece of shit since I got it and I've done nothing but complain about having a shitty bed and have done nothing about it for nearly 10 years and now I'm suffering. I think beds should come with a counter and count how many times the best has been rocked back and forth during tantric sexy times and after X amount of uses it either releases biological weapons of mass destruction or it blows up. I guess that would be a tactical move for a fascist president, a career I'm strongly considering.

You and me - we're two peas from the same pod, only to be torn apart and sold in different cans.

Sometimes an opening line on a blog can be really, really difficult. I just found myself sitting here at a pause. literally. like a 20 second pause, staring at that damn can picture and trying to figure out what the Hell to write. I opened this blog with certain things to write about, certain things to rant about, certain things to lie (or not) about.

Suddenly I start writing and every thought in my head I had literally disappeared. Imagine when you're at the beach and there's like 60 fucking seagulls and every time you see the flock of seagulls you need to run into them to see if maybe THIS will be the day where you either catch one or get close enough to touch one? Well, I am just that. I am chasing my own brain, for it only to break apart into a million seagulls and fly off into distance. I smile, I giggle - and then I realize that I am left with no seagulls to play with, I certainly didn't close enough to touch one and now I just looked like a damn fool running to them thinking I'd get one for once. I guess if I caught one I'd probably try to eat it because that's what I do with everything else.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that I am incapable of writing what I wanted to. It's probably because I'm either too deep in thought or because I'm not deep enough. You know sometimes when you're so deep into whatever you're thinking about you can't put it into words because no matter how you say it, or write it, it just doesn't make sense because they're just jumbled thoughts that are barely lucid in your own mind? Or maybe I am crazy. More than likely the latter, which is nothing surprising.

I should probably smoke a bowl, relax, get in my writing zone to get these thoughts out of my head but i will probably start having paranoia over my itching foot or i will have closed eye hallucinations of form interrogatories. the last thing i want to think about is lawyer work when i'm in la la writer's land.

i'll get back to this blog when i'm either really pissed off or just back to being plain ol' crazy.

Blood Thirsty.

The past week has been challenging. I feel like this is a week-long rite of passage test and if i do not argue with everyone in my path than i am not a fully-fledged Cuban woman.

In the past week I have argued with nearly everyone and now I'm on the path for pure blood. I might as well take up murder as a hobby because clearly arguing with idiots is not solving any problems. Lately I've been arguing about everything from politics (extremism/radicalism and lack of compromise and alternative answers), eating habits/choices (animal rights and tasty dishes), children (no thanks), marriage (no thanks), life (mine's great, thanks) and bullshit (literally).

See, I do not do well with people telling me what to do with my life. I've had more people in the past week telling me to do things in my life, all of which make ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE that I'm just at the point where the next person that tells me what to do I am probably going to put a bullet between their eyes and eat their brains with hot sauce. if currently no such thing as "mad human disease" exists, there will be by the time I am done. Cows will not be the only subjects of foaming madness.

The most ludicrous shit I've heard this week is that i need to get married and have babies because i'm not getting any younger. if someone could tolerate me for life that would be a devil's dream come true. i am like horny Satan; i need my dildo carrying, dirty-talking Saddam as my abusive partner. sometimes i need to get slapped in the face with rubbery red dildos and chained up in a ring of fire. I need to be told to "relax... guy" and be verbally and physically raped. The only difference is that since I'm a dirty Satan I'll tolerate it and eat it up rather than to banish him from Hell. And of all things, if i was pregnant, the baby would probably come out feverishly angry and try to eat me for subjecting it to my madness for 9 months. i wouldn't be surprised if i somehow had a glock 17 in my womb and when the fetus had fully formed hands it decided that suicide would be its best way out than to have to deal with me until i die and then incurr the costs of getting rid of me. i feel sorry for the bastard child i will have one day. that poor kid will need a lot of therapy.

Insatiability.

Chardonnay... The end-all of boundaries, internal filters and the barely measurable iota of sanity.

I'm considering a career in drunk blogging. Fuck sobriety and any ounce of hope I had in owning a Cuban restaurant. What i really need is a world-famous drunk blog. See, what I need to share with the world is that being a sloppy drunk can be a GREAT thing. What I've learned through Big-Bird and a couple of idiots that I know is that drunken honesty is the key to life. It will help you tell a person you love them. It will also help you tell a person that you want to fuck his/her brains out and when you're done you'd like to eat his/her body like a praying mantis would but only to be half-eaten and left alive with rabies. Honesty is infectious. It's necrosis of the mind. It's incurable, untouchable and painstakingly difficult to battle. Don't bother even trying to fight it because you will be left with scars so deep that all the laser treatment in the would could not erase away the memories.

Drips.

I want a caffeine drip. Caffeine keeps me going when I don't want to be - or have to be. Sometimes I wonder how caffeine is legal because I swear nothing can be worse (i say this with love) than a pseudo drug that is available everywhere: markets; gas stations; STARBUCKS; restaurants; movie theatres and probably public bathrooms and when I find that public bathroom I will never leave it. I'll be the creep in the corner stall with my pants down, glued to my seat ordering a venti latte to be delivered under the stall door. i'll keep buckets of quarters around me at all times for tips.

I just wanted to say that caffeine is the greatest thing in the world. I'm not trying to deflect the negatives of caffeine, but rather, support the goodness of the 'evil' world of arabica and robusto. to support my argument - here are a few 'unknown' facts about caffeine:

1) When you're wanting to diet and dieting isn't working, caffeine will curb your cravings for everything.

2) When you're tired, grumpy, hungover or in a comatose, caffeine will energize you without the side effects of a major drug habit. plus, it's not as costly.

3) Did i mention caffeine is cheap drug?

4) When you're stressed, hate life, want to kill everything and everyone around you and think your world is going to shit, caffeine will give you the biggest anxiety attack in the world to prove to you that YOU ARE NOT DYING and to worry/care a Hell of a lot less.

5) It makes conversation a lot easier. You'll become chatty, thus, taking over any awkward silence between people and allowing limitless banter to flow from your lips, drowning out any BS that may come from another person you'd rather not be talking to. and;

6) it's tasty. and i mean - sincerely. it makes everything taste good. it would make dog shit taste good if you dipped it in a latte or something.

For now, that will suffice as my argument to be pro-caffeine. Be prepared for a much more indepth, obnoxiously written post about caffeine. but i do ask that in the meantime, you support your local coffee shop (corporate or otherwise) and indulge in legal crack.

Filters.

I have disappointed myself. My mind has been flaccid and I'm not sure what I need to stimulate it. Clearly not drugs, not alcohol - food is always stimulating but it's just enough to get me by without falling asleep. I've had a couple of good highs being head deep in farmer's market bins with legumes and rice but I haven't had a major mind orgasm in a while and I guess that's why I have not blogged. Or maybe another reason is that I am just lazy and have chosen to occupy my free time by reading books revolving around nutritional anthropology, therefore making me just 1 step up above awesome because it just shows that I take my food seriously. The incessant need to know absolutely everything about food is just as bad as people with OCD washing their hands 100 times a day. I wash my brain so much with information that every once in a while it gets jumbled in my mind as one fatty, grizzled thought and then I sit there blank-faced trying to remember what I just read, with all my dates and names and miscellaneous mental notes i've taken. Sometimes it feels like someone crammed a ton of newspapers in my head, got frustrated with trying to find a certain article and then said FUCK THIS and lit it all on fire. Of course I feel like my head is made out of something flamable (is crazy flamable? is it even an element? can it be put on the table of elements?) and said fire just completely blows my mind off. Well, whatever chemical reaction it is in my brain, the outcome pisses me off. I just know that I know why British food sucks a fat one and although I get the reason, it does not mean that TODAY it should still suck. My theory is that what the English believe is "aint broke" they "aint fixin' it." Well, someone get a loud speaker and park me on Big Ben because I would like to proclaim to all of London that I can fix their shitty food problem with a bit of history and a plan to NOT keep repeating it. It's really that simple. I will fix the world, one shitty dish at a time.

Welcome to the Jungle.

Sometimes I get lost in my own mind. I wish I was a person that could take mushrooms and see what's really inside there. Unfortunately I'm a person of deep paranoia that can't smoke a couple of hits of weed without freaking out and think I'm being chased down by the Devil and wombats on skateboards. Lucky for me tonight, I'm tuning myself out with music blaring in my ears, ignoring what's around me, bobbing around like an apple in a pool of water and letting myself free. I make smoking pot such a production; I take it too seriously. I can't just sit around and laugh at things that are not funny. I have to plan out my soon-to-be feelings and prepare for it all. It's like I'm going on cheap and short lived vacation if done right. If not, it's a road trip to Hell. If one thing goes wrong on the ground I might as well just crash on take off because there's no turning back if there's nowhere to land. If I make it there, it's like a journey in my head, traveling through different parts of my brain and seeing and thinking of things in a different light. It's worth the trek if I can make my destination.

and i am, what i am, and i am, a trainwreck.

I think I've said this before, but a combination of being stoned and drunk is probably the most pain-numbing, relaxing feeling one could ever ask for - without being in a total comatose state and still being able to enjoy oneself. They key is to pace out the drinking and stoning - so that you get to yourself to where you're comfortable and happy, without going insane and throwing shit or wanting to puke on yourself. That's no fun. Do it right - relax and enjoy yourself. uh-huh.

Tonight at Nate's I decided tonight was one of the few nights that I leave my house and do one (much less both) things. Nate's house is a play pen... With all the toys, building blocks, coloring books and anything else a big kid could ask for. It also comes with fog machines, strobe lights, good music and fun people. The only thing that it is missing is a stripper pole and I would be really super stoked if he got one. I'm hoping Nate will read this, get inspired and go out and buy one. I'll practice until I can give Felix Cane a run for her money.

Somewhere mid-stone and off in lala thinking land, I realized that I try to think of too much stuff at once when I'm stoned. The problem is that if I'm drinking, I'm unable to process it deeply enough, especially long enough to write it down. That gets on my nerves. I like writing about everything I'm thinking about. The problem is if I get stoned without alcohol I can't let loose and enjoy myself. I put on the thinking cap until it's melted into my brain and I'm in over analyzing morbid Hell and I can't just enjoy my thoughts. I need to find a happy balance between the two. However, I did manage to text my mom of all people about some Cuban food-inspired ideas for new dishes. At least I have some ideas from tonight to work off of. Otherwise, all my deep thoughts I had tonight have been thrown out the window. Writing this blog with my headphones on and blasting 3oh!3 doesn't help, either. Whatever.

In other news, I made fucking delicious drunken clams for dinner and homemade kalamata olive bread rolls. This means that shin splints or not, I'm running tomorrow... mainly because I followed everything with some ice cream. it's true. deep down, i am a really fat person.

Cycles.

I guess now that I'm bound to my bed I should update until I am healed. I think at the slow rate I'm healing at, I might be out of commission for a number of weeks. Now that I had accustomed myself to an active lifestyle, I get restless laying around with ice on my legs all day. I find myself getting anxious sitting around. I even did 100 something crunches tonight to expel some energy. I think I did them wrong and will somehow make myself fatter, but doing so got rid of some extra energy for a short amount of time. I later found myself playing with coconut cream and other miscellaneous items I found in the cupboard. As it turns out, there's a lot I can do with coconut cream. All I need is an ice cream maker and I will retire myself from running. That way I can be fat and happy.

I stole some of my dad's darvocets and have been cutting them in quarters, taking a quarter of a pill every 4-5 hours. It works relatively well without making me miserable and sick like taking a whole pill would. I should probably to go the doctor and get my own, but that would take effort. Stealing the same pills she would give me means I save time and money. I prefer the effortless and free approach to drug use. I figure if you have to spend money on drugs, then either you're not a good enough druggie or you're really terrible looking. Smart druggies and good looking druggies should either be clever at stealing them or have ugly people wanting to give them to you.

Since I'm not really awesome looking I steal from my dad. It makes me feel like I'm 15 years old and obviously I'm lazy. The good news is that I only have a slight tingling feeling in my shins/knees versus pain that makes me want to cut limbs off. Somehow I feel like cutting off my limbs all together will release the pressure in my legs and that the rushing of blood all over my bed and floor will somehow make things better. Clearly, I am very morbid.

Last night I was up until almost 4 in the morning and I'm using more ice than my ice maker can make and attempted to sleep while being wrapped in ice. Aleve or whatever the Hell I took did absolutely nothing. If anything, it just made me angrier than I was before.

So, basically all I'm trying to say is that if you were me, you would adopt a drug addiction, too.

Sana, sana, culito de rana, si no sana hoy, sana mañana.

I haven't been able to blog lately because I keep torturing myself. Not that my hands haven't been working, but that my brain hasn't been able to process anything more than "OWWWEEEEE" for a while. I know that I have all sorts of problems with my knees, shin and ankles, yet I keep going. I'm like The Little Engine That Could, minus my perseverance and hard work are not paying off the way I want it to.

The weather permitted a nice hike on Tuesday. Dom and I just went for a nice long walk on an easy path off of Mulholland only because I was planning on running later in the evening. I wish I wouldn't have gone for that run because I think I blew out my shins for good. It's 1:00 a.m. and I'm laying sideways typing because I'm icing. I have a gigantic icebag between the insides of shins. it sucks. They have been hurting non-stop since Tuesday night and I literally iced them the moment I got back.

I'm resting my shins for the next week. I will get anxious, I will be bored out of my mind and borderline pulling my hair out but I will force myself to not kill my body any more than I already have. That is a promise.

baby, you're so unusual.

I need new knees. Normally I'm not such a baby about pain because I happen to like some pain, but knee pain is something I do not like, I cannot deal with, and now simple over the counter medications do not seem to fix any discomfort I may have. Look, I'm not even at quarter life yet and my knees feel like they're old, rusty and approaching 80. I wish I could be like everyone else and smoke a joint and suddenly all my pain is gone. No, I have to the the only freak in the world that has to over analyze why I feel the way I do, then my knee pain hurts MORE. Then I sit there and grab my knees and rock myself to sleep. It's so much more fun to be stoned when nothing hurts, then I can sit there and fall into my mind of food and think of delicious things.

Look, I am getting muscular and in shape. I'm almost at the point where I'm in the best shape I've been in the last few years. Not the skinniest, but definitely in the best shape. I'm sick of crash dieting and looking like a crack whore. If I'm going to look like one, I might as well start doing crack and whoring around.

I've been nothing but energy lately and I'm constantly wanting to be OUTSIDE and doing something. It makes sitting at desk 3 days a week for 7 hours a day agonizing. It's torture, really. Truly. Seriously. Who really enjoys sitting all day anyway? Fat people? The point is that I cannot continue this path to awesomeness with hurting knees. I will cut them off and replace them with robot knees if i have to. If not, I will develop a serious drug habit like Dr. House. Just fair warning.

Blister.

Well, apparently silicon handles get so hot they melt off the skin on my hand. Who knew?

Drawing blanks...

Blogging gives me a headache. Every time I open up blogger I run out of shit to write about. My life is interesting, yet it's boring. I guess you can say it's interesting to me and no one else, but I guess that's ok, right?

Since it's been too damn hot outside to hike, I've adopted something much more fun and relaxing as a hobby: swimming aka sitting on floating lounge chair. I get some exercise in too... barely. I've learned to balance swimming with running, it's a nice combo.

Anyway, as you can see, I have a pretty intense tan. Now, let me just say that - my tan line was much, much darker until I decided to pull my top almost completely off, enough to cover the nips... and still, I am still suffering with this horrible tan line. Not to mention... I have a raccoon tan from my over-sized Kanye West inspired glasses. I look like a tanning booth disaster. For the next few days I will be staying out of the sun.

There are no words.

Really, there are no words.

Curiosity killed the cat.

I don't have much to blog about today. That's mainly because I'm unbelievably exhausted and can barely think straight. I am also in dire need of reading glasses (but i can't seem to get on that).

Anyway. After playing basketball tonight, I watched Twilight at Katie's to see what it was all about. Well, I don't think I paid much attention to the movie because I was too busy thinking about how this movie would make an awesome porno. So now I am going to dedicate all my free time into re-writing Twilight into the best porno flick of all time.

I'd elaborate some more, but my eyes are closing. goodnight.

Apu Nahasapeemapetilon

I'm not exactly sure why I'm up at 3:00 am when I'm drunk and stoned. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure what the Hell I am supposed to be writing about. All I know is that I just sent Katie home in a cab with some guy that with a towel wrapped around his head and he was very irritated. Like, I'm borderline positive that Katie has probably been raped by now. He made sure to let us know how pissed off he spent $20 on gas to drive Katie 1.5 miles home. I guess it's his fault for not googling that Agoura to Agoura within the same fucking freeway exist is less than walking distance. We're Californians that don't walk unless we're in cute work out pants and tennis shoes so walking was out of the question. Basically, I decided for the first time in my life to not be Katie's DD which in turn cost me $20 to send her home via cab but it was worth it. It was worth seeing her drive away like she's been spanked, scolded and sent to her room for doing something terrible.

Tomorrow I will be curing my hangover by puking off the side of the boat. Wish me luck.