TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE.

Sometimes I just want to choke someone. I mean, I genuinely would love to wrap my pissed off little fingers around someone's neck, dig my nails deep into their veins and squeeze until there is lifelessness between my fingers.

I mean, haven't you ever had that feeling like the only way you'll be happy is if someone dies in exchange? Haven't you ever felt that death is the only solution for some people? Fuck rehab, fuck education, fuck forced sterilization, fuck it all. Give me a gun, bullet and a god damn human target. I feel like there are far too many worthless people on this planet. Too many people with no pot to piss on that act like they're entitled to something. HEY ENTITLEMENT BABIES, GET A JOB AND THEN YOU CAN SPEAK FREELY, UNTIL THEN, DO NOT SPEAK OR I WILL PERMANENTLY MUTE YOU BY PUTTING A .45 BETWEEN YOUR EYES.

I feel like while everyone was out partying this weekend for Memorial Day, I was stuck inside attempting to study, stewing in my own filth and anger and ready to explode. I've probably drank two or more entire pots of coffee today, I'm sweating brown bullets that smell like Peet's House Blend and I'm progressively getting angrier by the second. Thankfully my dad has *most* of our guns locked away, or at least the ones capable of serious damage, otherwise I'd probably take out my entire block because they've been pissing me off all weekend. I feel like I'm losing my mind little by little and I'm not sure I'm okay with that. Under normal circumstances I'd be okay with being a fucking nut job but this has been the weekend from Hell (what's worse is that I've barely moved all weekend) and this is no longer okay. I guess when my life was picture-perfect I was doomed for a bad weekend.

Thankfully when my finals are over at the end of this week, I might regain some inner peace and celebrate with a bottle of tequila. Sometimes I feel like I should have been born a dirty Mexican, eating goat meat and chocolate covered scorpions while drinking mezcal in some fucking mud hut somewhere in the middle of the desert of Oaxaca. Actually, my friend Seamus texted me yesterday saying he was hammered off of Mezcal and someway or another that dirty Irishman inspired my wanna-be Mexican life. So, thanks Seamus. I guess the reality is that I don't want to be a hermit anymore. I just want to be drunk, angry and speaking some fucked up language that no one understands.

Distraction.

I've been home for the past 48 hours and it sucks. I also smell like I haven't showered in 48 hours and that would be true. Don't act like you haven't gone 48 hours without showering. I'm supposed to be studying for finals but instead I'm taking video of my dog. :)

This blog is going to Hell.

I need to post a serious update soon.

FUCK YOU STREP THROAT.

How is it possible that I have strep throat again? AGAIN? CLEARLY MY ANTIBIOTICS DIDNT WORK.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Note to self:

When you lose track of how many pitchers of margarita you're having, have gone through an entire shift change and have had different friends come and go to visit you while you're on a drinking binge, it's time to get up and leave the restaurant. 8 hours of drinking at the same restaurant is never okay. I made new friends, made more enemies and had more tequila in my veins than blood.

I'm not moving from my bed today.

My very first video blog.

Bitch.

I suppose for being a very bloated cranky bitch and finding every excuse under the sun to eat EXTREMELY SALTY and fattening things while being sick for a week, I'm not looking as bad as I thought I would have. Now that I'm feeling better it's back to work out mode. I get asked a lot what I did food wise to drop the fat girl weight and be my old weight again and the trick is ample amounts of booze in conjunction with caffeine and not eating late at night. I pretty much eat what I want and because I'm fairly knowledgeable when it comes to nutrition and what I put in my mouth, I'm able to portion control with my eyes and I avoid fried crap and sugars. I don't need books and recipes. I HAVE MY WONDERFUL BRAIN THAT TELLS ME IMPORTANT THINGS THAT SHOULD BE COMMON KNOWLEDGE TO EVERYONE. I will admit about once a month I treat myself with In & Out well-done, animal style fries or I fry things for myself in duck fat but otherwise I don't REALLY watch what I eat. Calorie counting is for suckers. Just be mindful, it's really that simple. I must also admit I don't even work out all that hard, either. I'm not running miles and miles and miles or doing some sort of strenuous activity for hours and hours. I'm partly lazy and partly athletic and I somehow am able to translate that into getting my ass up and either dancing or hiking. That's pretty much all I do. I know you all REALLY care, so this is why I wrote this.

To continue my awesomeness, the semester is almost over and I'm being a slacker. Right now I should be writing a paper due tomorrow but there's not enough pressure on me right now to get it done. That aside, I have an A in this class that my paper is due in and there's pretty much nothing I can do that will severely impact that grade other than bomb my take-home final which is a 12 page research paper. I do not write anything less than an A paper with minimal effort, so my concern is at zero. The final won't get handed out until the 26th so I have a week to slack off in this class before I need to hunker down and give a shit. I have essentially locked in great grades in all my classes minus math because I hate math and although I will pass it probably with a high C or low B, I should have put in a hell of a lot more effort than I did. It's completely my fault for not doing as well as I know I could have. It seems like when I try to do math I get completely ADD and all I hear is FUCK MATH repeating over and over in my head. It's not that I am incapable of doing it and it's not that I don't understand it, it's the fact that I really, truly do not care about it and even adderall cannot help me.

As a side note, I've been listening to a lot of classical piano music lately. I've been somewhat melancholy about not playing piano the way I used to. I was listening to Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" (the real piece, not the simplified version for new piano players composed of a handful of notes) and it was blowing my mind how I used to play that when I was a kid and now if/when I have the ability to sit at a piano I can't play it anymore. I was classically trained for years and years for fuck's sake. In retrospect, I should have listened to my parents (once again) and continued the formal lessons. I guess after 12 years of being forced to play, I got over it. I was just completely burnt out. So of course I miss it now.

I know I said back in January I had my eye on a beautiful Steinway baby grand but sadly I don't think I want to make the investment in a baby grand when there's a list of other wants and needs that take priority. That, and I also got severely sidetracked by a few things so all this time passed without me making a decision on it. I'm going to go back to the piano store this weekend and see if I can find an upright Steinway at a decent price. Nothing sounds better than Steinway, and I would rather support an American company that has valued its employees since the company was founded. Anyway, while digging for beautiful compositions I stumbled upon "Requiem for a Dream" and I cannot stop listening to it for the life of me. I will learn to play it as soon as I get a piano which now that I have this in my head, will be significantly sooner than later. I NEED to to learn how to play this so I can stop driving myself crazy with it. Click the link below. Enjoy.

"Requiem for a Dream" on piano.

I'm alive.

Who knew getting strep throat was such a pain in the ass? I've had it before but it never really got in the way of my entire life before this past week. My normal GET BLACK OUT DRUNK SATURDAY NIGHT came to a grinding halt because of this damn strep. I just laid in bed all night and complained. and complained. and complained. All I could do was think how big of a wimp I am for laying around complaining instead of drinking a margarita pitcher with some goat tacos as chasers. I almost feel like I'm using my strep as an excuse and that if I really were the superwoman that I claim to be that a) I would have not contracted this disease in the first place and b) nothing could prevent me from drinking. It turns out that I'm full of complete shit and I'm not superwoman.

In all that time I spent laying around my house and being a miserable bitch I managed to be useful and wash my dog. I'm 100% positive she hates me as I've been having to demand her to sleep with me at night. It's really strange having a dog genuinely pissed off with you. It's like, what do you do? You can't have a logical conversaion with the dog and sit her down and say, "Look, you smelled like you rolled in cat shit and it's been a while since your last bath. Sometims you need to suck it up and do what you need to do in order to stay healthy." And even if I were to do that I'd look like a totally crazy person in front of other people and she wouldn't understand. So, there's no talking to her. I tried the whole "love me again because i'm giving you treats" method and she's clearly using me. I gave her permission to bite my mom's dog and she's still pissed off. I can't have her just dwell on the fact that she got a bath. I just don't know how to reason with a dog. If coaxing doesn't work, reasoning doesn't work, there's nothing much I can do. Beating isn't an option, I'd rather beat humans. I even went so far as to try reverse psychology on her and told her to get the fuck off of my bed and sleep on the floor. Once again, I am a pussy and I caved in first and made her come back on the bed. I'm just hoping my dog stops being pissed off at me soon. I can't handle having MY OWN DOG mad at me. Not only is it really weird to have a dog mad at you, it's even weirder to try to get the dog to be happy with you again.

You're all on notice.

Whomever is responsible for giving me strep throat, I will find you and kill you. I will literally hunt you down like a predator to its prey. After I've stuck a bullet in your brain, I will feed you to my dogs.

Bottom line, I am not pleased right now. Someone's going to have to pay.

Someone put a curse on my money.

Look, I'm not going to sit here and complain about my finances. If anything, I'm obnoxiously spoiled but that doesn't mean I don't deserve cold hard cash sometimes. I'm my grandma's one and only; I'm the love of her life. Every time grandma comes to visit she feels like I'm still 12 and gives me money. I can't say no otherwise she'll get mad at me, yell at me in Spanish and throw shoes at me. To make it worse, if I do say NO, I DON'T WANT YOUR MONEY, she'll give said cash to my mom that will hoard that money and remind me that I'm like $100,000 in debt to her from my previous shopping addictions and she'll "deduct it." In other words, I never see again. I've learned to take money for grandma, say thank you, give her a hug and a kiss and not ask questions. The last time I asked her why she was giving me $100 she said "because you need it." Apparently she's afraid I'm headed towards prostitution or cocaine dealing. Cocaine dealing runs in the family. I'm Cuban, you know, of course I have coke dealers in my family. Well, I did in the 1980s, then they got shot up like Tony Montana in a blaze of bullet glory. I was too young to know them so I guess it's not totally unethical to talk about it, right? Anyway, so back to grandma giving me money. The last few times she has given me money somewhere in the hundreds my dog will suddenly need emergency medical care within 12 hours. My dog went from being the healthiest dog on the planet that never took a bad step to suddenly being Queen Klutz and allergic to everything. It just so happens that yesterday my grandma gave me money on Mother's Day because she thinks I'm pregnant with a bastard child and I need to start a college fund for it. Coincidentally, today my dog ended up at the vet over severe allergies and left me with $12 dollars of grandma's money leftover.

Now, the issue I'm facing is telling my grandma to stop giving me money because someone put a curse on any cash that comes from her and ends up in my hands. I guess I could tell her that I take checks but then it would seem like I'm a thankless bitch. Voodoo seems like a valid option at this point, I'm just afraid terrible things will happen. Wish me luck.

Goat meat tacos.

My newest food obsession is a gigantic pile of braised goat meat in a soft taco. I don't exactly remember where in life I acquired a taste for goat meat, but I have a really sick love for it. I'm actually surprised I've never had a goat meat taco but then I realized it's because I do not hang out at enough authentic Mexican food places which doesn't make sense considering I live in Southern California and we might as declare California as an extension of Mexico since we stole it from Mexico anyway. After having these goat meat tacos on Friday while out with the bosses for lunch, I told my parents yesterday HEY WE REALLY NEED TO STUFF OURSELVES WITH GOAT MEAT TACOS SO LET'S GO and then we're on our way for goat tacos. Well, as we we sit down we notice that there's a table behind us that ordered a margarita pitcher. I say to my dad that we have no choice other than to order a margarita pitcher and my mom's like OH GOD YOU GUYS ARE ALCOHOLICS and I tell her to eat shit and deal with it. So as my dad and I polished off the first pitcher and we realized we're too hammered to move, we start arguing politics and religion (which is a normal argument in my house), so basically I'm explaining how religious people are full of shit (I'm devoted to Agnosticism) so within a few seconds my mom gets pissed off because she likes to pretend she's religious, then leaves me with my dad at the restaurant. We're hammered, we don't care that she left so what do we do? We order another pitcher. At one point in time my dad said he thought he was going to die and I said that's too bad because he is going to leave me with my crazy mom and I will have to find someone to replace him and I'm fairly certain he said something along the lines of "no one on this planet will ever put up with that crazy bitch like I do" and he's absolutely right. I'm just glad he didn't die at the table, that would have been really embarrassing.

At some point in time my mom showed up bitching that we were alcoholics and picked us up. I don't exactly remember the ride home other than I was borderline-vomit so I came home and laid on my floor and waited for my friend to come pick me up. After my friend Jamie picked me up I kept drinking like an asshole all night. Apparently he offered me some water and I said something about not having room for water and I didn't want to "mess up my drunk" and I only wanted to drink beer.

[insert black out drunk here]

This morning I woke up hugging a bottle of tapatio, leftover goat meat taco all over me and the room was still spinning.

I think it's becoming a tradition that every Saturday night I turn into a crazy awesome drunk.

Homewrecker.

Every night I'm subjected to watching the AshleyMadison.com commercials because they're EVERYWHERE and I cannot escape them even if I tried. By trying, I mean finding my remote and/or getting up to turn off the tv which is impossible once I make it to my bed. Normally by the time I get back into my hermit shell I'm incapable of thinking, much less moving. Now I'm trying to figure out why I'm justifying why I watch these commercials. They're commercials for fuck's sake, I don't control what's on the tv.

After seeing what seems like the 12498214124 commercial for Ashley Madison tonight, I have a sudden urge to sign up on the website and find myself some married man to sleep with. I figure that I've done a million and some terrible things in recent months, I might as well add "HOMEWRECKER" to the list. There are certain things I know I can't do, a least not legally and therefore I'm not posting it on here, but homewrecking is something I can't go to jail for.

That being said, I might need to sleep this off. I'm fairly certain I could find myself a married man and turn his world upside-down on every single level without the aid of Ashley Madison. Or maybe I'll let that little thing called karma loom over my head long enough so I don't do go forward and ruin relationships. I suppose this boils down to being completely dependent on my mood, which is always unpredictable.

I probably need to be put on a leash - but I'm the type of bitch that'll chew through it and run.

Sagia Castaneda, move over...

By far, Tuesdays are my favorite day of the week. Every Tuesday after class I meet up with friends at one of my favorite restaurants in the Valley. My love for this restaurant goes beyond the love of the food. My love for this restaurant is that I love every single person that works there. With its hippie atmosphere, it's a great place to just come and unwind, laugh and have fun without a worry in the world. I started going because one of my best friends works there and overtime I made friends with the wait staff, the owner's sons and other regular customers. Now, every single Tuesday I lose my mind being anxious the whole day until it's time for me to go. Today was like every Tuesday where I was pissing my pants waiting to get there. One of my best girlfriends, Jocelyn, comes every Tuesday and today was probably one of the most hilarious days I've had with her there. Well, for me it was hilarious - not so much for her.

Jocelyn is this petite little firecracker that's hard to not just love. She's gorgeous, witty, hilarious and TOTALLY batshit crazy. I have more nicknames for her than I should ever have for a person and all of them come with stories I can't post on this blog because I know she reads this and she WILL kill me. Just know that I have compromising photos of her that when she gets famous one day I will use them against her for all her millions. Come to think of it, I have entirely too many compromising photos of a lot of my friends. As it turns out, I officially never need to seriously get a job because I know at least a few of my friends will be famous and the ones that will be I can guarantee I have nudes of. My e-mail inbox will be worth millions in due time.

For months, I've been telling her that she has too many idiot friends in her life and she needs to colon cleanse herself of all of them and shit them out of her life. I've honestly never met a person that gets walked all over as much as her by idiotic friends that do nothing but cause trouble in her life. I used to feel bad for her but now I'm like HEY, I TOLD YOU TO HERMITIZE YOURSELF, THIS IS YOUR FAULT FOR NOT LISTENING TO ME AND LEAVING YOUR HERMIT SHELL TO HANG OUT WITH IDIOTS THAT DON'T UNDERSTAND THE FUNDAMENTALS OF FRIENDSHIPS. Anyway... So today she ordered her favorite veggie wok thing she always gets. It comes to her piping hot, piled high with veggies and she's literally ear to ear in smiles. She's literally saying how excited she is over all the veggies, how great the dish looks and smells. She's burning her mouth because she can't contain herself enough to blow on a hot veggie... She's in veggie wok heaven. Suddenly, phone rings. Of course, it's one of her dumbass friends that I do not approve of. I'm not kidding, she went from HAPPIEST GIRL ON THE PLANET WITH HER VEGGIE WOK TO RAGING PISSED OFF BITCH in less than 10 seconds. I don't remember exactly what happened with her friend, I just know her friend is an idiot and I learned how to tune out her complaints about her guy friends because I hate them all and they should probably all die a terrible death - but she finally figured out I'm tuning her out and turns over to her veggie wok that was making her the happiest girl on the planet to FUCK ALL THESE VEGGIES, THERE ARE TOO MANY VEGGIES, FUCK THIS and slams her fork down.

I literally dropped my cup of coffee, spit out everything that was in my mouth and just about pissed my pants in laughter. She got mad at me because I was rolling on the floor and laughing at her. I say to her, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW CRAZY YOU SOUND SCREAMING TO THE VEGGIES ON YOUR PLATE THAT YOU WANT THEM TO FUCK OFF BECAUSE THERE'S TOO MANY OF THEM?

If someone could please provide me with the name, phone number and address where I can pick up an IV drip of happy drugs with a remote control that I can keep from a distance, please let me know. I'm not sure if I can even associate with someone anymore that gets pissed off at veggies on her plate.

I guess it was one of those "you had to have been there" type of moments, but the fact of the matter is that the girl got mad at vegetables that she literally a second beforehand was just saying how happy she was with them. I'm not even sure that can be considered bipolarism. I'm not sure how to classify that. Looney bin material, that's for sure. Sorry, Jocelyn - you know it's true.

Aside from my crazy friend - and all her problems with her crazy friends - Somewhere inside of me decided to get gutsy and take a butt shot. I've had a few people in my life tell me I should do like sexy photoshoots with my butt being the focus - because we all know that Cuban girls have big butts. I even have a friend that's a really fantastic photographer tell me he'd love to do it and to let him know when. I'm thinking pictures similar to what you'd see from Vida Guerra or Sagia Castaneda. So, here, enjoy - a Cuban ass.

I'm back.

It feels so good to be on my own computer again.

Tumblers filled with pain.

This is the face of pain. This is the aftermath of red bull and vodka. This is the face that I don't want to see or feel again. This is living proof that red bull and vodka do not belong together - or at least not in my system.

Now that Josh moved out of Malibu and into Westlake, I can spent countless hours torturing him with my presence. We spent all of yesterday going to every single furniture store on the planet to furnish his new place. He needs everything - literally - everything. Somewhere along the line he has accumulated a ton of boxes yet the place still looks empty. Here's a picture of his "box monster" that he has created. To him, it's both his masterpiece and pet. I'd like to see it come alive, seek vengeance and eat him.

So after spending an entire day looking at furniture and finding nothing to suit his tastes aside from one really incredible lounge chair, we went to Whole Foods to get dinner ingredients. I made greek-style braised lamb shanks with fingerling potatoes - and of course to go with the greek theme I made my infamous fetabutter on crostinis with kalamatas. Dinner was divine.

Somewhere around dinner I decided to say FUCK YOU WINE and say FUCK YOU CLASSY DINNER and turn into a club whore and drink red bull and vodka while blasting Ruckus Roboticus. Now that Josh introduced me to Ruckus Roboticus, I have forever changed the way I feel about DJs. Anyway - the point is that I was up all night being a crazy drunk and babbling about nothing important to my knowledge. He wasn't mad at me this morning - at least no more than usual - so I wasn't that terrible I suppose. I remember waking up around 4 in the morning to pee and being completely disoriented, my heart racing and feeling like the grim reaper was following me. I literally felt like I fell into a vortex of death, complete with tombstones whirling around my head. I can't really explain how horrible I felt and I'm surprised I didn't vomit considering how close to death I really thought I was. I woke up in complete agony this morning and have essentially remained a vegetable all day. I tried to work out and somewhere while taking a break because of my dizziness I fell asleep with music blasting in my ears. I woke up to Britney Spears telling me she will not take me back after my world falls apart like shattered glass. Suffice it to say, I've been a complete mess all day.

Oh - and on another note - my new computer comes in tomorrow.