Christmas ham? Why not the whole hog?

I figure if you can't take a sawzall to the head of a pig, remove the brain and use them for fritters later --- then you probably have no business eating pork. This pork was my Christmas dinner for my family, friends, and some randoms. 60 pounds of pork meat goes a long way and makes for good times, especially when paired with a lot of booze.

The never ending house project.

So, about that move in October 1...

We would be moved in to our place by now if I wasn't such a cry baby and basically sighed and sighed and sighed and sighed every time I walked into our house and looked at that horrific kitchen that used to be there. Granted this kitchen is still not up to my spoiled, rotten child standards with slab Italian black granite and Viking appliances... But this is not so bad for a starter home. At least it's all new, even if it's on the cheap. I have a picture somewhere but I'm embarrassed to post it, being that it was going to be my kitchen until magically the kitchen got completely torn apart. Thanks boyfriend (who never reads my blog) for actually paying attention to, and understanding, what all those sighs were about. :)

Hopefully we will be in some time around New Year. I can't wait for our place to be done.

Food Lately.

The following pictures are the reason why my boyfriend loves me:

Spiced pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting.
White grits cakes with a spice cherry-cranberry compote, duck confit and a fried & salted sage leaf.

Chicken liver and black truffle pate.

Herb and butter crostinis with a gorgonzola-honey mousse, caramelized pears and a fried shallot ring.

Duck confit right out of the oven after poaching for 6+ hours.


Butternut squash soup.

Olive oil and garlic pizza topped with homemade veal sausage, mushrooms and fresh mozzarella.

The anti-sexy.

For Halloween, I decided to get creative and not be the stereotypical "sexy-something" that all girls feel like they need to be for Halloween. Sorry to all the women out there who feel the need to look as cheap as their costumes, but quite frankly, I'm just not into that.

So for my friend's party on Saturday I dressed as a mime. A very unsexy, very creepy mime. But that mime costume is not as fucking awesome as my dirty 90's-era hoodrat/chola that I was for Halloween night. What's sad is that I felt like I had to explain to a million people that I was not a fucking drag queen but a 90's era chola. While I get that the new-skool cholas ( 'newskool' is spelled with a k when saying that, right?) are attempting to look like poor LA hipsters distinguishable only be a twinge more makeup and gigantic gold hoop earrings, the 90's cholas were borderline drag queens and THAT'S what I grew up with.

Believe it or not, at one point in time I didn't live in a rich LA suburb. At one point in time my parents had very little money, both worked two jobs to send me to private schools to keep me out of the gang ridden schools. At one point in time I lived in a neighborhood where people barely spoke English (or Spanish for that matter), where welfare checks were spent on terribly long nails and cheap make up. Within this neighborhood were tons of gangbanger-vato-whatever don't look at him because he might shoot you people --- and a bunch of hood rats that all looked like drag queens. I feel sorta bad in some ways for my sheltered friends, because they didn't get to see those drag queens in flannel in all their glory like I did. What I did not do, which would have absolutely completed my outfit, was grease up my hair to make that wet curly look, but my hair would probably fall out if I put it through that sort of abuse.

I'm thinking next year I might go full blown drag queen. I mean, there's absolutely nothing sexy about a drag queen (sorry if that's your thing, but you clearly have sexuality issues you need to address). If not, I'm considering being the Cad Lady from The Simpsons. I'll borrow one of my grandma's old lady moomoos, put on a frazzled-hair wig, wear some furry sandals, carry around a trash bag and throw stuffed animal cats at people. If anyone has any suggestions for absolutely heinous costumes, let me know. I might need to have a "Half Way to Halloween" party sometime in the Spring and force everyone to come in costumes, just so I can dress up in something ridiculous and feel like the odd (w0)man out.

With that said, I hope everyone had a nice Halloween and if you dressed like a completely whorey-something, that at a minimum, you at least had sex that night. If you dressed up like a dirty hoe and there was not a penis in or around you that night, then I suggest maybe reevaluate your wrong-doings. Goodnight.

I never did talk about my trip.

I am seriously such a slacker. I have a mountain of things to do, seriously, and I've done nothing aside from laundry. I've done my boyfriend's laundry and my own, yet his is folded and mine is not. Lucky him. I also sat outside naked, enjoyed the sun beating down on my back and read a few more chapters of The Devil's Highway when I was supposed to be submitting resumes to find a 2nd job. As a sidenote, I believe every Californio should pick up this book and it doesn't matter where you stand politically, it's a good read on all those pesky Mexicans we always complain about. Don't act like you don't, because you do. Don't lie to yourself. And before you call me a racist, just know that my boyfriend is of Mexican-Yaqui Indian descent whose family has been here forever. So, can it. Just pick up the fucking book.

This morning I woke up on the wrong side of life today and everyone is managing to really piss me off. Because my boyfriend decided to plan MY ENTIRE WEEKEND for me with things-to-do including painting our house, I decided I better use this grumpy day of mine since my Saturday will be unavailable to read and relax. Sadly, this slack-time will inevitably bite me in the ass later on when I realize that I really did need to get X, Y, Z things done today. Whatever, I will deal with it when it comes.

I never really did talk about my trip aside from the fact that I fell in love with a horse; a damn cute horse at that. The picture above is with my brother who decided he hated California so much he wanted to move to bumfuck Kentucky. Actually, Kentucky is not as bumfucky as I had anticipated. It seems as though there's a good amount of coastal people moving to Lexington who have become tired of the hippies, the high taxes or just want an excuse to drink Bourbon daily and blame it on their newly adopted culture. I learned a few things about these MEAN AND TERRIBLE REPUBLICAN REDNECKS and you can consider these observations as blanket statements: These people are nice, REALLY nice. I've never met more considerate and nice people than in Kentucky. Kentucky folk have WORK ETHIC which is a true rarity it seems like these days. Kentucky folk do NOT shove Jesus down your throat other than in the true hillbilly area but in a really urban area like Lexington, Jesus isn't knocking on your door every other second. Not only that, but the state is CLEAN. My goodness everything is CLEAN. Eat off the road kinda clean. What I will say though is that no one eats healthy in Kentucky. I ate a Kentucky Hot Brown which nearly sent me to the hospital, cracklins', grits slathered in butter, some more pork products, BEERCHEESE which is another Kentucky regional food item which is a spread made of beer and cheese and it's disgustingly delicious and who knows what else I shoved down my throat. I seem to like doing that with fattening foods and other nameless things. That's what I gathered from Kentucky and it's a damn fine place to be. I don't blame my brother for moving. If Kentucky had better weather and mountains I'd be there in a heartbeat. Also, because I started my trip off in DC, I would like to make another blanket statement: HEY DC PEOPLE, FOR BEING A BUNCH OF POLITICALLY CORRECT LIBERALS, YOU GUYS SURE ARE ASSHOLES. I still love DC though, mostly because the women there are overwhelmingly ugly and the men are beautiful. I am seriously surprised more hot women don't go to DC to try to find a man. If I were single, DC would be a primo spot to find a good looking man. Just sayin'.

First post from my phone

Now I can blog all the damn time because I officially have the blogger app on my phone. Haaaaa!!!!

Neigh.

There is something terribly wrong with me... I might be getting back into horses again. Now while I know most of you who have read my blog over the years have read how big of a headache that was for me but I just can't help myself.

It started on my trip I just got back from. I went to DC/Maryland to help one of my best friends move her horse from there to Lexington, Kentucky. The trip was a lot of fun and most of it was completely ridiculous but that's not the point. The point is that somewhere along the line I decided to lose my mind and I fell in love with a horse in a field at midnight before I knew anything about him. As it turns out, he has an absentee owner who doesn't give an EFF about him so I guess my instinct was right. Now my friend is making her best effort to have the owners give him to me since he's practically abandoned. Of course out of all the damn horses in the world --- and out of so many available ones in California --- I find one in Kentucky. Of course. I'm going to spend $$$ to ship him to Cali but it's fine. He'll be living on the ranch with me at home which makes my life significantly easier and cheaper.

Whatever. If I don't end up with him I won't be getting a horse for quite some time... But ugh. Someone slap me.

You make yourself fat.

After eating like a fatso all day, I do not look so fat right now and that's good. I guess that whole working out thing does some good. Also, the more I'm toning up, the more my body is starting to resemble that of J.Lo or Shakira and I figure I should just speak in Spanish all the time. It might make my life easier.

On another note, I'm going to DC next week and I'm stoked.

Steaked-out.

I never thought the day would come where I've finally said to myself that I've had enough steak for a while. I've somehow managed to grab a hold of several fantastically well marbled ribeye steaks over the past couple of weeks at ridiculously low prices. Admittedly, I'm spoiled, so therefore my idea of low price is probably still really high for most people and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Either way, I've been wondering if I've been ingesting fat humans instead of steak as there are probably more well marbled humans on this planet than there are cows. Regardless, whatever I've been eating, has been fucking fantastic and delicious but I'm so done. Completely done. I thought I needed variety, and that's not true. I just need raw foods for my colon's sanity. I'm looking forward to eaten raw-vegan for the week, as the carne-ODing I've been doing has been making me forget about eating for 20 hours at a time until suddenly I realize I haven't eaten anything. Then of course comes the vicious cycle of "well I have some more meat in the fridge..." Creo que me voy a vomitar ahora...

However, my boyfriend couldn't be anymore spoiled rotten with his workin' man meals as I like to call them. Everything from steak with mushrooms and sauteed arugula, to Spanish-style steak with loaded potatoes, to Cuban-style steak over rice and a fajita style sofrito and plantains. The man can chow-the fuck-down. What I find the sexiest about my boyfriend is the fact that he's that stereotypical construction worker with his dirty jeans, heavy boots and baggy stained shirts and underneath his ridiculously filthy work ensemble is this gorgeous piece of man that can just chow down on 3-4 pounds of food and wake up the next morning like it never happened. I envy him in so many ways. While I skip the good stuff (the carbs) and eat a fraction of what he does, he just mauls away on bistec like it's the last he'll ever have. To top it all off, he'll finish with a fucking bowl of ice cream or something. That is just insane to me. Hot and disturbing, just the way I like 'em.


^^^ Boyfriend and pitbull between my legs. Cute, yet annoying.

On another note, I'm counting down the days until we're in our own place... October cannot come any sooner. Just the two of us and my dog until we get a Beauceron puppy. We went shopping today for our house and we ended up getting more kitchen stuff. He bought me new pieces to add to my ever growing Le Creuset collection.

I'm happy. What a strange concept.

Haircuts.

I am resorting to posting a Utah picture because the picture I want to post I can't. I promised I wouldn't. So, fine, have a picture from my trip last month.

This afternoon was a complete shit show at my parent's house. Should I even refer it to my parent's house even though TECHNICALLY I still live there? What do I call it? My home life is in limbo. I'm neither here... nor there. I'm not "officially" moved in with my boyfriend but I sleep in his room every night for the past who knows how long? I think the last time I slept at home was when I had pneumonia and I wanted to suffer in my own personal tropical jungle. Either way, I guess I can call it my parent's place since right now I'm not there, my dog is with me and we're FINALLY getting our own house in October.

Uh, that ramble was completely irrelevant but I felt like I needed a background story. Point is, I was home with my parents this afternoon while my boyfriend was working on his project car and I didn't feel like laying around in bed all day while he played with grease and tools. So at one point in the afternoon my dad asked my mom for a haircut. You see, my dad is very bright man when it comes to academics but the poor man has ZERO common sense. He sees A. He sees Z. He does not see B-Y and that has routinely been a problem. He has ended up in the hospital this way many times... And he's also ended up with terrible haircuts.

Today is not the first time my dad received a hair cut from my shear-impaired mother. I don't know why after he's seen her attempt to shave her old dog, and knowing that she left him looking like road kill, why he'd ever ask once. The first time was a disaster. Today was round two of a bad hair cut. I may or may not have been home or paying attention as this haircut transpired. I honestly don't remember the cause of the shit show actually happening. I just know it did. I think it's even possible that my mom let my dad leave the house with the aftermath of the tornado of shears hit his head. Worse, I think he even trusted her enough that she did a good job that he didn't bother to look in the mirror to see how the back of his head looked. Either way, a number of hours had passed by the time I lifted my head from a bag of seaweed snacks to see my dad walking past me. When I told him to go look in the mirror over his head he immediately remembered why he does not let my mom cut his hair. Needless to say she took out ENTIRE CHUNKS OF HAIR and then left everything around it long. Ive only seen this type of bad haircut on homeless people, punks and fraternity boys during their hazing. It was bad. really, really, really bad. so bad.

Now, while I personally think my dad missing chunks of hair like he got attacked by an angry squirrel is completely HILARIOUS, it's borderline trivial. While I KNOW my dad can sometimes channel his inner village idiot and it's clear he falls into a cycle of stupid mistakes, what I want to know is, WHAT THE HELL is my mom's problem?

I mean. It's a simple pair of shears. How hard is it to shave a head? Why must one act so completely baffled at a pair of shears? It has one button for crying out loud: ON. It's not like she was given some sort of difficult piece of machinery and asked to split atoms. She was asked to give a buzz cut. I'm not entirely sure how it could possibly be such a difficult task for her but apparently it is. Either that, or my mom is a significantly bigger bitch than I thought and she did it purposely. I'd like to think it's the former but my mom is a fairly smart woman. Well, either way, I was forced to fix her fuck ups although I did request a picture of it in exchange. I might post it one of these days when my lurker parents are least expecting it.

Apparently I've never had tolerance for stupidity.

You know, sometimes it feels good to call up my grandma and say to her that I'm coming over to bring her lunch because I love her to pieces. Actually, it was mostly an effort to make my mom look like the biggest bitch daughter ever, but I do love my grandma to pieces. I navigated through that shit hole valley just to bring my grandma a glorified happy meal and hang out with her for a couple of hours without my REAL BITCH of a mother in a hurry to leave so she can ramble about politics on the internet. If that bitch was skinny she could have made a great politician's side piece but sadly she is suffering from a case of the fatsos.

So while hanging out with grandma and giving her plenty of time to get her reminiscing out of her system for at least a month by going through countless photos and other miscellaneous items, I came upon this gem posted above. Apparently grandma is a packrat and has all sorts of useless crap a normal person wouldn't keep. For example, my very first Sanrio/Pickachu/whatever the eff creepy Japanese diary when I was 7 years old. All I know is that when reading my very first diary, I came to realize that I've been a whackadoo since I was a kid. I've always never had an ounce of patience for anyone or anything and I'm not sure it's because I'm an only child, because I'm spoiled or because I'm latina or a really sick combination of the three. Either way, it was evident that every time I wrote in my diary I was irritated. I wish I could apologize to Mrs. Gip[b]son for thinking her class was stupid and not worth going to, but the reality is I've always been a good judge of stupid. She probably was stupid and I'm sure her class was horrible. I wish I remembered who the Hell she was so I had some good stories to tell. My tiny seven year old brain decided she was boring and stupid enough to forget. Maybe she is the one who refused to let me go pee because she was in the middle of teaching spelling lesson or something and sent me to the back of the room. Maybe she is the one that made me pee my pants in the chair in the back of the room because she refused to let me go. I had a sense of shame as a child so I never told anyone. I was also very crafty in my peeing-in-class abilities because I never got caught or questioned for it, either. Maybe that cunt did realize that I pissed in her fucking chair because I REALLY DID NEED TO PEE and she would have been fired had the school found out she refused to let a little kid pee. Pretty sure that's illegal. Either way, fuck that teacher. I hope it was Mrs. Gip[b]son. That would be pretty awesome if I channeled my inner 7 year old rage and HAD to just write down she was stupid.

In my other writings, I wrote about how I had to play the piano in front of 500 people and I was really nervous but it did not suck so bad but I was pissed I had to go. Then another one of my writings was how I was really annoyed my cousin came over to spend the night and all she wanted to do was play Micky Mouse Nintendo. I also called the game stupid. (Note the power of good marketing: As a 7 year old I spelled "cousin" as "cousen" but capitalized the N in Nintendo and spelled it correctly)

All in all, I haven't really changed since I was little. I still have zero patience. I'm probably in negative figures now. I still write in my blog when I'm frustrated. I still think nearly everything is stupid. I guess I am just happy to know that even as a kid, I've always been opinionated and I've always been myself. Looking back, I was a damn cool kid.

About to get real busy-like. Say that with a Southern twang.

Someone Eff me in the A.

August better be an awesome month of relaxing because September is going to be damn busy. One of my best girlfriends that lives in DC (see previous posts of me visiting her in DC) is moving to Kentucky with my brother Sept 1. AS ROOMIES. NOT LOVERS. LET ME CLARIFY THAT. So I'm flying out to DC and we're driving her truck and ponaynay trailer to Lexington, Kentucky. My plan is to have as much fun as possible until I see my brother... Then make his life Hell for the remainder of my visit because I haven't done that in almost a year and a half. The majority of the drive will be through West VA which means I plan on running into Jesco White and the rest of that fucked up redneck-hillbilly-white trash-tweaker shit family or at least their doppelgangers. I have a suspicious feeling that I'll be seeing what Palmdale would look like on tweak filled steroids. I hope Palmdale doesn't get any ideas anytime soon.

So after I run over to the east coast, the following weekend I'll be in San Diego with my boyfriend for my Godfather's wedding. I CANT BELIEVE THE MAN IS FINALLY GETTING MARRIED. So strange that he's settling down and he's not the bachelor party Godfather anymore. Totally insane to me.

After that is my boyfriend's birthday which I haven't even started planning for... Then the weekend after that we're moving into our own place. JUST THE TWO OF US NO WITH NO ROOMIES OTHER THAN MY (OUR) DOG.

Busy times ahead. O_o

Message truncated due to lack of care.

I've been exhausted of everything that is a glimmer of care or apathy for anyone other than myself. That being said, I'm tired of myself. I'm bored, I'm restless and I'm too caught up in my own mind to give a damn about anything. All I want is new adventures and new hobbies. I want something. anything. I miss jiu jitsu but I don't miss the idiot people in that sport. It was a lot of fun, but out of the 129038120398102938120983 people training, only 3 of them were genuinely good people. The rest were a bunch of fucking retarded perverts, or just plain retarded. I also learned that men are far more dramatic than women. THAT surprised me greatly. I'm glad my phone no longer blows up with drama from the gym.

Yesterday I went for a hike by myself with my dog. My fat bitch crapped out before I did, LONG before I did, so I turned around and took her home. I really need a steady hiking partner. I thought I had one, but that turned out to be another cruel joke on me. I somehow repeated what I thought I left. I need to figure out how I keep ending up in this cycle because I'm tired of it.

Adventures.

I have a shit load of pics from Utah. I am entirely too lazy to post all of them on one post so I'll just extend them out per blog entry. That's me in the white shirt with the camelback over my head. That hike was awesome and I ate shit 3 times in the water slipping over rocks with my expensive ass water shoes on. So much for supreme grip. Even better, there were a few parts entirely too deep for my short ass and I had to swim it. Even better than that is the gigantic German who passed me saying I was too short for the hike but in really broken English. Thanks German dude, I'm well aware of my midgetness. Turns out I survived hiking in a river and my lack of altitude didn't effect me too much. I'm Cuban, us Cuban folk have been supreme swimmers since the 60s.

Now I have a bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney. I figure if my fatso Dad did it in the 70s then I can do it today. I'm pretty sure that bastard has never been in shape. Sometimes I ask my mom why she married him because she was pretty good looking before she got fat, too. Then she's like "well he was nice" and I'm like yeah but he's fugs and flabby. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad a lot but we wouldn't call him Danny Darwin if there wasn't a reason for it. Sometimes I look at him and I get pissed at her for procreating with someone that looks like Shrek, knowing full well that I could have come out looking like his mini Shrek-looking mother and that could have meant 100k in plastic surgery on her end to fix me for doing something so dumb. Every morning I look in the mirror and although I will never be satisfied with myself I am just thankful that I did not come out looking like my Hungarian side of the family. What terrible looking people, for real. I'm just glad my dad is also half Cuban whose family is good looking so that put me on the decent scale. It also gave me the fat gene but I've been battling it by living the paleolithic lifestyle. You know, walking up mountains and eating berries, greens and meat. That's the key to NOT being a fatso Cuban: Go for a damn walk up a mountain and put down the mojito, fried plantain and cigar.

I'm not sure how the bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney turned into a rant about my fatso family and bad Hungarian genes but it did. Fuck it. My point is that I'm going to climb that mountain. Permits are sold out for the summer so I guess unless I get into a lottery to get a permit I will have to wait until next summer. There's NO FUCKING WAY I plan on climbing that mountain in the winter or early spring months. Fuck no. I have some big balls for a miniature female but not that big. I'd like to minimize the possibility of me dying via avalanche or lose a limb to frostbite. Nope, not happening.

Oh, by the way, I feel seriously sorry for anyone whose life is composed of nothing but shopping malls and clubs. The more I explore the world and see nature's beauty the more I feel sorry for shallow people. Shallow people, go kill yourselves. No one needs you.

Back from Utah

It was one Hell of an adventure.

Perverts.

Here's another article from the journal of DUH: Men are fucking perverts.

When I opened thisblog I decided to check on my stats to see how quickly hits on my page dropped. Well, my hits haven't really dropped much at all. I have over 60,000 hits on this thing due to pervy men looking up "Cuban Ass" on Google. It's evident that I've talked specifically about my Cuban ass on here and it's even more evident that men are obsessed with Cuban asses. Or at least 60,000-ish men are. 5,000 are from South America. I might just start every new post with a close up of my ass and talk about my Cuban ass until Google starts paying me to post pictures of my ass. GOOGLE, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?? I WANT SOME DAMN MONEY. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Google me. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Cuban ass. Page impressions. Cuban ass. Keywords. Cuban Ass.

This sorta reminds me of my conversation a few hours ago with my good friend in DC that I accidentally ass typed to her "aal lah" or something along those lines to her and she sent me a "WHAT?" followed by some more question marks as I didnt respond since I was busying fucky or something. I came back with and replied ALLAH and then told her I was busy with my extremist ways and terrorizing. Then we talked about how Big Brother and the NSA are probably monitoring me RIGHT NOW so I figured I might take it a step further and say ALLAH ALLAH ALLAH TERROR TERROR TERROR and see if I start getting hits from Afghanistan. I'll probably get some creeper commenting on here pissed off that I mentioned Allah's name in vain. Whatever. I don't care about your Allah.

Ok, I'm done fucking with the government today. NSA, I'll be back to TERRORIZE you tomorrow.

Beer shits

Why the Hell am I up at 3:45 in the morning? Oh, that's right, because my stomach woke me up to this wrenching pain that made me want to gut myself. What a fucking horrible thing to wake up to. Stomach pain really is the shits. Worse, I have a headache too. What a real cunt.

So earlier today I got LE DRONK (see drunk picture above) at my bestfriend's house for the 4th and swam around the pool for hours channeling my inner fish. I swam around a bunch while drunk to 1) challenge myself not to drown and 2) burn off booze calories. I hadn't eaten anything all day and for the first time in months I decided to stuff myself with wheat beer and chips and apparently an entire habanero pepper in less than 3 bites care of Daddy Mason who likes to put holes inside my intestines. Basically all the things in life I typically stay away from (with the exception of habaneros) I decided to overload on today. What a fucking terrible mistake. I think by beer 3 and half a bag of chips I was borderline vomits just from the carb overload. I really can't do that to myself anymore. If I have to be the creepy person who brings her own salad and green tea to the party I guess I'm just going to have to do that. Had I behaved myself I wouldn't be here suffering with a double whammy headache and buttache at nearly 4 in the morning with work looming around the corner. My dogs, and by dogs I mean Doberman and boyfriend, are soundly asleep while I am researching how to disembowel myself without dying. Lucky them, because if they were awake I'd make them suffer with me. That's the fascist way to do things, right?

Whatever, so long as I don't end up having that leaky butt syndrome where you can't hold your shits I guess I'll be ok. I actually know a couple of people with leaky butt syndrome. One shat her pants while driving somewhere important and the other can't go anywhere without needing to shat his pants every few minutes. I actually know someone else who has leaky vagina syndrome who fucking pees every other 5 minutes... And basically when she has to pee and there's no toilet she says FUCK YOU WORLD, YOU ARE MY TOILET and I've seen her piss on a West Hollywood dyke bar's dance floor, on a street corner, next to a club entrance all while in front of a ton of valet people, in someone's bushes on Laurel Canyon and she cut off a crazy midget in a wheel chair at a hot dog stand's outdoor restroom and flooded it. Needless to say this was all in one night. There were numerous other pee pee stops, but none that were insanely memorable, just annoying.

ya no te veo, ya no te quiero.

Fail. Pure blog fail.

Sometimes I get a stick up my ass to blog about something but then I open this fucking thing and the words get lost. It's not even so much of a lack of things to write about, but rather the inability to put emotions or thoughts into words. Sometimes I can't even put a straight thought together in my own head. Maybe that's just a brain fail.

I opened this blog without even looking at my previous blogs. I don't know where I left off, when I blogged last or if I have posted anything of value since my last blog. I'll assume probably not since nothing has happened in who knows how long that's really post worthy. Other than me being like HEY I'M NOT FATSO ANYMORE everything else is the same. Not that it even matters because no one reads this anymore. I actually prefer that. I'd like this blog being public without it being constantly scrutinized. Believe it or not I've slowed down from the Facebook world as well. Yes, I'm still on it all the time but my updates are radically slowing down. Ideally I'd like to remove myself from the entire internet world, but that probably won't happen. The best I can do is lurk and blog anonymously, but even that will take time. I'm like a really bad addict trying to rehabilitate myself. I can't cold turkey without relapsing. I just need to make a conscious effort to slow... slow... slow down until it's dwindled to nearly nil. What a fucked up goal in life.

Waking up this morning I felt different. Maybe my own Berlin was torn down in my sleeps. I'm not sure. Less conflict and more clarity. But I woke up and the way I once processed my thoughts and feelings switched to reverse and I find myself back to square one. Sorta like my hard drive was wiped clean, although I'm positive my brain is still viral. Last time I found myself feeling like this, bad things happened. Really bad things. Cruel and unusual punishment to the mind fucking degree that were probably unwarranted, but I don't care. I guess once my brain shuts off, it shuts off. The switch is broken and cannot be replaced. All you can do is tear it down and rebuild. The problem is trying to build something out of a pile of shit --- Worse, REBUILDING something out of a used pile of shit. It's just not worth it. Doesn't that sound absolutely terrible? It does to me.

Enough of my ramble. I'm not even making sense to myself anymore.

I saw Transformers 3. I'm not sure whether I liked it because it was actually a good story or because they got rid of that cunt Megan Fox so therefore I liked it. Maybe it was a combination of the two. I am stupidly attached to that Bumble Bee transformer and every time I think it's going to get killed I get really sad. Sorry if you haven't seen it but GOOD NEWS! He doesn't die. I hope I only partially ruined it for you.

Oh, and I'm going to Utah next week or something. Whatever.

Ehhh, ok, I'll stay.

No, I didn't get implants. What I did get was a really fucking expensive push-up bra that makes my tits look big (for me) and that makes me happy.
I guess bras like these can delay me getting implants. The good thing about having small tits is that they're perky. Really perky. 13 year old perky. All my friends with big tits are getting old and so are their tits. Old tits just aren't attractive unless you like granny porn, and that's just weird. Anyway, enough about my small tits.

So I posted that I was going to get rid of this blog and then I got bipolar again and decided to keep this blog. I've decided to have a happy medium and do both. When I'm hormonal and want to kill the world, I'll take my rantings over there. When I don't give a fuck and feel like writing stupid shit because I'm bored and can't sleep, I'll post here. Cool? Cool.

On a semi-related note, I find it really fucking creepy when anonymous readers go back months, often times a year or two or three and then comment on an old ass post. I get that my blog is public and I get that by me posting public shit that you have the right to say whatever you want, but that doesn't make it any less creepy. HEY CREEPIES, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE CREEPY, AT LEAST GIVE UP YOUR NAME! I HATE RESPONDING BACK TO ANONYMOUS PEOPLE! Just thought I'd throw that out there. Creeps.

Since I have too much to update, I'll just post a few notes about my life.

First and foremost, I HAVE BEEN WITH MY BOYFRIEND FOR A YEAR. WTF? Where did the year go? As it turns out, I still don't hate him and I still love looking at him naked. Big plus.

Secondly, I made my goal weight for my initial weight loss. I did it by eating a lot, semi-working out, having a lot of sex, giving up alcohol and tripling my coffee intake. With that said, I plan on dropping another 10 pounds and then I'll be thinner than I was in high school. It's awesome to be at a point where all my new jeans are too big for me. When I went to the east coast in November, I took my smallest pair of jeans that I barely fit in and I forced myself to wear them even if I had a muffin top so I wouldn't over-eat all over the east coast. Now I can take them straight out of the dryer and I'm swimming in them. Damn fucking right.

Third, I had family come visit me from Hungary I didn't know I had. Apparently when my dad lived in Hungary he stayed with them and whatever. I thought all my family from Hungary was Jewish and died in WW2 except for the few that came here. Apparently this family is Catholic and didn't get gassed or burned or a combo of the two. I'm not sorry if that seems insensitive. My grandma survived Auschwitz, so I don't give a fuck. Anyway, so this family I thought was going to be all shitty like my grandma but as it turns out, they're cool people. Probably because they're Catholic and didn't grow up with that I ALMOST GOT GASSED OR BURNED guilt looming over them all the time. So my dad and my cousin Miki who's just a few years older than I am have been e-mailing each other in that horrific language they call Magyar and are planning on sending me to Budapest sometime in the Fall. THANKS FAMILY. I don't know what the Hell I'm going to do in Budapest without my dad around. I can only say a few words in Hungarian, most of them are food related. At least I'll know how to order. My dad taught me how to say "I just shit my pants" in Hungarian but that's not going to help me at all, at least I hope I don't have that problem throughout Budapest. I don't understand how my dad speaks that fucking terrible sounding language fluently and never taught me. NEVER. I don't see how all these years I've learned Spanish, I was in a private French-only speaking school for a couple of years and kept up with private lessons, then they put me in a Russian speaking only Catholic Saturday school for a short amount of time but NEVER bothered to teach me Hungarian? DEAR PARENTS, YOU GUYS ARE STUPID. REALLY STUPID. NOW I NEED HUNGARIAN AND ITS YOUR FAULT I DON'T KNOW IT.

At least if I go to Budapest I have an automatic visit to my family in Madrid because if I'm going to fly across the pond I'm NOT going to just fly over Spain and go SORRY FAMILY, YOU ARE NOT WORTH THE $200 FLIGHT FROM BUDAPEST TO SEE. Hell no. I love my family and Madrid too much to ever go to Europe without making at least a few day stop. YAY, A LANGUAGE I CAN SPEAK!

I guess that's it. Goodnight, creeps. Especially you, Anna. Amanda, you too.

tomorrow is my birthday.

and if this weekend is a precursor to what tomorrow will be like, i might as well just stay in bed all day. this one takes the cake for worst birthday ever. what a terrible weekend this has been. actually, what a terrible month this has been.

Something's really fucking fishy.

Besides the fact that I might blow up my fucking piece of shit Cadillac, some shit just isn't adding up and I'm really pissed off about it. The problem herein is that I am vengeful. Oh well.

Amanda says my blog sucks.

When your best friend tells you that your blogs sucks, the only way to rectify the suck is by slapping yourself and snapping the fuck out of it.

Let's get this straight, there's nothing too terribly wrong with me. Sometimes I'll get something stuck in my head and need an outlet and my twitter is littered with random people who tweet me weird shit so I put it on here. APPARENTLY AMANDA THINKS MY RANDOM THOUGHTS SUCK. Well, next time she thinks I suck I'm going to buy a strap on, bend her over and destroy her lady parts and wonder if she'll think I still suck. Maybe after I put her in a wheelchair she will, but not during. JUST SAYIN'.

In the life of me, nothing is new. There really isn't anything to blog about. I haven't killed my boyfriend, although he thinks I'm trying to make him fat. Maybe a little. Just a little. But only because I get off watching him devour plates of food I make him rather than get off on body fat. It's a different kind of totally fucked up fetish. What else? I got my very first cavity filled, I dreamed of blowing up my car and then almost went forward with it. I went on a carrot cake baking binge but sadly not an eating binge. This whole "omg I weigh almost what I did when I was 17" thing has consumed my life and possibly in a creepy way without the vomits.

Otherwise, life is good. Now leave me alone.

hard restart

I have you now,
Just in my dreams,
You came with my glass slipper.

It all adds up.

and then the switch is flipped off.

Possibly not.

Can you love a person that's in love with someone else?

Pneumonia.

Being sick is a terrible thing. Being sick and then catching pneumonia is an even more terrible thing. Note to self: Get a fucking flu shot next year. I've been sick for going on 3 weeks now. What a joyous few weeks I've had. Really. Hacking up balls of phlegm, unable to eat without coughing so hard I throw up my food, blood panels, a million and a half pills, a ton of vicodin cough syrup which makes my brain not work (which I suppose is the only perk of being ill), doctors visits galore, oxygen therapy that gives me uncontrollable shakes, no longer being a fan of my once favorite tea, never wanting to see a bowl of soup again... I'm assuming you get the picture. I'm tired. Just plain old tired.

Quarantine.

I'm currently under quarantine. I spent the entire weekend sweating in my sheets trying to fight off a flu and then after suffering for so long I decided to end this battle and go to the doctor. I feel so vulnerable when I go to the doctor. I get poked and prodded, get touched with very cold instruments and very cold hands. I get questioned like I'm a drug addict looking for a fix with some prescription sizzurp and pain pills. I must be an incredible actress to somehow fake the ocean of snot in my lungs and I purposefully sat in a 150 degree sauna so I could temperature out with a decently high fever.

Anyway, so being bed ridden means I'm spending a lot of time with myself and not even in the kind of way that I'd want to. I'm stuck in my bed with my dog and my tv. Apparently I need reading glasses because reading with a fever equates to the biggest headache I could NEVER want. So, TV it's been --- and there's nothing of value on TV. Anywhere. Either I am stuck with the ever so politically correct children's shows or Bob Ross. Even Paula Deen doesn't make for quality TV anymore. Seeing that fat old granny make all those sexual advances on her guests and mouth fuck sticks of butter like they're dicks just doesn't make for decent TV anymore. Bridalplasty? Married to Rock? Jersey Shore? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF HUMANS ARE WE GLORIFYING IN THIS WORLD? People who have accomplished nothing? Who prefer to fuck around, get in bar fights, marry for money, swim in plasty surgery, money money money?

The bitch that pisses me off the most is Kris Jenner. HEY KRIS JENNER, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, YOU WIN THE WORST MOTHER ON THE PLANET AWARD. I THOUGHT DINA LOHAN WAS BAD BUT YOU'RE FAR WORSE. YOU MIGHT AS WELL DROP OFF ALL YOUR KIDS AT BROTHELS AND FORCE THEM INTO SEXUAL FAVORS FOR MONEY. MAYBE MAKE SOME MORE AND SELL THEM ABROAD FOR CHILD PORNOGRAPHY.

And don't get me wrong, I'm totally FOR women working in brothels --- so long as it's on the woman's own terms and it's HER decision. But this Kris Jenner bitch seriously is just whoring out her daughter for her own benefit. And I get that *most* of her kids are adults, but exploiting her adult children is a REALLY BAD example for her under aged children. If it weren't for the fact that Bruce Jenner is a decent human being those kids would probably be a bunch of freeloading junkies. And how the hell is that Khloe bitch related? I want a paternity test. I demand her father's body be exhumed and there's a paternity place test. That beast is something draggy with shit for an attitude.

The only quality TV I'm getting in this Godforsaken punishment of influenza is Sex and the City. and you know what? I always hated this show. I still sorta hate this show. Sometimes I want to take that Miranda cunt and punt her across the room. Her character of "oh me oh my I'm so successful no one wants to bang me because I'm successful" drives me up the fucking wall. No bitch, no one wants to bang you because you have a bull dyke haircut on top of being a ginger with a negative attitude. They casted a lesbian who can't even remotely play the role of a hetero. CMON. It's like the writers of this show didn't even try to make Miranda even remotely enjoyable. Charlotte also pisses me off but only because I want to put a gagball in her mouth and tell her to take it like a big girl, shut up and get over it. I'm like a fucked up version of Samantha and Carrie but TOTALLY dating Mr. Big. My boyfriend is absolutely Mr. Big in so many ways that remind me of how I should really slap him sometimes but then my inner Samantha kicks in and I'm happy as a pig in shit. I'm glad there are no new episodes of this shit to ever plague my TV. Reruns of the same old shit. I can't be comparing myself to crappy old hags that have drinking problems because I have nothing better to do.

Murphy's Law

Do you ever wake up on the wrong side of the bed and shit just doesn't go right all day? Like stupid fucking shit that makes you question if you're having a fucking mini stroke because it just doesn't make sense otherwise? As in, spilling shit all day, knocking shit over all day, falling, getting blocked out of my car with no way to get inside of my car, misplacing things... Just to name a few. I mean, really. What the fuck kind of weird shit did I do to get whatever fucked up karma a'la Murphy's Law today? Even worse, I received some fucking letter in the mail from some crematory for me to be aware that I am going to die soon and I need to be prepared for when I die, so I don't leave my dead body for someone else to pay for. Hey, fuck you crematory, I don't have kids yet and when I do I will make sure those money sucking little bastards pay for my funeral. Their inheritance will be spent exclusively for my grandiose mausoleum made of white granite with statues of half naked men in ancient Grecian attire. By Grecian attire I actually just mean those wrap up sandals and a grape leaf headpiece. And by half naked I mead fully naked with hard ons. Big hard ons. Fuck you, future kids. Since I'm forced to go out, I'm going out in style and I will stay stylish until the Earth blows up.

Off Switch

Fuck, I am pale. I am almost at abominable snowman levels. Don't get me wrong, I have always been abominable. There is no denying that. I guess January means that I get pale. I suppose I could tan in a bed with those cancer causing lights but that means I'd have to pay for it and I hate paying for things. I guess I could get free tans if I screwed someone working at a tanning salon but that is highly unlikely. Mostly because that means I would more than likely screw something female and vaginas just aren't my thing.

So once again I failed to post my year-end wrap up. This time I actually wrote like 800 pages worth of year-end nonsense and then realized that it's not a wrap up if it's as long as Moby Dick. What I was essentially trying to say is that first half of 2010 I saw more tiny penises than I ever wanted to see in a lifetime. Thankfully I never slept with any tiny penises. But my biggest lesson of 2010 is do not waste any time on a tiny penis. I mean, if you see it and come to the conclusion that it is not worth touching, run. Pull a Forrest Gump and run like you've never run before. and then keep running.

Then somewhere in the midst of this sea of tiny penises I got a HUGE (pun intended) break and starting banging my boyfriend. Sometimes I think this is why I keep him around, because he's a huge pain in the ass (pun intended again) and that's all I really need in life. I mean, I've come to the conclusion that men are worthless and their only purpose is to be sexually satisfying. If they cannot satisfy then you throw them away, because all the compliments, presents and nice dinners in the world do not equate to a pounding that sends your body and brain through a loop. I mean I guess if you're one of those gold digging cunts it doesn't matter. But if you're an independent woman that takes care of yourself, the only thing that really lacks is a dick. AND DO NOT TRY TO TELL ME A DILDO IS GOOD ENOUGH, IT IS NOT, SO STOP TRYING TO JUSTIFY IT.

It is safe to assume that my 2011 will be full of poundings. I mean it seems like it has already started that way and I don't see that changing. So, here's to 2011 --- A year of good poundings.