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.