Wednesday, August 24, 2011

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.


Sunday, August 21, 2011

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.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

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.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

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.