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.