Thursday, June 20, 2013

TT: Sigur Ros and Vomit do not mix

I was a late bloomer in many if not all part of my life. I was raised with some awesome people whose musical tastes were all I could hang on to, unbeknowst that I had free will to like my own music.

Last year, for the babe's birthday, I bought him a pair of tickets to go to SF Outside Lands, this awesome music festival located in Golden Gate Park San Francisco. We were excited to see the multiple bands, but more importantly, the fact that we would be seeing Sigur Ros, those beautiful Icelandic voices lulling is in to a dream like state. As the date approached, we realized that the Saturday of the festival was to be the same day as the Mexico vs. Brazil Olympic game, a match for the fucking gold. We had to watch regardless of where we were and what we were doing. I quickly called a bar that we had frequented before to make sure that a) the soccer match would be on their tvs at 630 in the morning, and b) they would be open to the public at 630 in the morning. The bar confirmed both.

We were headed to a bar on a Saturday morning to watch Mexico dominate the shit out of Brazil. Didn't matter to us that we, the Mexicans, were the under dogs, we were pumped and ready to kick some South American Ass. We arrived to a surprisingly busy bar. Everyone was in there already drinking, shouting. The far corner of the bar was decked in yellow, rooting for Brazil. We took a seat at the bar, ordered our breakfast, and tequila shots...yeah, that's right, tequila shots for breakfast.

As fate would decide, Mexico won Olympic Gold (VIVA FUCKING MEXICO). This only meant that my babe and I would continue the shit show and down the tequila. Shots were bought for the bar, the bar bought us shots. It was great...until I hate the wind outside.

We decided it was time to retreat, only that by the time I made it to the street, I was piss drunk...literally. We went outside and I passed out on some patch of San Francisco grass, and then pissed myself. No vomit, just piss. The poor babe, equally as shit faced, but no piss of his own, was left to his own to try and get us a cab back to our hotel, and who drives up...a fucking cop. Luckily for us, we were the tamest of San Francisco's shit show, so rather than cuff us, SFPD hailed a cab for us. As soon as I am in the cab, my German speaking skills kick in. Yeah that's right, German...A Mexican girl is speaking German to the Filipino cabbie...this of course made no sense making the drive to the hotel amusing for me, cumbersome for my babe, and annoying as fuck to the cab driver.
There is a point...
I pass out only to wake a few hours later realizing we have a Sigur Ros show to catch. I pull my shit together, shower, and make it out the door. But the fun didn't end there. As we are getting ready to park the car so that we can catch the shuttle to Golden Gate Park, I puke all over the front seat of my car. In some sick twist of fate, I did not puke on my clothes, but it was all over the fucking car. No time to clean, we get on the bus. And then I puke on the shuttle, on a cloth seat. No big deal, I put some paper towels, mutter some "uh someone puked back there" and get off the bus.
So we make it to Sigur Ros, and its beautiful, only I am STILL FUCKING VOMITING!!! And I am vomiting in a crowd, among the feet of these poor souls who will soon trample me if I don't stop vomiting. It was no matter, we were going to watch these Icelandic angel voices ...

We only lasted ten minutes...I was forced to retreat to greener or pastures, or at least to an area I could vomit without being stepped on...

I am too old for this shit.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Dissecting a hate site

Recently I  stumbled across this site Well, stumble I did not, but rather came upon via Facebook.

 The site is filled with women dragging their marital indiscretions, detailing their pain at the hands of their man some "nasty whore". Its riddled with written excrement, berating this other woman, publicly shaming them for "wrecking" their home.

Let me preface by stating that I am not excusing the action of women who involve themselves with attached men (or women, whatever the preference). I am however condemning sites like these that solely target the woman. At some point we have been cheated on or have cheated. Its happened. You can admit it or sweep it away. For whatever the reason, we took the asshole back, or we were the asshole and begged them to take us back. But the issue remains that there were two willing participants in order for this to happen.

A dissection of this pitiful site produced the following:

Target words like manipulative, and home wrecker and splattered throughout. If a man is willing to stick his dick in something else after years of a "happy" relationship, then he is a weak shit that was easily manipulate. This man probably believed that Jesus really did turn the water in to vodka and that Santa shit the coal in his stocking Christmas morning.   The reality is that it is the weak that are easily manipulated, the unhappy and distressed that welcome such destruction. Its an excuse to leave, to create a conflict, a passage to exit. Its the thrill and drama in an otherwise considered mundane life.

Terms like "on a break". I had a field day with this one. A break is a break up. If you want to fuck around and get back together after, then just say so. If you need some space, and a few days to be with your friends, then just say that, but fuck off with the break. Breaks happen in high school in between periods, they should not be happening in over 21  relationships. Break the fuck up already. You were not on a break. You were on a "hey I am going to fuck this bitch, and grind on this guy, but there is still a chance we are going to fuck around together in the future so make we don't find out about it...bitch."

Too often the descriptions started with "my guy was calling this girl, but she was the one that wrecked my home because he was with me". Oh my my my. Mi amorcitos, you are so deluded. There was a hard lesson I once learned -  they were never yours, they were never with you. They were just there. The fact remains is that the commitment was made between you and the significant other, not you, him/her, and the third party love triangle. You are responsible to the feelings and commitment, not this random third party. Your heart was in your partners hands, he/she was the one to fuck things up, not this "other" person. "Other" person was not in a relationship with you, they do not owe you anything. Your significant other did.

Ladies, don't be pendejas. We are better than this. Yes, we are woman, we are human, thus subject to petulance and insecurity.  We have all made mistakes, impulsive choices, and emotional decisions. But we are women. We all struggle. Don't do this to each other.  Nothing that was beautiful and sacred was ever wrecked by this one person. She was one person, with so little power that was given to her disposal.

The internet has some scary shit out there.

Disclaimer: May I note that I am not ok with cheating. I am not ok with being in this immense amount of pain. I empathise wholeheartedly and feel that the anger is justified. I am just opposed to shaming sites such us this. There is usually so much more to these stories, and rather than tearing women down, and splattering them for anyone with an internet connection to see, we should be building up our own self esteem. I never ever mean to hurt anyone with my posts.

Saturday, June 15, 2013


I tell anyone that will listen so many things about you.

I tell them how you loved to dance, that my first memories are of you in the kitchen doing the twist, and carrying me to the tunes of Fats Domino and Ramon Ayala. You still tap those feet despite using a cane and the walker. 

I whistle for the babe, the same way you whistled at my mom. 

I repeat the story of you and my Padrino, that night before his son's wedding in Mexico. I tell them of how drunk you both were, the rose that you bought, or maybe it was my Padrino, and the Mariachi serenade you sang to each other. I laugh at how you both were too hungover to have any drinks at the wedding. 

 I talk about the way I am more your daughter, that I took after you, despite you not being my biological father. 

I describe the days at the ranch, the animals that we had, the gun that you taught me to shoot.

I boast of the bowling trophies, and how you made me a mini bowling practice set in the backyard so that I could be just you. I still remember the little ruby red ball with my initials that matched your big red bowling ball.

I describe the morning breakfasts at the bowling lane diner, how we would take our own cloth napkins, leaving them stained with ketchup. Remember how we giggled when we gave them to mom to wash, how irritated she would be with us. 

I laugh at the days you were trying to teach me how to drive, and remind myself of the day you taught me to ride that purple bike. 

I tell them how lucky I am that I got to call you dad, that I got you as my father in the best time of your life. 

I remind them all, the friends, the readers, the followers on twitter, that you survived that Christmas day. That you will remain my dad for many years to come, that you are a bull, a giant of a man. 

I tell them you are my dad. 

Thursday, June 13, 2013

TT: Freshman Year...the College Edition

I liked school. No...that is all wrong. I fucking loved school. On the last day of second grade, I fucking cried because it was over and I had to go on summer break...I FUCKING CRIED. There was seldom a time or a year that I did not enjoy. I mean, I had my awkward 7th grade were the boobs hadn't budded in yet, but the hormones were starting to blossom. And then the awful junior year of high school where I shit started and love triangled the shit out of my life. But other than was awesome, I got good grades, I buttered up my teachers, my parents were satisfied. But as always, there is the one year that stood the test of time, and it will always be the best year.

Because I was a late bloomer in certain aspects of my life, I didn't drive all through high school. But I did get my license on my 18th birthday, making that year, and my freshman year of college fucking awesome.

I stayed local and started my college education at a junior college. It was roughly a twenty minute drive from my house, and I had Fridays off. So now I am going to list all of the reasons that Freshman year of college were awesome, whether its correlated or not.

1. My tummy was little and my boobies were huge.
2. I saw Bad Religion, Anti Flag, and Flogging Molly all in one sitting.
3. I had straight A's and continued to be the teacher's darling.
4. I lived in my uncle's basement giving me a modicum of freedom (despite my parents living in the house next door and asking a million questions at all times)
5. I went to Hawaii and wore this amazing two piece that put most bitches to shame.
6. I had a car...
7. I became godmother to the coolest kid ever.
8. I drove to all over the Bay Area watching amazing local and not so local bands. It was awesome.
9. I went in to my first club, PopScene, in San Francisco. Not so cool. But still a good experience.
10. I met people from all over the world in classes I never thought I would be interested to take.

I was older but still very young. I was naive and eager to explore. It was that cusp in life, where you jump off adolescence and begin to take on adulthood. It was the best year.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Paternity Test Redux

I have a father, his name is Antonio. He is in his seventies, slow to walk, and seldom drinks. I have a father, he is actually my grandfather. But this post is not for that great father. This post is for the other man, the man who calls himself a father because his pants come off and biology takes over. This is for you.


“You’re beautiful,” was the phrase in his electronic reply,
A revelation shaped from my centimeter sized profile picture.
My computer screen blinded by a morning August sun,
Twenty plus years of search on a social network forum.

Tears flooded my spectacles as I reread the line,
“please call, I want to know you.”

I questioned the moment,
a child searching for a biological connection,
was he only a click away?

The resemblance of my half oddly shaped nose and slight almond eyes
met the gaze of his out dated photos,
glorified snapshots of a boxing profession that never took off.

My heritage semi legitimized.

The fingers fumbled,
misdialing until I managed the correct sequence.
An awkward, “hey, how are you?” as we painfully attempted small talk.

The revelation of siblings, aunts,
and a grandmother mere minutes away,
was more than I could handle for a casual Saturday afternoon.
As conversation progressed, so too did anxiety.
A feeling of “oh shit, what did I do?” as he continued to speak.

Quick to blame a single teenage mother,
Along with a whole network of maternal kin.
He digs in to the village of family that nurtured my existence.
It would not be a “Maury” segment,
but neither would it be a sentimental “Oprah” moment.

His speech was slurred as he forgets to ask me questions.
He carried on his conversation much like he carried on his parenting,
As if I wasn’t there.
A continual dialogue of finger pointing ensues,
He says, “You need to know why I stayed away”,
Attempting to tell me who he is.

A boxer, a diabetic…an asshole

Monday, June 3, 2013

Travel Tuesday: Bathrooms in Mexico

It was suggested to me by Running Mama to start a Travel Tuesday entry on my blog  where I save the best of the traveling stories for that particular day. Since I am rotten at organizing my thoughts and stories, I couldn't help but jump on the here it goes.

It was my good fortune that I was invited to join my aunt and uncle on their annual drive to my uncle's home town of Curimeo, Michoacan Mexico, December of 2011. As it turns out...regardless of where...I love to travel, and a road trip in to Mexico was an experience for the bucket list. I have visited Mexico many times before, and with the exception of one trip to Chichen Itza, my trips were typically in to small towns, immersing in to the everyday culture. So when I was told that I would be hitting up cities and towns on my three day drive, places I had yet to see, I was ecstatic. Not to mention that I would be staying in a very small town once arriving...I thought the experience would be excellent fodder for a book that I will never write.

Being the small town that it is, Curimeo has roads that were barely  wide enough for the Texas size truck we had, but we said fuck it. Upon arrival in to the town, my  first site was the guy with a tequila in one hand, and the reins of his horse in the other. I thought, yes, this is true Mexico. It was great and fucking inspiring. I wanted to ride a horse and drink my tequila at the same time. One fucking day...

My uncle and aunt are building a house in this town. But because this town is so small we would have to go two towns over to buy materials for its construction. So one day while we were running errands, we decide to have a Michoacan style torta ahogada. Now for you non mexi's, torta ahogadas are a Jalisco delicacy, not a Michocan one. But I said fuck it, and ate one anyway at the local eatery. Almost immediately I felt the rumble...a slight stirring in my lower bowels, a dance upon my intestines. We get in the truck and descend down towards home base.

It was about half way in to the truck ride that I thought, shit...I am about to shit. I turn to my aunt and say, "Tia, I have to go, get my ass back to the house." I was clenching with all of my might but I knew that clench could hold out for so long. I had to go in the worst way. This "going" was going to be fucking epic too. So I turn to my aunt again and say "get me to the fucking house". Now, because we had taken the three day road trip down to Mexico, we had equipped the car with rolls of toilet paper, in case we had to stop and take a piss along the road. I had never factored in taking a shit along the road. So my aunt, fully aware of the toilet paper availability, pulls the truck over...on a driveway...with some random home only fifty yards away, and says to me "just go here". Now at this point my ass was in so much pain. It was holding back the literal shit storm ready to reign over this poor souls driveway. I will be honest, the prospect of relief was a moment of euphoria for me. But no, the thought of my ass spewing over someone's driveway was too much to bare, and the fact that this was broad fucking daylight on a road that was traveled often fucking enough to catch me shitting. I climb back and clench so much harder...

The home that was under construction was located at the entrance of Curimeo, and therefore would be   one of the first houses driving in to town. I ask her to stop at their house, the one that was under construction. With a chuckle, Tia tells me "There is no running water, we have to go to your uncle's mother's house." FML.  We continue to drive in to the town, you know, the one with the narrow fucking streets. Well on this particular day, some asshole decided to have a party and shut the one fucking street down...the one street. We had to go around, park a Mexican block away. I didn't even let her stop the truck, I jumped off and ran towards the house, tripping over the cobblestone and running through the tape that shut down the streets....

I didn't exactly make it....I am not the most graceful traveler...