Letter to retarded 16 year old Vanessa

Dear 16 year old Vanessa,

You are a fucking idiot...

You are not going to end up married to Alex Siquig...although you two will be great friends for many years to come, as weird as that may seem to a lot of people. Alex may not be that man you marry by the age of 25 after graduating college at 22 and living in this white picket fence, but he is the one that helped mold the nerdy, music appreciating, movie watching (Yojimbo) girl/woman that you are today. Thanks dude. I owe you my first born.

And no, you will not be "settled" and popping out kids by the time you are 25. That is bullshit, and you are going to think that's bullshit by the time you are 25. In fact by 25 you will have made some serious mistakes with some not worthy people that will completely alter and shatter your view. But your view won't be shattered forever, and your ego will recover.

You are going to want to have a career and know what you want to do with the rest of your life by the time you are twenty. Despite what others may say, you are going to change your mind well into your late twenties. Don't worry, people evolve, its ok to not want to go to law school. It's ok if the path you choose may not offer the most money, just make sure you love and respect the person you are becoming.

Not everything is a battle. Even relationships, friendly or romantic. Some things are going to come easy, and people are going to make you feel amazing. Cherish and respect these people. There will be a lot of "friends" that will come and go. Many will surprise, disappoint, even hurt. As hard as it is, its ok to distance yourself from these people. At times they can be toxic and in the long run you will be better off with less assholes. In fact, by the time you are twenty eight you will realize that a small group of amazing people in your life will be much better than being surrounded by a multitude of cock suckers.

Your family is not your enemy. They love you, always. You won't get that right now. You'll think they are against you in everything. You will make a judgement against them...and that needs to stop. Because one day you will realize that these people are your best friend, and that for all the fuck ups, all the tears, and the mean words, they are always the ones that want to love and comfort you when you are at your lowest. Don't forget to tell them how awesome they are to you.

Pee after sex. I mean it, this is important. You are not getting this concept right now..but you will. Trust me, it will save a lot of discomfort later on. It might not seem romantic, and I don't mean pee right then and there when you finish, but fuck cuddling. Get your ass out of bed, or wherever you are, and go pee. JUST DO IT.

You will love, but one day you will fall in love. And every doubt, every question you had on life and relationships will be answered, and things will seem brighter and easier. It won't be like a stupid rom-com, but it will be so much better. More than anything you would ever dream. And even though you act tough and mean right now, you will soften a little more with this person, get mushy and at times disgusting with your public display and profession of love...and you are going to love it.

Thanks babe. You are my life.

Try not to rush in to being an adult...you are going to be here so much sooner than you think.

My Final Wishes

Let me tell you how it's going to go...

There is going to be a huge party! With tequila, chicken chow mein, enchiladas, tacos, beef chow fun, pizza (from round table) and caprese sandwiches. There is going to be a Mexican conjunto playing nothing but Norteno (NOT GANG NORTENO. Region Norteno) music, and then I want an hour of Sid Vicious, Siouxsie and the Banshees, New Order, Weezer, and then Schindler's List and Gone with the Wind playing on a huge screen. Maybe even a clip from Downfall.

There won't be a mass, there won't be an open casket...that shit freaks me the fuck out. And quite honestly, I want people to remember me for my Nazi humor and off colored jokes rather than some gray skinned corpse that for once in her life is quiet.

I can't say that my babe will say some words because after watching this documentary the other day I made this promise that I would wait for him to die first and then I would follow...details to come in the next blog.

I don't want anyone to cry...well...that's a lie. Crying is ok. But I want them all to dance, eat, and be really drunk.

I don't care much about cremation or burying, as long as I am with the babe.

Wear black, I love when people wear black...it looks so fancy.

MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL: DON'T FORGET THE TEQUILA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My dad and his friend

I waited days before calling my aunt to check on the status of a godfather. The week prior her email updates were almost daily, with hopeful and optimistic news. But after the fourth day of no update, I decided it was time to call.

"The cancer has spread, the chemo will shrink it, but it won't be cured."

It was all I heard. I thought of the last phone conversation before the news of the cancer, when I told him I would be in Austin and stopping for a visit during my trip. His response "we will have to make some food, its going to be a big day". And then I thought of the very last conversation with him, the day before his surgery, when he told my dad "I hope you make it down here."

It was a sad and confusing moment after finishing the call with my aunt. I went to my parents and broke the news to my dad. Borrowing my sensitivity from him, I knew he would have tears streaming before I finished my sentence.

"I can't see him like this, its not how I want to remember him."

I thought of my childhood and my first impression of my father and godfather. Two strong Mexican men, beers and smiles in hand. Nights of music, dancing, maybe even a serenade projected by the one to the other. I thought of the wedding in Mexico, when my father, in a state of inebriation, bought my godfather roses and mariachi serenade in the plaza as we headed back to the hotel. I can still feel the soreness on my sides from the laughter at the site of their macho Mexican bromance.

They were great friends, they were young, they were men.

Is this the the happy ending we are all hoping for? No, because someone I care about is going to die sooner than I would like. But what will hurt the most, is the anguish and sadness that will come from my dad. I wont be able to fix it, I can't take it away.

A future style for a future parent

I am not a mother, but I now hope to be one. Therefore, I am unsure on where this post will stand among the seasoned mothers who have bared the cracked nipples, the sleepless nights, the vomit and shit that follows a nine pounder.

But when it comes to parenting I can tell you this much:

I hope that my child says "please" and "thank you" because I taught him to, and because his parents say it to each other.

I hope that my kid loves to laugh, play music, watch old movies.

I hope that my kid loves to read. I hope they hide in a corner with a book larger than them, losing themselves in a sea of printed pages.

I hope that my kid is as cool as my nephews, and as awesome as my god-daughter.

I hope that this kid loves their father as much as I do, admires the man that I fell in love with, and I hope to hear them say, "my mom picked a great dad".

I hope that my future child is more creative than I, envisioning colors and scenes far beyond their imagination.

I hope that my child loves to love, showers us with hugs and loves to be kissed.

I hope that my kid loves what they do in life (unless he is a pedophile... that's a no go...). I hope that they excel in whatever it is that they do. And I don't  mean excel as in a millionaire, but in a personal goal, that they take pride in their position in this life.

I hope that when I reprimand my child, that they will remember that in life there are consequences to our actions, and that I do this because I love them and it is my job to guide them.

I hope that my kid is never bullied, and if they are, that I have done all that I can to reinforce the beauty inside of them. I hope that the belittling words they hear from others will only empower them to become greater and have more compassion for those sad individuals.



I hope that I don't fail them.

Ode to Cheeseburger

It's a Friday night and all I can think about is you, my cheeseburger.  have hit the rock bottom of dieting. I don't even want to drink! I just want to close my eyes and transport to that magical place where  the fattiest of meats is served, slapped by a mountain of cholesterol deterioration, artery fucking junk, and shove it  down my throat that is all too eager and overly prepared.

And I am thinking on this cheese burger, this ethereal creature. It beckons to me. I pass my kitchen and its like a fucking scene out of Requim for a Dream, when the fridge jumps out and the tv bitch is scary. You cheeseburger, you have captured my heart and my dreams. You have danced in my mind and whispered in to my soul. Eat me. 

I try to take my mind off you. I browse the pages of an endless wifi world. Reddit...fuck you reddit, with your endless food porn and post post of valentines. And those dinners...those Valentines dinners and boxes of chocolate.... Fucking valentines and their luscious meals. I move on to the next best site, redtube. Its no use, every cock and vag looks like a gruyere and grilled mushrooms. I can see is you, my cheeseburger, you, perhaps a comrade such as a plate of chicken chow mein.

Don't stray for too long...I hunger for you.

My god I want a fucking cheese burger.

All kissy face and shit

I am the girl who is typically unimpressed with Valentines Day. Don't get me wrong, I am a typical girl that likes to be surprised with tokens of appreciation. But it was hard for me to catch on to the whole gift giving, and major ram hard loving on this particular day. I mean, it all felt so forced and generic. A day to show the person that  you love, that you really do love and care for them...am I or was I wrong in thinking that this is bullshit? That my affection and appreciation toward this significant other should be proudly displayed and not saved for 2/14...my personal date in infamy?!?!?!

Here is the thing, I hate receiving flowers. Its a nice gesture when you graduate, or some sort of event. But I have this weird thing about receiving them from boys. Especially boys who should know me and what I love, or some semblance of this. I feel that flowers from a guy are lazy. I know what you must be thinking, what an ungrateful and inconsiderate brat I am. I get it, and I don't blame you for thinking this way. But here is my logic. If I am to invest an amount of time in a person, and they in turn with me, then shouldn't I be presenting them with a gift that speaks to their personality and characteristics, rather than a decaying mass grabbed from a bucket at the Safeway?

Let me clear something up, I am not saying I need to be bought an expensive gift either. My feeling is only that I would much rather be taken for a coffee or a walk than presented with a bouquet because some Hallmark exec cocksucker thought a day in February was a great day to REALLY love someone.

But then something fucking happened. Call it Cupid raping me behind the Jack in the Box, or maybe that I found someone that I actually respected and cared about, not just a person I was "investing" time in. Said guy sweeps me off my feet...not with flowers or jewelry, but with intellect and wit. There was no conversation that was off limits, no moment that life was not a fun, or a day that we could not enjoy each other. Each call, text, kiss was effortless and deep in emotion. I wanted to show this awesome beau my gratitude with daily blow jobs and any other tokens of appreciation.

I suddenly found myself nervous about our first Valentines Day. In fact, I found myself wanting to celebrate this day. I wanted to make it different, set apart. I had already given him more  caring and loving than I ever had with anyone, but on this day, I wanted him to feel extra special. No generic overpriced dinners, no Hallmark cards...something that would set this day apart from the every day " I love you" and "eres mi vida".

Remembering a previous conversation, I decided to engage his sister and his mother in my plan. You see my boy loves food, good food. And a favorite of his was something that his mother made. My master plan was to cook this dish, but first, I had to get the recipe from her. Still intimidated, and desperately wanting to make a good impression, I commissioned his sister to get the recipe from their mother. I had no idea how this was going to go. I didn't want her to feel that I was replacing her, but rather respecting her cooking skills. Luckily she seemed pleased and was happy to share the recipe.
Next was the issue of the card. Now, let me tell you something...I don't have a creative streak at all. And I didn't want to give him some god awful card with a big ass heart on the top. I just wanted something cute and his style. I am fortunate to come from a family of scapbookers. In the end I was able to put together a card with beer bottle stickers and a heart together.

Then came the big day. I made the meal, finished the card, grabbed a bottle of his favorite beer. But I wanted to really surprise him and be cliched in one area...the underwear. So I decide to purchase this frilly red underwear. Now, I am not the tiniest girl, and no matter what size of ruffled chonis you buy, that shit is going to travel up your ass and chafe the shit out of it. So I buy the stupid fucking underwear because hey, my babe is worth it,  and again, this was the first time I really wanted to celebrate this day.

So I go to his house walking like an asshole because the cute little frills are being eaten by my ass, with a dish full of shrimp and a beer. I knew he had been prepping for the day, and I was nervous. I wasn't sure what the day would be like. I mean, this person was someone that I had felt different, excited, in love. Every day was like a first awesome date, how could we ever top anything like that? And then I realized, each day that we spent together, always topped the last, because it was another day with each other. And although it was Valentine's, we were incredibly happy.

It also helped that in leiu of flowers, he bought me a tequila bottle. I am the luckiest girl ever.

The day I shit myself

I didn't actually shit myself...at least not in the occasion that is to be described. But you sure fucking clicked on the link, didn't you, you sick-o.

I did however have a story about the time that I pulled a ten hour shift at the law office. Happily walked my ass two blocks to the "secure" parking garage where my car was parked, only to find the window busted in.

So the story goes like this...

It was a Friday...maybe Thursday. I should know this shit since it just happened a month ago. So after pulling this insanely long day at the office....well let me stop here and tell you about the office. It's a small firm. It's a little chaotic, unorganized at times. Some of the clients are cool and banter with you, but some of them are royal cockers who ride the last inch of patience I could ever have. And its usually the cunt climbers that I typically give all of my attention to that get UBER ANGRY WHEN I can't take the 55 minutes to listen to them bitch about god fucking knows what. To be honest, if it has nothing to do with the case I typically check out and jump on Reddit and the George RR Martin fan site.
 Fuck you, I lead an exciting life.
I mean, normally these clients just want to feel validated and heard, even if it is not relevant to the case whatsoever, so I try to do that for them. But then these bratty shits just take and take, and they can't seem to comprehend that I cannot devote so much time to the incessant complaining. So this particular day had a slew of these people. I am not kidding, every client that needed hand holding grew an extra fucking hand that day. It was a nightmare...To top it off, our checks were going to be distributed a day later than anticipated. Fuck me, shouldn't have bought the forty dollar wine when the "juice" box works twice as fast.

So I end the miserable day looking forward to a dinner with the babe and the cousin. And despite the long hours, I was going to have just enough time to make myself look like a lady and not the vagrant that rustled out of bed. I walk the block, all the while trying to navigate the marijuana reeking  ghetto kids. In my quest to be healthy, I walk the two flight of stairs to my car, slowly...no need to pull something. Since I was already exerting myself by walking up the stairs, I thought it best to park as close as possible to the stairs. Essentially putting the car in a perfect spot for a would be robber.

I walk past the passenger side and open the door to the driver side. BAM. My shit is all over the driver seat. Now, to those of you who know me, you will know that my car is the mother of all shit shows. It is filled with clothes, shoes, food, wrappers, water bottles (empty and full), decks of cards, cassette types, CD's, books, etc...this list could go on for days. The day my car does get cleaned is the day someone died and I am letting foreigners into the car. So to say that I noticed my shit was all over the place means that shit was torn the fuck up in that car. I mean they went through every god damn crevice and dug up shit I had not seen since I first bought the car in 2005. Now tack on the fact that I had a bunch of tupperware boxes with old christmas shit, nothing fancy. Just crap.

I instantly panic and call the babe. I didn't notice a broken window so for a moment I thought some paranormal, parking garage poltergeist shit was going on. As I am on the phone, on the verge of tears, which is not much different than any other day, I notice some crazy alien black looking shit on the seat of the back passenger side. I think, cool, any minute Fox Mulder is going to show up to fulfill all of my prepubescence sexual fantasies, like hand holding and shit. And then I realized, thats not alien shit, that glass, broken glass, from the back window that I had literally just walked passed.

But let me tell you, the joke was on the mother fucker that broke that window, got in my car, and went through all those piles. And believe me, there are a lot of piles...because there was absolutely nothing of value in my car, well, nothing of value to them. I do have the first and second CD babe made me last year, and the charm bracelet spelling out "Vanessa" that my goose princess made when she was four. But they were still there, and I was ok. Well, I was out 140 dollars to replace the window...you dirty rug rubbing motherfucker.

But its ok, it is ok. Because an awesome person made a voodoo doll for the asshole that broke in to my car...so fuck you dude.