The Good Samaritan

If you were raised religious, then you will most likely have heard the parable of the "Good Samaritan". In short, it is a story as told by Jesus Christ of a Jewish traveler who was beaten, robbed, and left for dead along some road less traveled. Two religious men come across this traveler, a priest and a levite, both shun and avoid, leaving the traveler to rot, to die in a place that was not his own. A Samaritan comes across this nearly dead body.

Now I had to do a little research. I have used the word Samaritan before, but I felt that if I was to use this word today, I needed to know its origin. It was so easy to call someone a Samaritan because they bought me a hot dog when I was a dollar short. But the Samaritans are an ethnoreligious group with close ties to Judaism and claim descent from the Israelites  Historically, the Samaritans and the Jews, much like this half dead traveler, are enemies. It would have been logical, and well expected for this Samaritan to leave the dying Jew traveler for the buzzards and flies that had already begun to peck at this man. But he decided to stop and help his ailing "neighbor". It must be understood that for Jesus to tell this story to his would-be audience, would have caused much provocation. His portrayal of a Samaritan would have most certainly shocked his audience, especially in a time that was so riddled with violence and chaos.

This morning an article came out regarding the body of Tamerlan Tsarnev, one of the perpetrator's of the Boston bombings. A much less known fact is that his body had been sitting in some freezer, waiting to be buried. A poor funeral home director had to house this scum's corpse.

The article noted that finding a burial place for this shit head's body to lay for the remainder of eternity, was next to impossible. No community, no open land, waste disposal, wanted to be the keeper's of the rotted flesh whose soul had long disintegrated and turned into a troll. Not a cute pink haired troll either. It was not until, as described in the article, that a  "courageous and compassionate individual came forward to provide the assistance needed to properly bury the deceased.”

We are all angry and seething from the devastation caused by the cunts that terrorized the Boston Marathon. Families are one member less, runners and spectators are missing limbs. Some of them may never walk. Some may never be able to even watch a marathon. Any one of us would jump at the opportunity to cut the cock off of these fuckers and jam it down their mother's throat. That would be the easy and logical response. But this one guy, this guy who gave in and buried the soulless fucker, he really was the courageous one, because he had every right to burn the fuck out of the body in the town square. He could have disclosed the location of where the body was interred so that we could all take turns pissing and shitting over his eternal resting spot, making it an open toilet for all. But he quietly buried this shit of a man. 

This is not written as an intent to politicize, and certainly not to hurt the feelings of anyone. When tasked to write of a good Samaritan  I had thought of the people who had done good deeds their whole life. The people who have given up a seat when someone was tired, who had picked me up from school when I was stranded. The people that give up their personal money and Christmas morning to feed the homeless. The teachers that buy supplies with their own money. And make no mistake, these people should be heralded. But when I read about this one little man, this man who without provocation, stepped forward to do something for someone so reviled, I couldn't help but feel that this man truly embodied the parable as told in the Bible. He did something for someone that he believes to be a disgusting human being. And maybe he didn't  do it for him, maybe he did it for the widow and child that were left behind, for the Uncle and the countless others who loved this troll as he was, but not for what he did. 

http://www.boston.com/metrodesk/2013/05/09/body-tamerlan-tsarnaev-has-been-buried-undisclosed-location-worcester-police-say/iDpJpGifYzFQwBM71I7PXP/story.html

Musically Fucked

Rather than tell you the story of some fucked up people, I thought I would give you a playlist of music whose titles of the song contain the word FUCK. Enjoy!

Electric Chairs - Fuck Off
DKs - Too Drunk To Fuck
Peaches - Fuck the Pain Away
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – “This Love is Fucking Right”
Fuck You (Ode To No One) By The Smashing Pumpkins
'Nazi Punks f-u-c-k off' - by the Dead Kennedys

Tenacious D - Fuck Her Gently
Insane Clown Posse - Fuck The World

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GmFp0I8AZqw

Beaner

Yeah, that's right, I said the word beaner.

As you may already know...I am Mexican, and I grew up, within the US borders, as VERY Mexican  I have the mariachi outfit to prove it. My house spoke primarily Spanish  and we ate beans and rice all the time.

We were so entrenched with the Spanish and being Mexican, that I grew up thinking Charlton Heston was a Mexican because our copy of "Ten Commandment's" was dubbed in Spanish...I was not a bright child.
I mean everybody knew that Jesus Christ was a Mexican,  look at his beard for Christ's sake. And didn't everybody have goats in their back yard and mariachis come play for their 4th birthday? Did I mention that I was also a brat?

Food was a major item in the house but wasn't it for everybody? You come home, and mom immediately wanted to shovel beans and carne down your throat. "Oh mija, you aren't hungry anymore, here! Let me make you a quesadilla". And if there wasn't a newly killed chicken boiling on the stove, there were always tortillas and beans to eat a plenty. All of this is normal right? All people in the US grew up like this...right?

FUCKING WRONG!

So I also had the advantage of being sent to a Catholic private school, which had one other child who had goats in their backyard, and that fucker was filipino, not a mexican. And my mom wasn't a fan of having other little fuckers, that weren't family kids, in her house. So when I did get permission to invite some of these little shits...this is what they told me...

Him- "you have all those people living in the house? you have goats in the backyard? Dude, you're a beaner"

Me - "oh yeah, thanks. I love beans"

Laughter erupts. I didn't get it.

Later that night, I picked the perfect opportunity (while she was watching Sabado Gigante)  to tell my mom about the day. "A'ma, sabias que soy una beaner porque me gustan frijoles" Translation: Mom, did you know I'm a beaner because I love to eat beans....The look on her face was priceless, and the next words out of her mouth were epic! "QUE CHINGADOS DIJISTES?!?!?!" Translation: what the fuck

did you just say?

And that was the day that I learned that the word beaner is derogatory...and that my upbringing was slightly different from some of the other kids.

A is for Apostate

I decided to join in the ABC swearing challenge. It's my first line and already I am struggling. But here goes...

A is for Apostate. Apostate, a deflector of religion. It does not have to be specific to religion, but in this case, it is. And here is why...

I was raised a catholic, and I'm Mexican  You don't have to be a Catholic to be Mexican, and you don't have to be Mexican to be a Catholic, but in my house, the two went hand in hand. And you will often hear/read my self definition as a cultural Catholic. Customs and culture intertwined with Catholicism, and I am supremely grateful to my mother for forcing me to learn the rosary by heart. Te amo mami.

But here is where my word comes in to play.

Being a Christian/Catholic, there are these values that are thrown around, displayed on American media, raped and distorted for political agendas. Christianity, Jesus, family values are words that are now used to ensure that the interest of conservative political thugs are "protected" and their enemies right's stripped. I had no idea that Christian America was under attack.  (SARCASM).

A joke was recently made, a comparison if  you will, in regards to the coming out of Tim Tebow as a Christian, and Jason Collins as a gay man. The former was seemingly criticized and told to keep his comments while the latter is hailed as a hero. And it bothers many that the American media had portrayed the two differently. Lets get something straight, we are living in United States, the land of the free worship, as long as its a Christian denomination.  Jason Collins' coming out is and will be viewed as heroism so long as the rights of the LGBT community are continually and blatantly oppressed.

And here is why I am an apostate. My beliefs, my orientation, my religion, and my culture, will never supersede the basic, inalienable rights of the citizens of this country. Those religious convictions, they were merely a building frame to the awesome that I am today. Being a good person, a righteous person comes from the relationships, experiences of the years that pass. I do not care what some archaic book says in the first half about smiting the sodomites, because there is a whole lot of bullshit in their about marrying a few and dying over blended cloth. Not to mention that I am a sinner, multiple times over. I have not always honored my mother, and I have wished for things that another person possessed. I love my God, and believes he loves us all, but have also cursed him and asked him "why!?"

So no, I am not a good catholic, I am not a good follower of the church. I am an apostate.

<a href="http://hypnoticbard.blogspot.com/p/swearing-to-z.html" target="_blank"><img src= "http://i1293.photobucket.com/albums/b599/mountaindew711/ABC_zpsef721a16.jpg " /></a>

Do-Over and maybe Change it up

I wrestled with this concept  of the do over. We are human right? We all make mistakes, yearn for that opportunity where we could take it all back. This week's Theme Thursday is forcing me to go into the carpet bag of memories and pull out that one do-over. Shit...its a hard one for so many reasons. Mainly because I enjoy my time and my life and even though perfection is far beyond me, there really is nothing I can change, although there is that one little item that consistently nags at me.

I was married. Some of you know this. It's not my greatest accomplishment, considering the word "was" inserted before the "married". I don't like to admit it in front of other people. I don't like to be called the divorce chick. (it's happened and it annoys the fuck out of me). Privately I joke that considering how young I was when I was first married, that I might be the next Elizabeth Taylor...real fucking funny, right? But no, it's actually a very embarrassing topic for me, and here I am displaying it for the internet to dissect.

I was a divorced woman at the age of 21. We didn't have children...we were just married.

I walked down the aisle of a catholic church, the pews adorned with white flowers, as I made it to a priest who had previously lied about a chapter in history to push his own agenda...that story is for another day. I said vows that I was too young to comprehend in front of family and friends that I had not seen in years and really shared no emotional attachment. It was a show. A face I put on to prove that I had made a decision, and was going to go through with it no matter what anyone said.

I watched my aunt cry as she read from the bible. I dried my father's tears in the limo outside. I wore a white dress, and carried a gaudy bouquet. I listened to my mother's prayer as we waited to eat our first dinner with the masses who had arrived for the three course dinner and free flowing wine.

I thought of the panic attack I had in the car only two weeks before, as I cried to my friend "I am making a mistake". His face of "oh shit" made me wonder if I could play along and make this all work. Foolish thoughts for a foolish girl.

I ended my wedding night with an argument with the groom after my  new father in law placed his hand on my sweat laden back,  saying, "ah, this is what it means to call someone a wetback".

I cried on my perfect honeymoon as I spent my days exploring the Vatican alone, while telephoning home to tell them all how great this all was.

And I want to take it all back, and not get married. I don't want him to have my father's tears, my aunts choked back cries. I don't want him to be the one that I shared a vow. And to be fair, I am sure he probably wishes he had not had all of this with me either. Because there is someone that is so much more deserving than he.

I don't want it to exist. But I can not take it back. I want to! I want to pretend it didn't happen, but unfortunately it did...

But we get a do over right? So when it happens this next time with the love of my life, it won't be this huge mess of strangers all piled in a hot church. There won't be white gaudiness and taffeta. I won't be called a wetback at my own fucking wedding. But I will love every word that I utter to my babe. I will be excited to share my planning with my sisters, my parents, my brother, and aunts. I will gush to my girlfriends, and maybe his guy friends. And then, at that very moment, I will no longer wish for any more do-overs in my life.

Want to be friends?

In addition to my documentary film review, I decided to start a new series simply for the DO's and DONT's of anything you can think of....and I mean anything. I will

This week's will revolve around friendship. I am assuming that you, the reader, as well as any other bloggers out there, are well established adults who have already gone through the woes and perils of friendships, as well as the highs. Some of us have kept our friends since the moment we swapped binky's and realized that his privates didn't look anything like mine. (Thanks Gregory...). Some of us had a moment, a pivotal incident that resulted in the disintegration of the relationship. And sometimes, we have just outgrown these people we once called friend. We have treated these people as family, and we have turned against them. We have loved and hated, gossiped and respected.

I must make the disclaimer that the following list is not my personal plan, I do not pretend to follow all of the do and dont that I am about to list. I have made many mistakes in friendships, and will continue to make them. To say otherwise would be hypocritical and simply untrue. So before the eyes start rolling and the shit talking commences, please ensure that you aware of this fact.

And now - The Do's and Dont's of Friendship

Do maintain a level of friendliness with their spouses, significant others, etc...
Don't fuck their significant others and spouses.

Do express happiness in your friend's accomplishments.
Don't tell them "why not me?" and "how the fuck did you achieve something like that" in bitch face tone.

Do listen actively to your friend's issues regardless of how mundane and irritating they might sound...you all fucking complain.
Don't pass judgement on their mistakes...you aren't fucking perfect.

Do provide objective guidance and resolutions to a friend's issues.
Don't run and fucking tell everyone about their herpes outbreak.

Do invite for lunch or coffee, to attend dinner or a movie.
Don't bring extra people without asking, its rude and fucking annoying.

Do express excitement over their new beau, remember that we all have the initial excitement period...for some it lasts longer than others.
Don't be an asshole and call them codependent, especially when they mold their personalities to their different boyfriends.

Do be grateful for the favors that they do. They do this because they love and care about you and typically don't expect anything back.
Don't expect anything in return, or disappear because that person no longer has any tangible or theoretical favors to provide. This is selfish and bullshit.

Do thank them for putting up with your attitude. Remember, these people are choosing to put up with your shit, you do not share DNA....they do not HAVE to love you, but they do anyway.
Don't give them attitude, its not their fault they are not nearly as cool as you.

Do step in when they are in danger and have no conscious perception of this.
Don't be an asshole about being their superhero and be all up in their shit all the time...realize that there is a healthy balance.

Do respond to texts/calls directly.
Don't respond via social media, putting pertinent shit on blasts for the rest of the lurking community to see. It's fucking rude and inconsiderate. If you can update your FB status, you can reply to a text.

Do express your frustrations with the friendship directly. And feel free to take some time and space. Remember that even the closest of family and friends have issues, and even if you can't resolve in the immediate time frame, perhaps you can revisit and resolve the issues at a later date.
Don't force the friendship, especially when tensions are high. Typically, this is when the worst things are uttered to one another.

There are so many to lists, but these were a few that were nagging in the recent months. Always remember, relationships, platonic or not, are fluid and always evolving. Nothing is ever stagnant.

Not so Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

I am the oldest by six years. This meant that my summers were spent terrorizing my younger siblings in to playing school, where I was the evil head master and they were disgusting and vile students. I was such a shit to them, they had no choice but to play outside and entertain me because until July rolled around, I was stuck in a backyard filled with chickens, goats, and some cactus...this is downtown San Jose, California by the way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jk7uXaNuWNEBut then the end of June/beginning of July would roll around. You see, from the age of 8 up until my quinceanera, I had the good fortune of being shipped to Texas. I realize how ass backwards this may sound...."good fortune" and "Texas" do not typically jive in the same sentence. But to me, this was all I could think or talk about.

My godparents moved to Texas when I was seven years old. They had a ranch about an hour south of Austin. But it might have been hours and hours away because most of my time was spent on that ranch in a town that was notorious for its great pecan...I wish I was joking. But it didn't bother me because I was care free, kid free, and my days were spent watching Mexican smut television and eating my godmother's home made tortillas. As to why I wasn't a tumbler is beyond me. My tummy days came way later. We would take a drive in to town, blasting Selena y los dinos, or some other tex-mex station. One year, at the age of thirteen, I earned my right of passage and was allowed to drive the truck from town to the ranch...I didn't kill anyone...but I did scare the shit out of everyone in the car. It should also be noted that my driving skills come from learning to drive in a monster truck on the solitary highway of Texas....so yeah...

Once in a while when my aunt Linda was in town we would take a trip down to Corpus Christi, where we would try to swim in an ocean but couldn't because of the warm salt water scratching the sight out of my eyes. Also, my aunt and godmother don't swim...so I would have been fucked. Other times we would drive to Mexico, spend the day in Piedras Negras buying candy and eating tacos from the street vendors.

I have spent a lot of summers in other places in the world. But I have to admit, Texas is place I loved to be.