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.

Karma catches a Bully

For the privacy of those who have no control of what I write, I will refrain from using actual names on the following post. What is about to transpire is a story, nay, an epiphany. Yes, an epiphany. You see, there was a time, a familiar time to most I am sure, that I had a bully. Not the kind that wedges your chonis up into your virgin butt cheeks, or sticks gum in to your hair. But rather this bully came in the shape of a friend. We will call this friend, Bacteria...it is only appropriate.

I will now the list the shitty/bully-esque acts by Bacteria:

• Made out with my high school crush while telling him that I had just recovered from gender reassignment...and that I was gay...(Don't they negate themselves?)
• Told another boy I was interested that I was on my way to becoming a nun
• Consistently stole my homework...I know what youre thinking, Vanessa, you probably let her. And yes, I gladly shared my homework..I knew no one when I got to high school! If homework sharing meant bench sitting with a partner, then bring it the fuck on. 
• Spread a rumor that I was pregnant, this was still at a time when I had no idea that my vagina was a self lubricating goddess or that a penis actually looked so cute...the circumcised ones...

Now, I have to say, the above is just the highlight, and its only freshman year that I am referencing. Lets just say Bacteria was more a frenemy. Here is the thing, I had friends like this in elementary. And I would get swept up in the childish bullshit, there would be a little girl hissy fit and then things were great. I thought this was what happened in high school too. But I had no idea the impact or hurt that I was going to feel. And to top it off...this bitch was never sorry!!!!!!! Its not like she stole barbie's favorite sweater and then returned, and we spent the rest of the afternoon playing fashion model show. Oh no, this was much more serious. 

Bacteria was on a one way path, and along with a few other victims, were pieces of pavement that made her road smooth.
There were a few nights that I cried. I would wake, begging my mom to let me stay home. Since my mom's very karmic Catholic answer was "ignora las, Dios se las pagara" or "ignore them, God will pay them back" I would often fake a stomach ache or force myself to sound like I was an old black man so that my would think I had a cold. This would of course backfire because my mom's remedy for illness is a tall glass of lemon juice and a spoonful of garlic. The resulting belches and farts made me less popular.
I didn't  do a diary, I didn't  wonder why me, but I did start to question if this was it...do the Bacteria's of life continue to flourish while the cells become infected?
Bacteria did great in high school. She was gorgeous, long hair, great dates to the dances. And that was my lesson, the pretty ones always prevail, there is karmic retribution. I was going to be OK because I was awesome all on my own. Yeah, I was pretty popular reading my personal copy of "The Bell Jar" in the corner of the media center. The point is, I made it the fuck out without killing myself or Bacteria...

I was strolling the aisles of Target when something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Here is where I am about to get petty on this enormous universal scale.

What I caught out of the corner of my eye...was a barrel sized human being...BACTERIA. The girl had exploded in more ways than one. She had an additional chin, super sized. Her boobs and stomach were at an alarming parallel that extended far beyond any moderately obese person. And the cherry on top, a snot nosed child that looked like he would stink of something a cadaver wouldn't want to get near.  I had heard through the whispers and gossip that she had gotten knocked up and a little fat. But I never expected Jabba's cousin.

Again, I realize how petty and immature this is all sounding. But I am OK with this fact. I didn't have to do anything to her, I didn't have to tell her off, or have a boxing match. In fact, I didn't' even like what I saw. Because way before I had seen what gravity did to her stomach, I had already forgotten about Bacteria. She had no longer affected me. But there was and is a small part of me that felt like, "huh, mom was right".

I don't know what her life is like, I don't know if she is happy, if she is on her way to an amazing career, a loving a family, and the best boyfriend a girl could could ever have. And I don't care. Because I have it all, I have the best life.

And high school is OVER.

First for everything

I must warn the gentle reader, this will be a mushy, lovesick post. Continue on at your (very warned) risk.

Relationships are consistently created. Romantically, professionally, socially. It's a fluid action. Within this relationship, a plethora of experiences arise. Some people make an impact, rather imprint, on the being that you will become. Its these experiences, theses moments, those "firsts" that create this relationship.

Romantically, you will hear the phrase "this was our first (insert cliche here)". It will be said after the first kiss, the first night, and most likely, the first fight. There are a million first that will be created.

I have yet to determine if it is luck that allows for this to happen, for the lucky ones to find a "first" in the simple every day actions. But I do know that I have found a first with someone that I want to continue to find firsts with over and over.

Pasts and histories will not matter. Because this person and you are a canvas, something on which many a first will be painted.

The first kiss in your new house.

The first time you watched a hockey game on that particular couch.

The first time you say goodbye before leaving to work.

And to finish, among the firsts that I have shared, I will also say: I love the person that he is, but I truly love the person I have become because of him.

Anonymity

As I have bitched before, I am putting on the big girl Chonis and putting my writing out in the open. I can still be depressed and cut into my diary in a corner, but I like the feed back that I get from some of you from time to time.

So I started to think about screen names, pen names and such. You know, those magical veils that allow each and every one of to say and think what we want, and just how important its become to the "anonymous" writer. I put this in parenthesis because I am not so anonymous anymore. Perhaps its my ego that propels me, perhaps its the expression on my boyfriend's face after reading, or maybe its just that I one day hope to be known for all of the awesome shit I posted over the years (more like months...Whichever).

So then my ADD mind started wandering, and with the help of a friend, started thinking of alter ego personas, and the magic I could create with them. I will now list these personas...some of them have already been created...some of them will be coming soon:

Pikachu Hitler Girl - This character will get down and dirty with the racist jokes without turning to look who might be standing behind her. She'll make the oven and jew jokes ten times louder than RaritaVanesita ever could. I know what you are thinking, "this doesn't sound any different than real Vanessa". So if you are saying that to yourself, consider yourself mother fucking special, because I have allowed you in to my circle and deemed you non-lame and therefore worthy of being present in my natural state. If you have no idea what I am talking about and are now completely horrified...then ha...you are lame. People are going to hate her, and I can't wait.

Rarita Vanesita - you've already caught a glimpse of this one. She is here, typing this right now. She is going to use foul language and try to make you laugh. She might even get personal, but she will most likely keep you at arms length because this persona is for the masses and not the cool elite...maybe.

The Obnoxious Wallflower - this one, oh man, this one is the emo persona. It/she is brooding, crying over abso-fucking-lutely everything. She has mommy issues, daddy issues. She hates the world and the world hates her. This one will stay tucked away, to be used for exceptionally whiny days.

There you have them. Now show me yours.

Domestic Animal War

It's the oldest question...what kind of person are you? Are you a good person, or a bad one? Are you a dog person, or a cat one?

Dogs...definitely dogs. Why? Because Sammy, that's why.
Sammy, you son of a bitch. I was only three years old when you ran off...What...The...Fuck. I wasn't a Darla to you, I stayed out of your way and then paid attention to you when you felt like being nice. And how the fuck do you repay me? You run the fuck off...NOW I HAVE ABANDONMENT ISSUES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also, cats are the devil's pawns. Their poop smells unnatural, AND, they shit in a box...a box people! I realize that humans shit in a box too, but if it were up to me I'd be shitting on a certain person's lawn all the time. But that's illegal.
They scratch shit up, and its never enough. You buy them scratch post thing and they prefer your couch. You buy them fancy food, and they vomit on your clothes.

Fuck Cats...

Dogs serve a purpose. They are good prep for deciding on whether to procreate. They are so damn needy, that you kind of start to practice on your parenting skills. Plus, they just want to love you. Thats all, maybe bring in a dead squirrel, maybe shit on your carpet...just like a baby. They want to cuddle with you on the couch, interrupt your sex.

Yes...I love dogs.