Travel Tuesday: Freak out on Route 99

The travel part isn't so hard. I consider myself a master of the basics: shoe and belt removal at TSA check points, essentials in your personal item bag while the rest is checked in, no large liquids in your carry on. I know to not show up to the gate smashed, and to try and stick to the present time zone schedule to minimize jet lag. I walk the blocks to absorb the scenery and adapt to the locale. I check out downtown and then head to the smaller neighborhoods. I've got this shit down.

A recent trip to Seattle was no exception. It was 4 in this party of awesome, and a hotel would simply not do, not for space and not for the budget. Seattle is gorgeous, and with its beauty comes its inflated costs. A decent hotel guaranteeing non Heroin injecting inhabitants on the stair landing started at a minimum of $200.00 a night, and that was just for a room. And for as much as I love my family, I really had no desire to share one room with three other adults. I rented a studio on West Seattle from a young couple who were nauseatingly enthusiastic on Airbnb. What can I say, I like being buttered up with free beer and sea salt hand soaps after handing over my money. 420 bucks for 3 nights, two rooms, and all night binge drinking...yeah, I will fucking take it! Didn't even dawn on me that the short "10" minute drive to downtown would be an impediment...amateur fucking move on my part! Of course it was an impediment. We either relied on cabs or car2go. But car2go is a 2 seat smart car. So unless we wanted to split up in to teams, we were shelling out for cabs.

Let me lead you to the main reason we are here. I know that at some point in your history with me, you have read previous posts. Maybe you know me in real life. I am cute. But I am also a borderline nervous wreck that trips on her own feet with the occasional seasonal snot in her hair. I have a car,  I drive the car, but I am not a lover of driving. I get nervous, I get angry, I get antsy. I yell at inanimate objects and threaten to burn down a city. This is just a few of the occurrences that happen in a familiar place. Driving to a new location creates a completely different experience.

The Seattle trip was coming to a conclusion. In our  quest to be the coolest kids on the block, we ventured to Sonic Boom in NW Seattle. We were scheduled to be on a flight to San Jose at 8 pm that night. I love to be early. And it was only three in the afternoon. There was just enough time to shop, get a bite and catch a cab back to SW Seattle, roughtly a 20 minute drive. It was all timed perfectly. I called the cab company at 4:30 pm. When able, I tend  to contribute to the under dog establishments. I prefer small owned companies who could potentially benefit from my patronage. I decide to call Orange Cab Company. The dispatcher was abrupt, but assured me that the cab would be at the restaurant in 20 minutes. Wonderful! We concluded the final meal of the trip and headed to the street awaiting our ride. We allow the five minutes to pass the pick up time...not a thing. I try not to panic but I begin to call the cab company. The phone dies. My future sister in law passes me her phone. I call, I wade through the ridiculously long prompt for such a small company, it rings. It rings. And it keeps fucking ringing. Mother Fuckers. Followed by an audible, "mother fuckers". The panic begins to set in. I call again. It rings and continually rings. We walk to the corner hoping to catch a glimpse of some god awful prius with a terrible orange glow. Nothing. My boyfriend dials Yellow Cab. They tell me that because I am in Ballard (NW Seattle) it will take 30 minutes to arrive to our location. This is not including the traffic we will have to sift through to get down to SW Seattle and then to the airport. Suddenly the ugly troll of anxiety is tip toeing on my chest. That bitch. My boyfriend quickly locates two Car2Go cars right next to each other. He turns to me and says "you take my sister, I will follow you. Call the yellow cab and tell him to meet us at the house." Bless his heart for entrusting me with his sister in my car, or entrusting me with the ability to navigate a mobile sardine can in to unknown waves of what is considered the worst traffic north of San Luis Obispo.

We begin navigatgion from the phone. From the multiple cab rides, I am well aware that I need to get to the 99 and on to the bridge. But machines are assholes. It gives us directions to First, and then gives us directions to Fifthe Avenue where it will eventually lead us to Highway 5. The difference of taking 99 and Highway 5 is 30 minutes. The troll is now tap dancing on my chest and this shoe box with a motor has suddenly shrunken down to a pill box. I can't breathe. I make a rash turn right. I don't know where I am. The navigation is continually re-routing. I am screaming at inanimate lights and threatening to perform crude painful acts upon the participants of normal rush hour traffic. "Oh my God, what have I done! We aren't going to make it on the plane." I am almost crying, but the fact that I am hyperventilating stops the tears and has me clutching at my chest. My saint of an almost sister in law continually tells me we will be ok, that the worst that can happen is that I will pull over and she will drive. I want to believe her, I am listening to it all and apologizing for her witnessing what can be considered a full blown anxiety attack. The signs for 99 are a quarter of a mile away, and there, I see the turn right. AND I FUCKING MISSED IT. There are tears, but I just want to get to the 99. We turn the block, I am on the 99...and then I realize, I am about to piss my pants. I peddle my go cart hard enough to reach 80 miles, I am flying and I need to pee. Once I am on the bridge, the panic has subsided but the reality of pissing catastrophe is eminent. For the first time since 2nd grade, pissing my pants while sober, is a mother fucking reality.

We make it to SW Seattle. I scramble out of the car where my boyfriend was already waiting. He found the 99 much sooner than I. I let him finish the Car2Go session, or rather, he tells me he is ending the session as I rush in to the house and expel sheer relief that I have not had an accident. I am sailing in to relaxation. Only I begin to cry and become embarrassed. Fuck. The anxiety regarding anxiety is now toying with my chest, lightly but with a perserverance. Fuck you anxiety. And fuck you Seattle traffic.

I can't wait to visit Seattle again.

America, the beautiful Nazi State

Recently famed Neurosurgeon Ben Carson, a conservative, god fearing Republican spoke out against tyrannized America, equating the nation to Nazi Germany. That is correct...the Nazi Germany that occupied Sudetenlands in the name of racial purity, and whose ovens still burn in to silver screens and texts of history. Now normally, I am appalled by such verbal excrement. Phrases such as "I mean, [we are] very much like Nazi Germany. And I know you’re not supposed to say ‘Nazi Germany,’ but I don’t care about political correctness.(: http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2014/mar/12/ben-carson-americas-now-very-much-nazi-germany/#ixzz2vu2dqf32) typically boil my history loving blood. But at this moment, I feel it is best to take Dr. Carson's words, and use them as a challenge. 

Here are my top five reasons why Dr. Carson is so fucking wrong...and ultimately a lame cock:

1. Ben Carson went on a national news media and criticized his country..TO MILLIONS OF VIEWERS! Now normally, under Nazi Germany at least, a man/woman critical of the government would have lived in fear of being thrown into a "work camp". Many of the resistance fighters printed and distributed anti-Nazi propaganda in secret, covert and in FUCKING FEAR. The fact that Lord Media Moron openly proclaimed the notion tells me a couple of things - A) Homeboy does not actually believe that the United States is anything like the Nazi Germany; and/or B) Homeboy aint afraid of shit. 

2. Despite the many times states have attempted to discriminate against the gay population, they fucking can't. You know why? Because despite the bullshit, we are in evolving people that will not stand for discriminatory laws no matter how hard these bullshit laws try to take us back to racist and bigoted times of America. There was this thing in Nazi Germany, they were called Nuremberg laws...those fuckers were passed. And you know what happened, mass discrimination sanctioned by law... Dear Dr. Carson...seriously?

3. Obama is not Hitler, neither was GW Bush. Guys, I am not a fan of NSA, I was not a fan of the Iraq war, in fact I am not a big fan of any part of our government. But those men, with their bullshit legislation, and their fucked up wars, and those fucking drones, I am sorry, but they are not Hitler. They are not the leaders of a Nazi state. Have they done wrong...of course. Have they rounded the usual suspects and burned them for greater purity glory? No. 

4. In a place like the United States of America, you can't have racial purity. This is the biggest melting pot. We have people from all over. Dark, yellow, black, brown and purple, we are all sorts of shades. And now you've got bitches painting themselves another color. Good luck with weeding out one type of person. 

5. WE DON'T PERSECUTE THE JEWS OR CHRISTIANS! Guys, the only people that really get to bitch is the Islamic community because since 9/11 we have held them in Guantanamo without a trial. And yeah, there is a lot of controversy surrounding this and its an embarrassing mark on America's history. But no one gets to say they are persecuted, and they sure as fuck aren't being rounded up in to concentration camps and systematically being turned in ashes for the neighboring town to wake up to. 

So NO Dr. Ben Carson..we are not equal to Nazi Germany... pass some horrific legislature and then we will talk. 

Disclaimer: Please take this as tongue in cheek. I am not an American Eagle wearing, flag waving, lover of the United States. I am incredibly critical and do believe that we have enacted atrocities against other nations. This is just my fuck you to Ben Carson. Because Ben Carson sucks. Next week I am going to bring up how the treatment of Muslims DOES equate us to Nazi Germany...maybe. 

I have nothing to Offer but the haphazard that is my current state of mind

Week 2. Still Fat. No weight loss. But no weight gain. I guess that's good.

The week started much like every week, in tears on a scale in too small underwear and a bra that barely contained my tits. I checked and rechecked...no change...fuck you scale.

I prompted my weight loss with a hike with friends. Only because of my stationary lifestyle my ass and legs were on fire for the next three days. I walked like I had taken a few up places that God would not condone.

So we go to Monday. I measure and dissect everything I eat that day. I keep the food to a minimum and the water to a maximum. I'm pumped and excited for the work out that I am going to do when I get home.

Recently the babe and I purchased a smart TV...Samsung. These smart TV's...these things are beyond me. Many buttons, all these apps. It is important to note that I am technologically retarded. I still ask if we own a Blu Ray player...we own a PS3. So I create an account for the fitness app. I put in my stats...and do you know what the fucker tells me? I'm obese. Fuck you Samsung, you are obese. And although it caused another round of tears for the day, I decided to follow through with a work out.

I stand in my living room following the moves of "cardio kick butt" instructed by some asshole who has never measured their food. I am bouncing here and there all the while making my old house rattle, causing thee empty beer cans on the coffee table to make the sweet sound of embarrassment. I stopped at the ten minute mark, half of the 120 calories that I was projected to burn...so why the fuck am I not skinny yet? Just kidding. I know that answer. Kind of.

I feel that I should mention that I just watched a show called OZ. In this particular episode, Chris Meloni shows his very circumcised penis for a good ten seconds...that was a lot of Stabler dick.

I hope I didn't drive you away, or maybe I've attracted a new reader...

Resolutions are for Assholes

Jan 5, 2014... The sharks won. I weigh 172 lbs, and I am coming off of a week long "vacation". I put the word "vacation" in quotations because fuck me...I was sick, I was emotional...and I'm still overweight...as if a week off from work was going to melt off the tamales and vendor gifted chocolates. Fuck me.

I woke today hurting from a fall, and in the constant bad mood that I perpetuated since my brother left for boot camp. I fucking cried this whole week. For nothing. That's right, I fucking fell. Let me start from the beginning:
In the interest of being proactive, I decided to take down the Christmas Garland that was hanging in the living room. It was my way of surprising the babe while he was in the shower, one less thing he would have to do...right? We had recently purchased a ladder specifically to reach high places. However, in this quest for productivity, and in the interest of time, I utilized the leather foot stool gifted to us by my old boss. What could have possibly gone wrong? Nothing...except that I am klutz, a self professed and well documented klutz. When I was 6, I was climbing a cherry tree with the aid of an empty bucket. I fell landing open legged allowing the edge of the bucket to give my pelvic region a nice jab...explaining the bruise during bath time resulted in a family meeting. Another time, as I was putting the fitted sheet on to the mattress, I managed to hit the corner of a windowsill and knocked myself out. No fucking joke, I did this...and then I fucking did it the next week after I washed the sheets and proceeded to put them on the bed.
So you could guess where I am going with this...I pulled down the garland while stepping on the foot stool, when it gave way. I caught myself for a moment, but only long enough to "eek" and re-position myself so that I fell on my back on the edge of the couch. I wish I was making this up. The wind was knocked out of me and when it finally came back I yelled for the babe. Only he was in the shower. And to be quite honest, I'm glad he didn't catch me in the position, it screamed of klutz.
So the remainder of my vacation is plagued by a back pain...

I promised myself last year that this year I was going to look like Monica Bellucci circa 1997, instead I resemble Kirstie Alley...circa now...Here's to another awesome year.

The one where I get super gushy and romantic

I was going to start by telling you all how cynical I used to be...but a majority of my readers have known me since birth, therefore, there is no need.

Two years ago I went on a coffee date with the cutie that played hacky sack at in high school. The coffee tasted great and the conversation was awesome, so we walked to the used book store. That was entertaining, so we decided to get dinner. Conversation continued to be great, but dinner had been devoured, so we went for a drink. The talking continued, and by the time we knew it, the whole afternoon, and a lot of the night had flown by us. I could easily say that I was immediately smitten by this tall Mexican Clark Gable. And in my reminiscent moods I will ask, "when did you know" and he will say "very early on, pretty much right away". And it really was like that. Since that day, not a day has gone by without each other.

And let me tell you about this cutie. I can't say he tamed the girl who joked about  the holocaust, but he never was ashamed of her inappropriate humor. In fact, he reveled in it, provided additional jokes, laughed with her, even boasted about her. If there was ever time that I had gone too far, he never showed it to me, and he never made me feel ashamed. This was the guy that nurtured my love of history, and allowed the vast collection of WWII history books to be displayed on the mantel. This is the guy that told me to not be embarrassed, that I was perfect, even after gaining weight.

This is the kind of guy that loves and respects his family, and treats my family with the same love and respect. This is the guy that turned some hard women in to softies, my mother smiles and hugs him, and my aunts adore him. My sister calls us "america's cutest mexican couple.".

He is the man that surpassed the dreams that I never thought I had. He is the man that I believed did not exist in this life. A myth, a movie. And so every day, when I get the "buenos dias hermosa" text from him, I bite myself to make sure that this is all real. The butterflies still flutter, I steal glances of him every chance I get. And for the last year, I've had the privilege of living with him.

 So, to the man, my dream come true, my adolf to my Eva, the greatest love of this life, and the next, a giant thank you for loving me, without condition, with giggles and tears, with the strongest open arms and the best hugs. Te adoro.

Your tumor.

Mexican in Rome Part 2

Welcome to the second installment of my Travel Tuesday. If you are still following my blog...thank you and I promise to get as gross as possible in future posts. This one won't be so gross...

As mentioned previously...I was in Rome once when I was really young. I was a novice at this travel thing despite thinking I was the shit and knew everything about travel. I had my fluorescent clothes so I could blend with the Italian locals, I used broken phrases to get around. But I had made a few mistakes.

The first was that I had scheduled a trip in crotch sweat August. Everything stuck to me. It was hot, it was smelly, it was gross.

The second was that I had booked two week accommodations in one location. What that meant was that I would be stationed in Rome while only being able to travel on day trips. The trip was prepaid and it would have been a waste of money if I had taken off. I made the best of the situation and went on trips to Capri, only being able to spend two hours on their beach before hauling ass back to the docks to make the last boat back to the mainland.

It was on one of these day trips that my story begins.

The guided tour traveled to little towns that dot the Tuscan hillsides. The expeditions took us to places that sampled Orange flavored liquor and shoved raw hide goods in your face. So we ended up on this town called Orvieto. It was a medieval town located on some cliff. It was told to our group that this town was so exclusive, that it never allowed any tour buses to or cars and therefore had to hike up to this town. Made no difference, I was in Italy, I would have hiked to a death camp. So while in this town I find a novelty store that was selling swords....SWORDS. And this was no little plastic sword, this was metal, and big, not too sharp, but big. I buy the fucking thing because back home I had a teenage brother that would have believed me to be the most awesome sister ever if I brought a sword to him.

I was sitting on the bus making my way back to Rome and my hotel. I was tired, I was hot, but ecstatic. I had a sword. So the bus driver, an oily man with a profuse belly, announces the stops, Trilussa being one of them. My stop. At this point I had been in Rome for almost the two weeks. I knew exactly where Trilussa was in Rome. So we get to a stop, the bus driver mumbles something, no one gets off. Ok no biggie, he continues to another stop and says some other stop, a couple gets off. I start to worry. I make my way to the front.
"um, excuse me, Trilussa stop?"
If you had been there, you would have seen the large belly swell as his breathing became labored, saying "I stopped at Trilussa, you no get off! So you get off here!". He stops the bus on this narrow little Roman road. I look in disbelief as he opens the door, yelling "this isn't my stop". His fat face retorted, "I no care, you get off here."
"This isn't my stop, you have to take me to my stop"
"you get off"
"I paid to get taken to my stop!"
"you get off or I arrest"
"Fuck this!" I yell as I gather my bag and my sword. I make a huge display, stomping my feet and dragging the sword like some Edward Scissorhand.  I step on the asphalt, and as the orca closes the bus door, I turn and use all of my body weight to kick the shit out of the bus door. It cracked.
My eyes widened and I see that this bus man is trying to open the door and get his ass up to yell at me, but more likely to call the cops on me.  I yell "hi-ya" as I dash down some random alley way, with a sword in hand.

That sword was confiscated at the airport.

TT: Goals...not the futbol kind

In stages, the goals in my life:

Age 5-11: Meet Rhett Butler, and possibly marry him in a Southern Wedding. Be the most perfect Scarlett O'Hara. Do this by dressing up as her for every halloween. If this does not work, try being the "little mermaid". She got the dark haired guy in the end...he can pass for Rhett Butler, can't he?

Age 11-13: Lose this baby fat before high school. The rolls are not cute and no one will ever kiss me. NO ONE. Meet Weezer, possibly be their band bitch. Become an Egyptologist, discover something awesome that changes every anthro/archaeology text known to man. Do this while entering in to the FBI Academy, meeting Fox Mulder, and having fraternal boy/girl twins.

Age 14-18: Don't get pregnant. Study for the SAT's. Get into AP English and History. Scrape through math and science. Don't get pregnant. Make friends, not enemies. Be a good friend. Don't get suspended...again. Don't get pregnant. Graduate and go away to college.

Age 19-21: Transfer in to SFSU. Don't party too much. Don't fall in love. Start to remove yourself from everyone. Develop a bad attitude. Travel. Travel a lot. Do it alone, or do it with someone, but do it.

Age 22-26: Get a job at a law firm in preparation for law school. Graduate and start working on the LSAT. Travel more. Don't have kids. Don't fall in love. Try something new. Make new friends. Keep your old friends too...

Age 26 - Present: Find a new career, because the law thing is a no go. You hate lawyers. Write more, because its what you love, and if you don't do it now, if you don't risk the criticism, you'll wake from a lifelong dream full of regrets. Marry the man that surpassed all of your dreams, even the ones that you never thought you could dream. Have a family. Adopt a dog. Travel the world with the person you fell in love with. Show him all of the things that you love. Move to another city, try it for a bit. Tell your family you love them because they have always loved you. Buy another car, the one you have is a your baby but its starting to fall apart. Get your credit in tip top shape, and dwindle the debt. You are almost there. Find the people you love, the friends, the family, and respect them for what they are. Find the people that bring the worst of you and cut them. Don't be afraid of this. Enjoy it, this day, this time, this moment. Because its going to be over. That life you knew, the people that you loved, they sometimes go when we don't want them to, and there is not much you can do about it. So make sure that its today that you do whatever your goal was to do.