Amanda: Failure Princess

On the death of my grandfather

I have a mole on the side of my body, right between my right breast and armpit. It used to look like most of my other moles, small, flat, and brown, but it looks different now, and I'm kind of freaking out about it. Not because I'm scared it's cancerous or anything like that, but because this mole is special, as my grandpa, Poppo, had the exact same mole in the exact same spot.

For those of you who follow this blog, but don't know me in real life, my Poppo died at the end of this past December. If you do know me or read me, then you'll know that this has been a devastating, however expected, loss. I won't go into everything again (you can read more about him here and here) but he co-raised me and we were very close when I was growing up. For over a decade before he died, he suffered from Alzheimer's Disease. In the end he didn't really remember any of us except my grandmother, and he lived full-time in a special home for people with memory loss.

A lot of people aren't close to their grandparents, so they don't really get it, and they say or want me to say that he was like a father to me, but it wasn't exactly like that. I never had a father, so I wouldn't know what that means. Poppo was my best friend and one of the only people who has ever made me feel completely safe and loved. Years ago a sentence like that would have never appeared in my writing, because feeling safe and loved is not funny, or really very interesting as far as the big story goes, but getting older and trying to get healthy mentally makes you say and feel all kinds of things that aren't super amusing. I have lived for almost my whole life genuinely believing that I just can't seem to do anything right, but my grandpa's love always got through to me. He never made me feel ashamed or ugly.

I've been hard on myself for mourning so deeply. I can't figure out why it still hurts so much, especially since he was old and sick, so ready to go, and went so peacefully. But I suppose watching the person you love most in the entire world exhale for the final time doesn't fit neatly into the definition of "peaceful." It was harder in the end to watch him leave his earthly body because I had stuffed down my feelings about slowly losing who he was long before that. Just as my favorite mole is changing, I watched my grandpa change before my eyes for years and then had to turn away. It was too painful to see him, too difficult to accept that he was alive but not there to read my stories or meet the person I want to spend the rest of my life with (who reminds me a lot of him, by the way. Sometimes cliches work out). Of course, unlike the weird, raised, discolored mole (TMI), which I will probably have to get removed, my Poppo never turned into anything ugly. He was beautiful to the very end and beyond, from his last breath with most of my family by his side to the amazing pictures we shared at his rosary to the strength he gave my cousin to deliver his beautiful eulogy.

I know it will get easier, because there are more funny stories about Poppo than sad times, but I will miss him forever.

living ghosts

those of you who know me or read my blog regularly know that i was very close with my grandfather growing up and that my grandfather now suffers from alzheimer's disease. he has lived in a nursing home for about three or four years, i think. 

the years have sort of escaped me because, as you also may know, i rarely visit him for my own personal reasons that only i can wrestle with. i hope it doesn't make you think less of me as a person. it's really a lovely place, as far as nursing homes go, and the staff is (apparently) wonderful, but every time i go there, i inevitably end up running out in tears, so for the most part the only times i see my poppo are when they bring him out to special family events or just to visit. he can't be out too long because he starts to get antsy and uncomfortable. people with alzheimer's do not like to be far from home, and that place is his home, now.

once upon a time he lived with me. or rather, i lived with him, my grandma, my aunt, and my mother. it was a happy home, if somewhat filled with grown-ups. i remember being small and sitting at his desk. i don't think i ever knew what it was he did at that desk. maybe it belonged to my mother or my aunt, but i associated it with poppo because he was the one with all the papers. he had so many papers and letters, stacked and wrapped with rubber bands, on the desk, in his dresser, and in the drawers of his bathroom. 

then there were the pens. there were pens everywhere. he seemed partial to black pens cinched at the waist with silver rings and with a sliver clicker at the top. i loved those pens. i would sit at the desk and play all the time. my favorite things to do were to write words and draw (poorly) on legal pads and envelopes, swivel around in the old 70s desk chair that was upholstered in marigold, and press the buttons on the fluorescent desk lamp on and off over and over again. this may not sound fun, but there was something i liked about the way the lamp buzzed loudly and glowed softly if you pressed the button lightly, but then went into a quiet hum and bright glow when you really gave it a good, hard press. 

the more i think about this, the more i am starting to understand my unreasonable fondness for office supplies. 

anyway, i thought of poppo today as i looked online for a vintage desk lamp to go on the desk i rescued from the streets of echo park. the desk is old, cheaply made wood painted a 70s shade of peachy-pink. i hope to fill the drawers with pens and paper goods and use its surface to write all the things i will never get to show my poppo. he is alive and full of love in his heart, i know this, but he is not with me as i wish he could be. when i'm at my grandma's house, where his dresser still stands, i feel like i can almost see him shuffling about from desk to drawer, stack of papers in hand. sometimes i really do have to take a second look to really know he's not there. it scared me the first time. it frightened me that i could see this ghost, while he is still very much (thankfully) alive. 

now i just think of it as a moving memory. a beautiful memory, like the kind that comes to you from the scent of jasmine on a summer breeze, only mine is more like the smell of aging paper and the gentle drone of a fluorescent bulb. 

don't hate me because i'm clinically depressed

i'm sorry, i've just been so sulky lately, and i don't want to bother writing down the details. i keep trying to make a list of ways to improve my life, but when i sit down to do it, i can't for the life of me thing of what to say. on the gripe front, i still hate the new typepad system, hate perez hilton, and am actually very saddened about the untimely death of tim russert. i always watched "meet the press" on sundays, albeit the 3:00 a.m. technically monday version. i remember being a kid and a teenager when some news anchor or talk show host would die and my grandma, mom, and aunts would all be really sad. i never understood their attachment, but i finally do. the people that report the news are so much a part of our lives and our generation, even when they are of generations before us or whether we agree with their journalistic style or not. 

 

some tidbits:

 

a) i am in the process of applying for a job i would really, REALLY love to get. i also really need to keep looking for other jobs, though, because things are getting pretty desperate. it's joseph's birthday this coming saturday and i would really like to get him something nice, but it seems i might only be able to afford something "thoughtful." yikes.

 

b) sometimes i feel kind of icky because my mom, aunt, and granny all have this cleaning lady named elvira and the idea of having a cleaning lady makes me somewhat uncomfortable. then i realize, as i have been spending far too much more time at home lately, that the reality is they actually pre-clean all of their houses before she even gets here because they are all neurotic and somewhat insane. in fact, i feel fairly certain that when she comes over to my gran's house they sit there, drink coffee, and complain in spanish. where i come from that's called besties.

 

c) joe and i watched the golden compass yesterday. while i could definitely see how it could seriously disappoint lovers of the book and confound those who have never read it (we had several "rewind" moments), but i enjoyed it. i thought the special effects were pretty neat, the actors were great, and the story was strong. truthfully, it really just made me want to read the books. oh, and go to the zoo to see the polar bears. anyway, since then i've been captivated by the idea of having a little animal by one's side at all times that represents the soul. how great would that be? i'm so tired of my "inner dialogue" some days i think i am just about three steps away from walking around having full-on conversations with myself, aloud. 

 

d) damn lakers! don't they know i am a fair-weather fan and they are really cramping my style? watching the nba finals is no fun if your team has almost no chance of winning. 

 

e) father's day is uaually a bit rough for me, what with that whole "abandoned by my father" thing and my grandpa having alzheimer's disease, but this year was actually kind of nice. my family had a big party because it was also my uncle and cousin's birthdays, the food was amazing, i learned how to make mojitos, and joseph was there. in august we are all going to go to oxnard on fam vacay and joe is going to come. i think that will be so so so fun, and i love when he spends time with my family, but i am more than concerned about being trapped in a hotel room with that many chronic snorers. ay dios mio!

 

well, i know i have a bunch more to say, but i can't think of it now (typical). but i will be writing this week as much as i can. don't forget about me! 

 

sisters, sundays, and a touch of sacrilege.

it's not that i'm too lazy to write, it's just that i don't FEEL like it. i'm in a bit of a funk right now. it's that age-old problem of what to do when your life is nearly perfect except for the inability to function in society, you know? no? oh. anyway, i've been thinking of a lot of ideas, and writing in my mind, but when it comes time to sit in front of my laptop, i can't quite think of what to say.

it is, however, rather out-of-line that i have not written anything for the entirety of may. i love may! june is my favorite month, but may is pretty good too. i had a great weekend because friday night joe and i hung out with my bff jenny. jen was over the moon because she just moved to a new apartment and her mom gave her all these old VHS tapes. we watched "sister act," which is obviously a classic, but i haven't watched that movie in years, and it is shocking to realize how utterly plausible the ridiculous plot seemed when i was ten. holy shit! it was during this time, a time i would venture to say comes in almost every young catholic girls' life, that i was deeply considering becoming a nun. all musical comedies aside, it always just sounded like the good life. i went to a school that had very few sisters walking around, so all the nuns in my mind were perpetually young and beautiful, like rosy-cheeked saint bernadette, who were lauded for unselfishly giving their lives to god, never had to be any (mortal) man's servant, give birth to any brats, and who were never lonely because they always had their sisters, aka bffs, around. i guess i pictured it like one big slumber party. then as i got older (okay, one year later) i re-discovered feminism, thought about how i'd never get to have sex or go out dancing, and how i'd have to pray all day and probably clean stuff. so much for that vocation. still, i got a little misty on friday night while watching sister act. something about when the young, skinny nun finds the powerful voice within her diminutive body gets me every time. seriously, i totally teared up and hit it from jenny and joe.

saturday was low-key because we had a big day on sunday. in keeping with the religious theme (whoa...), my little cousin was having his first communion and because we had a potluck to go to after and because, for some reason, joe really wanted to, i had to ditch my plans to avoid actually being at the church ceremony. if there's anything i hate worse than sitting through an hour of mass, i don't know what it is, but strangely, sunday wasn't so bad. it was nice having joseph there, all dressed up in his button-down shirt and tie, sitting among my mom, aunt, and cousins. i actually felt quite relaxed. i like that joe likes doing family things with me. i told him that was the first time i ever had anyone i dated come to church with my family before and he didn't believe it, since i was with my ex for five years, but my ex thought my family was creepy, what with our "seeing each other all the time" and "liking each other". i definitely promised myself i would never date anyone who isn't family-oriented again, and i told joseph that very early. he's not used to big families either, but he is getting more comfortable with mine all the time, and they LOVE him, which makes me insanely happy. still, it was a little strange being "out" at church, but i guess we will never know if we were "passing" as a straight couple or if the rest of the congregation was simply being polite,as i didn't notice any looks or anything, although that church is fairly conservative. anyway, it was a nice day. i found the picture to the right on google images, but this is basically me at my first communion. well, actually, i wish i was that bold. i'm probably more like the girl giving the side eye (my new favorite slang phenomenon) in the background. i do remember i WAS NOT HAPPY that day. not only did i have to go to mass, but i had to wear an uncomfortable dress it took forever to pick out, have my hair fussed with in the morning (i always hated that), and hang out with the other kids, whom i disliked immensely, especially the boys. it's kind of a wonder i didn't turn out to be a raging bull-dyke, but within the next two years, i had a caboodles filled to the brim with wet n' wild, tinkerbell cosmetics, and my mom's cast-off estee lauder lipsticks. i've been a high femme ever since. i'm still not overly keen on boys, though, just joe mostly.

the potluck we went to after was tons of debauched gay fun, so everything evened out. i took some pictures, but they are stuck on my camera. i will post them asap, though. some of them are HILARIOUS! it was a pre-cinco de mayo theme potluck, so everyone brought mexican food. i made my mom's friend noemi's recipe for vegetarian ceviche and also attempted my very first flan (which i documented in photos every step of the way.) i'll tell you all about it when i get the pictures up.

well, that's all for now. i'm trying to sort some things out, so i'm really sorry i've been inconsistent with posting. i think it will all be worthwhile in the end, for the both of us, dear reader, but that will remain to be seen.

hey, isn't it funny how when it rains it pours? i mean, like, on friday we watched "sister act" then that night jenny gave me a note she kept forgetting to give me that one of my best friends from junior high who ran into her mom sent along for me. in the note, she confirms that yes, she is planning on becoming a nun. then there was the first communion mass, THEN tonight we were watching "true life" on mtv and there was this rich OC bitch who wanted to become a catholic nun. crazy! maybe i should look into this "god" thing again. i mean, for the last couple of years i have pretty much been religiously devoted to susan miller of astrology zone, but maybe that's because she keeps saying, indirectly, that i am totally going to become a famous writer. well, i read my may horoscope and she said that yesterday was supposed to be an amazing day for me, but NOTHING happened. granted, i did not leave the house all damn day, but still, JESUS! seriously, jesus? are you still there? we may need to have a talk... do you guys think he's on iChat?

wanderlust, regular lust, and a journey inside the mind of a suicidal 5th grader.

despite the fact that i am virtually unemployed and absolutely broke, i am currently, in my mind, planning my one-year anniversary getaway with joe at the end of july. i've been dying to go to vegas lately, and this summer we are most definitely going to make a trip to portland, but where i really want to go is somewhere i have never taken anyone i was dating before and that is to my childhood home away from home, pismo beach, ca.

when i was a kid my family went to pismo almost every summer. pismo beach is north of los angeles, on the central coast, so even in august, the weather is usually very mild. one of the funny memories i have of visiting there as a child is that the hotel we always stayed in had no A/C in the rooms, as it never really got that hot. i thought that was SO INTERESTING, which is hilarious to think of now. what a so. cal girl i was/am!

in the research i am doing to find us the perfect romantic hotel, many of the reviews i am reading are by parents and they always obviously comment on whether or not the hotels are "kid friendly." as i'm reading this i'm thinking, "UGH. kid-friendly = no" which is kind of ironic as it is a place of childhood nostalgia for me. the things is, as i'm sure i have mentioned before, i was a weird kid. my memories of pismo are definitely pleasant, or i wouldn't be dying to go back there, but they are a bit somber. each year we stayed at the sea crest resort motel, which is on a cliff overlooking the pacific ocean. to get down to the beach you have to walk down two long flights of rickety old stairs. at the top of the stairs there was on old bench where you could sit and watch the ocean. in the morning it is quite grey, and the sunset is beautiful. i would sit there for hours looking out at the sea, thinking that it would be nice if it came all the way up and swallowed me whole, and wondering how long it would take anyone to notice if i climbed the tiny fence and propelled my chubby kid body over the side of the cliff. yes, even then, i was a good time. in truth, i am exaggerating a bit. i mean, not about the early thought of suicide, that's all true, but that's not all i thought about. i would sit there and write little poems in my notebook, try to look for selkies, wonder if i would ever sit there with someone i loved, etc.

i guess in many ways pismo beach is where i nurtured my writer's heart. my grandpa nurtured my mind as a writer, but the heart, it seems, is so often born in a specific place, and mine rose out of those murky green waves, wrapped in seaweed, encircled by gnats, strange, but strong enough to withstand being cast against the rocky coast, gnashed by broken shells, and poked by the irreverent sticks of beachcombers.

which leads us back to my vacation. i really hope this happens! i would love to go back there and take joe, especially if we can stay in a suite with a hot tub. i don't care what kind of job i have to get to afford this, there are sand dollars that need collecting, clam chowder to be eaten, and conservative people to possibly irritate with our gay passions! i'm kind of in a state of confusion because supposedly the resort motel (LOL @ that name) we used to stay at has become a big time dive, and thinking back, i do remember there being a lot of other kids there, but that's where all of my memories are. on the other hand, the last time my fam went, a few years ago, we stayed at this great place right on beach level (no stairs) that had private hot tubs on every balcony, which was not too thrilling staying in a room with my cousins, but i think it could be a little more interesting this time around. then there are a ton of other romantic-sounding hotels. hmm.

in case you can't tell, i am obsessed with going on vacation. it's a combo of a lot of factors that don't really make a lot of sense and even seem a little weird/gross together, but if you can name a time when i have given in to not wanting to sound weird/gross you will win a prize, so here goes:

1) i'm tired. i sleep better on vacation because there is no real point in staying up all night unless i am out drinking in which case i pass out like a rock. also, usually i have to wake up at a semi-decent hour so as not to be wasting my whole vacation sleeping and/or because of others. this is good for me because otherwise i will sleep all day. that's what happened to me last time we went to portland because i brought my computer, we were staying in a windowless basement room, and we really had nowhere to be for two weeks. that vacation was fun but it made me more tired than relaxed for that reason.

2) since joe is out of classes for a few weeks i feel like i myself am on vacation from school/work, when truly i am simply a loser with no life skills.

3) we seriously had some of the hottest sex i have ever had in my entire life on tuesday night. i am basically trying to think of all the places in the USA we could re-create/one-up that sex. it's quite simple, really.

4) the beautiful weather in l.a., strangely, makes me want to go somewhere else with equally beautiful weather. not really to get out of l.a. (obvs.), but because i want to be somewhere i can smell suntan lotion all day and wear a robe that isn't mine as opposed to being like "wow, what a great day! well, back to craigslist/traffic/my mom's house."

5) when i really think about it, i miss family vacations. the last one we took to pismo beach, about three years ago i think, was the last that the whole family will have ever taken together. since then, my aunt's husband john died, my grandpa's alzheimer's is way too advanced to travel with him, and my grandma, while in good health, can't walk around too much. i would still love to go away with my mom, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but it's hard for everyone to leave at once because of my grandparents. a bunch of them went to oxnard last summer, but i couldn't get off work. hopefully this year, maybe they will do something and i will be able to go.

in closing i would like to tell you all i'm not some crazy glutton for punishment when it comes to wanting to go to the site of my childhood gloom. as i mentioned, pismo beach also has some great memories for me, like eating fried clams at the splash cafe, waking up early to collect sand dollars and shells with miranda (if you don't get them early, they get crushed by runners on the beach), the time my good friend (you know who you are) came on vacation with us and peed on a lounge chair by the pool, the little punk record shop where i bought my first 7 Year Bitch cd, and nini (my aunt) being so happy and radiant in those times.

of course, pismo is also where i lost my first true love... my stuffed animal pig wilbur, whom i insisted upon bringing then left there carelessly. i will never forget him, ever. just don't tell joe.

pizza, puppies, and poppo

sunday afternoon my cousin had a birthday party for his son in my aunt's backyard, which is adjacent to my mom's back yard. joe and i went to the party and it was a wonderful day. it's been a long time since i've chilled out with just joe and my immediate fam, plus my grandpa was there on loan from his home. they ordered pizzas from mama patrillos, my fav, and my mom made her famous salad dressing. as if things could get any better, my aunt and uncle brought their two new beagle puppies! there are SO cute!

if you will remember, my grandpa (poppo) has alzheimer's disease. he wasn't looking too great. days before he had broken into a run at his home, fell, and got rug burn on his face. at the end of the day, as my aunt and uncle were about to take my him back, i hugged him and said "bye. i love you poppo!" he said, "i love you too!"

i snapped my head back in his direction, as i had already turned away quickly after i said i love you to him. "what did you say, poppo?"

"i said i love you!" he smiled and his eyes became glossy, then he mumbled something about me being so young. i don't know for sure, but i think he might have recognized me for a moment. i think he saw me.

this makes way more sense if you have read this post i wrote a while ago when he was really sick. his physical health bounced back somehow, but his mind is steadily deteriorating, and i miss him, but i also love seeing him outside of the home.

a failure, the heart

this isn't very linear. i appologize in advance. my brain, it swims. my grandpa is in the hospital with horrible pneumonia and congestive heart failure. i'm just sort of... failing as well, you know? i want to pray, as that is all i can do, but i am unsure of what to pray for.

if any one person has defined my life, that person is my grandfather, poppo. he raised me from infancy along with my mother, grandmother, and aunt, all in the same house. i don't believe i have ever loved or trusted anyone more, or know that i ever will.

well, "trust" is a funny word for me, because really i don't trust anyone. especially because i am terrified of vampires. i used to be convinced when i was a kid that it was only a matter of time before the night came where i would be awakened to find that my entire family had turned into viscious, bloodsucking vampires ready to sink their teeth into my young flesh. sometimes these fears even carried into the morning, whereupon poppo and i would be riding to school in his rickety, blue datsun pickup truck. i would stare out at the grey sky fizzing with dry autumn leaves and think, "if poppo turned into a daytime vampire right now, that would be so scary. but at least he would make me a vampire too, then me and poppo would be vampires together."

i was a strange child, but i loved my grandfather very much.

in fact, everyone has always loved him. my mom and aunts used to call him "the phantom of san gabriel" because sometimes he would rake other people's lawns as well as ours and on the eve of trash day he would go around to several of our neighbors houses and, under the cloak of twilight, drag their trash cans out to the front for them. and this was before all trash cans had wheels.

when we were little, he made all of us laugh and scream by turning his eyelids inside-out. whenever my mom got really pissed she would tell him to spank me with his belt. he would take me to his bathroom, where he kept all of his belts rolled and filed in the wooden drawer. he opened the drawer and showed them to me menacingly, but he never hit me. never once.

the scent map i made of him is original old spice deodorant, the cracked vinyl of the seats in his truck, yard work sweat, the cheap wooden cabinets of his bathroom, cepacol mouthwash, and old, yellowing hard back books.

he taught me to always have a pen. he taught me that you can make a game of the dictionary. he read me a story over and over again that taught me that art can save your life. he taught me that republicans suck. he taught me to go out of my way for others. he taught me to appreciate a good pun. he helped teach us all every fucking thing we know about love.

he has been in a home for about a year, i think, or a little more. they (i say they) had to put him there when he started wandering away from home. i rarely visit. it breaks my heart. i know it is selfish. i gave him my letter then never followed through.

the alzheimer's disease has killed his memory. he does not remember me. he does not remember how i used to say, "i love you poppo!" and he would say, "thank you!" and then i would say, "poppo, that's not the answer!!!" and then he would smile and say "i love you too."

today, in the emergency room, i leaned down and tried to choke the words out, but i don't know if he could hear me. i would have given anything for him to just say "thank you!" i would have known what he meant by that.

poppo and i with our favorite, the meyer lemon tree

annoying things, guilty pleasures, random kitten pic

goddamnit, it's hard being a self-employed, self-educated, semi-self-disciplined writer. i am trying to write a little every day and post here at least once a day during the week, but sometimes i just don't feel like it. to get myself motivated i sit in front of my laptop and imagine that i am a writer of yore, hammering away at the keys of a typewriter with a cigarette dangling from my lips. to get the full effect, i actually light a cig. it actually usually works, but then i am faced with the problem of trying to smoke and use my precious computer at the same time, so i half-heartedly put it out. so much for the theatrics.

for the record, i am over being smart, funny, and "a cool girl." also, someone called me "sweet" last night and i swear it took all i had not to rip off her eyebrows with my teeth. look, a-duh, it's nice to be appreciated for my personality. if i didn't want that, i wouldn't spend pretty much every waking hour perfecting my charm, but i don't need positive reinforcement from anyone who isn't going to get me paid anymore. i don't wanna hear it. i don't even like compliments unless they pertain to my clothes or hair, and that is the truth. once i tried to do an experiment in which i didn't talk at all in hopes of radiating mystery, but it lasted all of an hour. luckily, i love experiments, so i am totally going to try that one again soon. maybe this weekend.

let us note that i have apparently lost all ability to spell.

anyways, the point at hand: because of my oft-mentioned near complete lack of shame, i have very few guilty pleasures. there are, however, enough to make a short list, and who doesn't like reading about other people's closet joys?

1. beef jerky. my vegan and veg friends are probably vomming onto their keyboards right now, but it's true. it tastes so good, but how is a lady supposed to admit that she likes tearing into strips of theoretically cooked meat? gross. mmm... teriyaki...

2. conversly, there is something i love that is so girly even for me, so insanely vag-ulous, that i rarely discuss it. sarah mclachlan. seriously, sometimes you just need some sarah in your life. i don't sit around stroking my copy of "surfacing" or anything, but whenever a sarah song comes on my ipod, i hover my thumb over the skip button and look around to see if anyone is watching before breaking into a FULL ON sing-along. "sweet surrender," indeed.

3. self-diagnosis. growing up in a family in which i had to listen to my mom and aunt constantly saying tings like "i think i am going to die soon, mija" or "i'm pretty sure i have cancer," i learned early on that it is important to obsess over what horrible ailments could possibly overtake me. when i was little, i swiped my grandpa's big, red medical encyclopedia and sat in the living room for hours reading about leukemia, influenza related deaths, and the difference between boils and carbuncles. i feel that because of this rich history, i was able to ascertain that i had walking pneumonia last week. i have also recently determined that i most likely have body dysmorphic disorder, OCD, and maybe even vaginismus. what am i going to do about any of this? the answer is simple: self-medicate. jk jk.

4. breaking things. okay, so i know this is a common one, but understand that it's not really like me. i don't get that kind of pleasure people get out of smashing bottles or popping balloons. i generally prefer objects to meet their demise quietly. therefore, one way i can experience the sweet taste of distruction is when i am about to throw away a cosmetics item when it gets too old to use. i smash every single lipstick, crack and scrape at the eyeshadow and powder pans, bend the mascara wands until they snap. hahahaha. diabolical!

5. biting. a necessary undertaking, however one i find what i believe to be an usual amount of pleasure in. my poor fingernails! my poor friends! note to self: buy more chewing gum, take more lovers.

6. tabloids. seriously, i love them. i even like to read old ones i already read. how sad is that? they are seriously so entertaining and colorful. they ask hard-hitting questions like, who wore this dress better, the chick from that show i don't watch b/c i don't have cable or that chick from "grey's anatomy" which i don't watch cause i hate being bored to tears? that might not sound like a question that should be interesting or relevant to me, but it is, it is, again and again, mostly on th toilet. the best part is, sometimes i will still buy them even though that shit is basically free on the internet now, what with all the gossip blogs and video sites. still, it's so nice to have a hard copy, you know? as they say, the book is always better than the youtube.

well, that's all for now. i'm tired and i have to go to work tomorrow and also make an important phone call. i feel pretty good right now because all i really want to do is work on my writing and read a shit ton. and drink with my friends, but not too much.

lastly:

here is a picture of me with a kitten.

okay, byebye.

a toast: to habit, and rehabbing

i was getting frustrated today because i have gained so much weight that my clothes simply are not fitting properly and in my mind there really should be no reason for that, as i have been so poor i have been eating next to nothing. then i remembered that when i do eat, i basically eat jam. jam is high in carbs. okay, i don't eat plain jam, cause that is absolutely hitting rock bottom, but i have been eating a lot of toast.

my old bff alex used to get SO PISSED because i would say "i want a toast!" instead of "a piece of toast." i understood her frustration, but it's one of those things we just sort of grew up saying. sometimes my grandma, grandpa, or my mom would say stuff strangely because they are from texas and speak a lot of spanglish, and it would annoy the shit out of me, but some things, like "a toast" just slipped through the cracks and became part of my vocabulary.

it sucks as you get older and realize what a shitface you have been to your parents for things that are simply not their fault or even necessarily bad. i can specifically remember one time when i was in high school and i snarled at my mom that she was saying the word "sandwich" incorrectly because she sometimes says "sangwich." my mom and i fight like two cats in a sack and sometimes she gets way out of line with me and says fucked up things, but i remember that time she looked at me with genuine hurt and said, "i'm sorry i say that word wrong. it's really hard for me to say that." and i felt like a fucking douchebag, but i didn't let it show.

sometimes i wonder if i will end up doing things like my mom and aunts do. i am so lazy and so incapable that i have never actually made a steak, but i wonder if i tried to cook one, would i inadvertently season it the same way my family would? i just wonder...

i already make the same silly faces as my mom and tell everyone how ugly i think i am, like she does. it's so funny because it embarrasses me to no end and makes me so sad when she does that, but i do it too, all the time. it's like an out of body experience. i can hear myself saying the words and regretting them. i can hear whomever i say it to becoming uncomfortable.

where does it end? what is true? do i know how to make a piece of meat taste exactly like my grandmother makes it just because i have eaten it like that a hundred times? was i ugly before i learned to say so, to anyone who was listening?

there are some steps you can never retrace.

let me cater 2 u

if working out of the restaurant on catering jobs has taught me anything, it's that my family rules. well, i supose the real lesson is that most people suck, but seeing as one of my greatest hobbies is bringing it all back to me, i have decided to compare all other parties to the parties my family throws. at one of our family parties, there is no way there would be a tiny dining table with huge, shitty sculptural candelabras the NO ONE CAN MOVE OR ELSE that the caterers have to somehow arange a giant trough-like chafing dish full of fucking spinach and artichoke dip and chips and salsa between. at one of our parties, there would be no skinny, orange hags wrinking their noses at the food before settling on half a chicken breast. at one of our parties, there is no way my mom would allow a bunch of riff-raff looking kids who had to drive a hideous van, lug out a bunch of hot food, and stand around all night serving mashed potatoes and making entertaining banter leave without at least two full plates each. it's not even that i want to eat the stupid food (i mean, i do), but it's the principle.

i can't help but think about my mom in situations like that. sometimes she annoys the shit out of me because she is always giving stuff away and it gets kind of embarrassing. like, the appropriate response to "ooh, i really like your bracelet!" is not "thanks! you want it?" but that's my mom. and once i got really mad at her because she tried to give all of my birthday cupcakes away to the staff at my grandpa's nursing home even though i wanted to take them to another party i was going to so my friends could eat them. still, being away from my family and out and about seeing how other people do certain things has brought me to a whole new level of appreciation for her and for all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. especially, though, for my grandparents, who taught us all the importance of being generous and caring towards others, even those who are working for you. um, and obviously how to throw fabulous parties.

i wanted to try and start to take the reins as the future generation of my family, but i am lazy, fuck up everything i touch, and get easily frustrated with children, adults, and the elderly. not really much of a people person. you can see, then, why i felt it was a fine idea to enter the food industry.

sometimes i really do wish i was the kind of girl who was, like... how any glimpse into my closet or vanity drawer would lead you to believe the good lord meant to make me. sweet, pretty, and domestic, with a flair for matters of the home and family, and who possesses an inexhaustible tolerance for high heels. in reality, i am a sweet-ish, pretty-enough booze-hound who likes to laugh, dance, write, and fuck or talk about laughing, dancing, writing, and fucking. the high heel thing is kind of true though. almost.

p.s. how much do you LOVE the carrots photoshopped into that pic of a chafing dish above. hahahaha.