A Record of Poor Judgment

Losing Keratinized Tissue

2012-02-25T16:18:00.000-05:00

**Warning: The following entry contains extremely graphic photographs depicting a minor surgical procedure. The writer is not responsible from any reactions the photographs may evoke. Reader discretion is advice. Again, DO NOT read this entry if you have a weak stomach, gore makes you uncomfortable and you experience panic upon seeing graphic depictions of blood or open human flesh **

The day before New Year's Eve I went out to celebrate with a few of my girlfriends the new coming of the year. That night I also experienced an event that would change my perspective on my threshold of pain, resistance to medication and my general idea on how difficult life can be for the chronically ill.

I was at a bar where the whole crowd was getting rowdy. I was also getting pretty rowdy myself, immersing in every bit of the rambunctious merry-making. Several people got kicked out for displaying boorish, aggressive behavior. Somehow I got caught in the midst of a drunken yokel getting thrown out of the bar when a gargantuan cop with heavy combat boots stepped on my left foot, causing me excruciating pain. There was no way in hell that my black suede stilettos were going to protect my toes from the stomp of a 250-pound, 6'6" man.

When I finally got to sleep, I woke up way before I should have out of agonizing pain I was feeling every time the sheets rubbed against my left foot. I got up to see what was causing so much pain as I slept. My left toe was swollen three times larger than normal and the nail was entirely red and bruised. The swelling was so extreme and the colors of the bruises so abnormal I was certain I had broken my toe. Putting any pressure on my left foot to walk was absolutely unbearable. I couldn't focus on anything and not even the strongest over-the-counter dosage of sodium naproxen helped with the inflammation and pain.

As the days went by, the swelling subdued but the bruising got progressively worse. The pain also got worse and a lot weirder. It felt like I had pins and needles in my toe and sometimes I felt painful twitching. A month later the whole thing looked like something out of a Quentin Tarantino after-fight scene and I knew I had to see a doctor about it. My worst fear was infection of the nail bed.

When I saw the podiatrist, surely enough, the doctor told me that he would have to perform a minor surgery to remove the entire nail because it was basically dead and he had to drain all of the stagnant blood that was just sitting on my nail bed. For reference, three months after I got my wisdom teeth removed I grew an abscess on my cheek. The maxilofacial surgeon tried his best to administer anesthesia to remove and clean the abscess and wounds but the Novocaine never kicked in 100% and I felt every bit of it. When this podiatrist told me that he needed to administer local anesthesia, I just about flipped my shit and panicked. I panicked because I feel uncomfortable seeing my own exposed flesh. I can see other people's fucked up innards, but not my own. Secondly, I am DEATHLY afraid of local anesthesia because I went into shock during the abscess removal because of it. Thirdly, the doctor explained he would have to inject me about 4 times directly onto my toe. I am traumatized since childhood by needles.

This is what my toe nail looked like before the procedure. You can see right where the nail was crushed the worst.

The doctor, seeing my extreme distress over the prospect of the procedure, decided that giving me Valium would make me calm down and feel better. If you, dear reader, have been reading this blog for a while, then you know I have a bit of a teenie weenie history of prescription medicine abuse which includes Valium. I let the doctor know of this but he overestimated the potency of 10mg of Valium on me. I took one and I felt pretty normal. After 20 minutes of me soberly sitting in the procedure room, panicking I was really hoping the nurse would come back with a second dosage. She didn't. She came to clean my foot and sterilize the procedure area as much as possible. She also brought in all of the scalpels, scapulae and syringes that would be needed for the procedure. Upon seeing this, I thought to myself, "fuck this shit" and laid as far back as the chair allowed me to and I began listening to the Fallout New Vegas Soundtrack.

The procedure itself was pretty uneventful. It was the application of anesthesia that was easily one of the most nerve-wrecking experiences of my life so far. The podiatrist explained that he was going to spray the injured regions of my foot with liquid nitrogen solution that would supposedly numb most of the nerve endings so he could inject the anesthesia onto the joints of my big toe and under my nail. I don't know about you, reader, but the prospect of having needles stuck under your finger nails is enough to have made me almost piss myself right then and there. That instant I began to fantasize that there would be another doctor coming in with a shit ton of nitrous oxide and a nice IV of anesthetics so I could go under and pass the fuck out. Of course, things never work out like this for me so the handsome anesthesiologist I was hoping would come in never did come in and I was doomed to face the sheer horror of having needles stuck all over my toe and foot.

For the rest of the procedure the nurse told me to stay laid down on the chair and even brought me a pillow for "comfort". My mom stood right next to me throughout the entire procedure, trying to get me to relax and telling me to remember to take deep, long breaths. The doctor began telling me what he was going to do. I told him to not tell me jackshit about the procedure and just go with it as if I were completely under.

The next 10 minutes sucked ass. Surely enough, the doctor sprayed that liquid nitrogen stuff on my foot. He said it would feel like ice cubes running down my skin. It felt like the hellish icy wind that blows through Chicago in the dead of winter late at night. I jerked my foot, nearly kicking him in the face. It was a feeling that was a combination of a cramp, stepping on concrete while barefoot after a shower of sleet and mild electric shock from when you try to plug your Xbox still dripping wet from a shower. I started panicking. I tried to reassure myself everything would be OK and I tried to focus on Radiohead's In Rainbows and began singing to distract myself. My mom began to talk to me about random things to also distract me further. All of that effort was in vain, because even though the doctor said my foot was indeed "numb" he began to prod it with a sharp prodding needle. I screamed and told him to wait the fuck up. I was becoming irate. He waited a few minutes and poked me again. I didn't really feel it. Seeing this, he began to stick me with the needles for the anesthesia.

This was taken the day after the surgery. Hydrogel dressings hurt like a bitch on open flesh like this.

He applied the anesthesia but right before he began to remove my nail I felt something horrid. Right on the joint of my injured toe I felt an agonizing grinding pain right at the joint. It burned and it felt like he was trying to drill something into the joint. I reacted with fear and pain. I yelped in pain and whatever rhythm of breathing I had acquired, it was shot to hell. I began breathing unevenly and I was scared. I couldn't see what the doctor was doing and I knew that by now my flesh was probably all exposed. Knowing this scared the living hell out of me and I almost pissed myself again. Before I could even began to fathom more about horrors occurring to me, the doctor told me he was done and the nurse sat me back up. My toe was bandaged and somehow the other nurse in there managed to dispose of my excised tissues before I got up. After a few minutes I got up to go home and drag my sorry ass on a wheelchair. Once I was on the wheelchair I realized that the Valium had just mildly kicked in. I was severely disappointed.

I went back home. I was prescribed a crappy ass combination of codeine and Tylenol for the pain. I was finally feeling high and I proceeded to take the most awkward shower of my life with several plastic bags wrapped around my wounded foot. Somehow I got dressed and decided to lay down, but first I needed to prop my foot as high as I could on my bed. My mom left a night light in the hallway outside of my room and I fell asleep with the door open.

The bandages I had to change everyday and wear to bed. Most uncomfortable.

Later at night the trouble really begin to occur for me. I had to get up to pee but my little brother left the crutches too far away from my bed. (I was forbidden to put any pressure on my left foot at any costs for the next week and a half). It was around 2 AM so the anesthesia had definitely worn off by then and I could only feel the burning, raw sensation of my soft flesh being rubbed against gauze and bandages. It took me about 15 minutes to muster enough strength to lasso the crutches towards me with a scarf I had next to my bed and to wobble my way to the toilet. It took me another 5 minutes to find a way to not put any weight on my left foot while trying to sit on the god damn toilet. By the time all of this came about, I felt like I might as well have pissed myself.

After that bathroom debacle, I decided to take some of that fail-ass codeine/Tylenol medicine. The doctor directed me to take one. I took one. I still felt just as shitty. Again, the doctor underestimated my resistance to pain medication due to my height and weight. I said, "fuck it" and doubled my dose. I finally found some physical comfort and attempted to fall back asleep.

The next days became a test of will, patience and general anger management. While my family was really good about being sweet and comforting, the rest of the world became more of a shit hole than it already is. My dog Porco would freak the fuck out if he saw me on the crutches and he constantly looked for my foot to try to lick it. (I guess human blood is a delectable treat). One day I went to get coffee with my mom and as I tried to make my way across the parking lot in crutches, this bitch in a Toyota Camry decided she wasn't gonna wait on the temporarily crippled woman in front of her and proceeded to swerve around me, almost hitting me in the process. I hate children with a passion and I hate their attention even more, now every time I wobbled into a restaurant, they all stared at me like I was some sort of freakish monster with metal stilts for legs. Inconsiderate pricks would stare at me at any given chance. Sure, I couldn't really wear a shoe on my left foot because it was bandaged up but it didn't mean I was purposely trying to gross people out. Well, said people liked to act like I was flailing around my own blood and sinews at them. I might as well should have so the stares of disgust would have been justified. Getting in and out of the car was an elaborate hell because I had to find a way to step out of my mother's Routan without falling flat on my face and balancing my weight on the crutches first before stepping out. To top it off, while the weather in Atlanta had been pretty mild the days leading up to my minor medical debacle, the weather took a turn for the worse and right after I was cut up the temperatures plummeted to 21 degrees Fahrenheit every night. The pain became pretty obnoxious and I hated myself.

The wound after a week from the procedure. Seriously, people who looked at me like I was gross are lucky I wasn't shoving this unbandaged right in their faces.

Through this whole experience I began to think of those individuals out there that suffered a much, much worse fate and ended up with a lifelong debilitating condition. How do they deal with the everyday stresses of life? How do they handle the idiotic stares of the stupid and inconsiderate asswipes out there? Are they able to get the same level of privacy as any other person with average mobility out there? How does their mobility affect their social life and their perspective in life? I now understand a little more about some of the people I have encountered here or there whose mobility is less than the average. This was a small procedure, sure, which means that I would probably collapse within myself if I under went anything more serious and complicated. I learned a lot about myself and that I have less patience than I thought. I'm also really afraid of people coming anywhere near my feet now. I guess what I want to share with you, dear reader, is that I have come out of this with a wider perspective of what it is to be hurt in life and how others cannot empathize with you. I learned to be more considerate of those around me who happen to be sick or injured and I've become a bit more compassionate because of it.

Dubstep: An Embodiement of American Excess Culture

2012-01-27T01:02:00.001-05:00

*Disclaimer: This was written solely for fun. This is the opinion of the author but does not imply that the whole community of dubstep fans agree with the author. In addition to this, the author means absolutely no disrespect to the United States or any citizens of the United States. On the contrary, it is a proud commentary on what a strong impact Americanization has in a microcosm of the world. The author was raised and currently resides in the United States. The people of the United States have a very special place in her heart. This is dedicated to the good ol' American folk who continue to believe and work for the American Dream. If you're lookin' to troll, GTFO*

AMERICA!!! FUCK YEAH!!

~ ~ ~

A few weeks ago Skrillexfinally released his latest EP, titled "Bangarang". Last night I hadthe pleasure of sitting down to listen to it. I welcome the new EP with greatenthusiasm and immense awe. It's got all the delicious, distorted goodness thatmakes dubstep-in my opinion- the ecstatic musical chaos it is: heavy drops, distortedtreble and bass lines and pounding rhythms.

In addition, Bassnectar recently announced his new tour dates around the US andelsewhere for his VAVA VOOM 2012 Tour . You can check out the tour dates here. Atlanta is also going to have therare privilege of having Datsik and Steve Aoki perform at The Tabernacle onFebruary 9th. This influx of musical awesomeness has made me ponder on a verypeculiar idea: American dubstep gracefully embodies American culture in excessand exaggeration of reality.

There is a vast difference between American and British dubstep. Britishdubstep DJs like Rusko and Doctor P have a very mellow style consideringthey're dubsep artists. Their bass drops, while heavy, subtly come on in smallcrescendos and fade away in decrescendos. Despite the bass drops and trebleline distortions, Rusko and Doctor P keep a very melodic and organized tune. Instark comparison, American dubstep artist Skrillex employs a distinctivearray of super distorted bass drops. An excellent example of these dirty dropsis found in Skrillex's "Scatta ft. Foreign Beggars". Of course,British Genetix makes a totally artificial and almost terrifying distortion in"Squid Attack" which is, to this day, the only British artistwho has executed such a dirty drop. Not only are these extremedistortions in sound utterly excessive, they have become a trademark ofAmerican dubstep as they demonstrate the American passion for being better,stronger, bolder.

Britishdubstep.

Americandubstep.

Britishdubstep anomaly of epic proportions of bad-assery.

Americans are famous for their raging pride over their constitutional freedomsand peculiar embrace of violence. We love our guns, freedom of speech andviolence. American dubstep pays a glorious homage to the FirstAmendment and raw violence. Like anything humans have come up with, Americanshave made a more extreme/hardcore version of it. Dubstep was initially popularin the UK before it hit the US. About 7-9 years ago it hit American shores.Americans didn't wait around to make dubstep a widespread musical movement thatcaptures American raging pride in its most vigorous essence.

While in other cultures musical lyrics are always meant to convey a profoundemotion, Americans see it as a way to express whatever they want. This meanslyrics won't always be coherent or full of eloquent language. Bassnectar's"Upside Down" is nothing but a repetition of 3-4 phrases. It'ssupposed to emulate the progression of a drop. Is it profound? No. Is it richin language? Of course not! That's the beauty of American English in music.With Americans, not everything has to be a passionate proclamation. Speech is somethinginfinite and it doesn't matter what one decides to say. Language becomes avessel of unharnessed expression. It's a god-given right as an American to saywhatever you damn please. No one can take tha from you 'cos the First Amendmentprotects it. (In the US, The Constitution is supereme law). Skrillex takes itfurther with his over-the-top chorus to "Fucking Die". The chorus isa recording of a mentally unstable old woman screaming, "you can eat shitand fucking die!" Nothing eloquent about that, but you can't helprelish in the sheer obscenity of the song. In most styles of music, evenhip-hop and death metal, very rarely will an artist use these forms ofexpression. American dubstep is bold and completely disregards any socialinhibition in language. In many everyday scenarios, the majority of youngAmericans are also bold and hold nothing back in social settings. It's allabout standing out while being unique and dubstep demonstrates these desires ina musical context.

Backwardsand forwards and upside down. Go up. Then go down.

In addition to embodying bold, American unharnessed speech, American dubstep has managed to also embody the American warrior spirit. In a way, one can say that the super distorted sound evokes a certain je ne sais quoi that could easily incite violence. There have been a few scientific studies where evidence was found that repetitive, pounding bass and/or drums tend to stimulate the brain for enhanced physical activity. A perfect example are war drums in many ancient civilizations. Depending on the listener, certain artists evoke more of a feeling of invigoration or euphoria. Some prefer more melodic songs that contain a hard, sudden drop and then there are those that prefer a consistent bass beat throughout the whole song. Bassnectar is known to keep a consistent time signature and beat with his work, while Canadian,although very much American-sounding, Datsik employs staccato notes, shifts in distortion and sudden drops. Bassnectar's "The 808" remains consistent yet very energetic while Datsik's "Gecko" has sudden shifts and inconsistent progressions. The works of both of these artists can be described as violent in their own way.

In addition to having violent shifts and progressions in American dubstep, many American dubstep artists portray violent behaviors through the rhythm of dubstep. Aside from the violence, this is also a sheer example of unjustified yet completely acceptable and enjoyable excess. Skrillex is probably the best living portrait of this blissful American excess. In his video for "Rufneck-FULL Flex", we see as Santa Claus drugs himself with an exaggerated amount of pills and later has to endure the chaos of dealing with mall children. Every part of the song is perfectly synchronized with every action taking place in the video. Another gleaming example of raw excess is "First of the Year (Equinox", also by Skrillex. Not only does this song feature a super distorted electric guitar, the video shows a pedophile ready to attack a little girl. Through some nondescript power or ability, the little girl summons the "power of dubstep" to defeat her would-be attacker. The best example of unjustified excess and outlandish antics is Skrillex's extremely odd antics where he is seen dancing while head banging and dry-humping the air. There is no justification for anything portrayed in these videos or in Skrillex's bizarre performance. It just is. The fans don't question it because the general consensus is that it's amazing and awesome. Awesome things or ideas don't need justification or purpose in the US. There is no purpose for one person to drive a massive SUV for short distances, yet it's extremely common in the US. It's done because it can be done. There is nothing or anyone barring an American from just doing or making things, even if a purpose isn't clear or justified.

See? No purpose or justification.

Ruffneck-FULL Flex

First of the Year (Equinox)

All of these small details found within American dubstep artists music and performances, through heavy analysis, embodies the sublime essence of what it is to be part of modern day American excess culture. Anything can be implicit and overtly violent. Everything can be deliciously decadent and excessive. There doesn't have to be a clear motive or purpose for anything or anyone. If it's considered by the collective, even in a minority, to be acceptable and even artistically virtuous, then it makes it intrinsically beautiful.

*This is probably the longest blog entry I have written to date.*

Why the People of Hyrule Need a Coup d'État

2012-01-18T00:24:00.002-05:00

We've all learned to love and cherish the Zelda game franchise. Each game has an elaborate story with ethereal universes within each game in which a player can get entranced in for days. I guess we love the Zelda games because they're not gritty, crappy realities like the world we live in. Seriously, I'm pretty sure that many fans of the Zelda games would say that they wouldn't really change a thing about the Zelda worlds if they happened to live in one. I, however, think that the people of Hyrule need to learn a few things from us loud, war-raging, promiscuous humans: learning how to overthrow and establish a fairer more pragmatic government.

As King of Hyrule, I don't give a fuck about how my country is run. I need another shot of heroin.

For my following analysis I am going to use Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess as examples. It's been years since I played A Link to the Past.

For starters, let's look at the massive gap between social classes. You have your Hylean Royal Family consisting of Zelda and no one else really. Then you have all of your plebeians: everyone else in Hyrule. Aside from Zelda, the only other people who seem to have some more say than others are Link and the often-useless Great Fairies. The Sages in Ocarina of Time don't count because they're weak wizards and in Twilight Princess they're only briefly mentioned as useless guardians who let the worst criminal of all time escape. The Great Fairies who claim to have immense power don't do anything to protect the people who live near their caves in Ocarina of Time. In Twilight Princess they appear as emo, half-naked women in their early 20s who bottle their magical tears and dwell in desert dungeons. These are the decision makers in government for the people of Hyrule.

"All of you can eat shit and die,"-Princess Zelda

Anyone who is anyone in Hyrule lives here: Zelda.

The only apparent absolute ruler Hyrule has is Princess Zelda who appears to be about 8 years old and a meek 20-something year old in Twilight Princess. She had enough sense to enact some sort of scheme to provide Hyrule with a military to protect Hyrule's interests and its people. The only problem is that this army is excruciatingly incompetent, under equipped and severely under trained. In Ocarina of Time, the Hylean Army couldn't even contain a small attempt at Zelda's life in a town with a population of about 30 people. In Twilight Princess, they blatantly display their incompetence and cowardice by running away from battles and just sitting on their asses while the entire world is being consumed by shadow monsters. All of Hyrule falls under whatever is invading it in a matter of less than 5 minutes and a sad cut scene. The Hylean Army is less victorious than the French Army, now that's a real feat.

The formidable Hylian Army.

In addition to this, Hyrule is racially divided into different regions where different species live in usually deplorable living conditions. It's quite evident that the Hylean Royal Family has decree over these lands but totally ignores to place military protection, functioning road systems and reliable commerce in all of these territories. Is this an implication from Zelda's absolute decree that races other than Hyleans are considered expendable? We see how the Hylean Royal Family made absolutely no attempt to help the Gorons in Ocarina of Time when Ganondorf closed off Dodongo Caverns thus starving an entire race as a drawn out form of genocide. The Zoras were left completely without aid when Zora's Domain got frozen over for the 18 thousandth time in Twilight Princess. Prince Ralis who was a representative for the Zora people was basically left to die when he got to Castle Town. I'm sure Zelda heard of the young Zoran prince who stumbled into town. She did nothing to treat this young prince with due diplomatic importance. The Gorons in Ocarina of Time were left to starve and figure out their crisis on their own. It's like a dying, crippled state governor try to call the National Guard only for the National Guard to send a middle schooler with an airsoft gun to handle the massive genocide.

I know you're all dying in Zora's Domain, but check out my SWEET dance moves!!!

From an economic standpoint, Hyrule is worse off than a medieval principality. African anarchies have a better economical and infrastructural system. The Hylean monarchy does absolutely nothing to set up safe roads from one settlement to another in the vast territory of Hyrule. Hyrule apparently has no laws stating that certain lands must be set aside for farming. There is the Faron Province in Twilight Princess that has a small goat ranch and a few patches of vegetables, but that is barely enough for subsistence farming for the small village of Ordon to survive on. There's no way in hell the farmers in Ordon can feed ALL of Hyrule. On top of that, there are several lines of dialogue where Ordonians discuss how dangerous the roads are in Hyrule. In addition, Hyrule only has no more than 10 stores in the WHOLE nation. Does anyone remember anything about Soviet stores? The riots? The long lines? The inflated prices? On top of that, the entire country has a completely monopolized market for any commodity, good or service the citizenry requires. There is only one guy in ALL of Hyrule in both Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess who makes bombs and he's in the inferior non-Hylean region of Goron City. Another guy who only sells and makes arrows. The Kokiri seem to only collect Deku Nuts and make Deku Shields and only them. In Ocarina of Time only ONE woman makes all of the medicine for every single Hylean.

That being said, prices for any good are ridiculously high. Zelda also doesn't seem to know how money works because you can find rupees in denominations as high as 500 just fortuitously scattered in the grass of the whole damn country. If anyone has ever paid any attention in economics class, then you know that having money just laying around and making more money ends in disastrous inflation that suddenly makes all of your family's 401k's into massive piles of steaming turds, except turds suddenly have more monetary value. This is what Zelda is doing with every single Hyleans hard earned rupees. No one seems to have more than 20 rupees on hand at any given time, yet the cheapest thing in Ocarina of Time is at least double that. Even in a feudal principality, lords would try to keep the monetary value in their favor by limiting how much of any crop was planted in one year and by keeping a very consistent supply of gold, silver or bronze coins in circulation. Even a mercantile system would make sense for Hyrule, but Zelda decides to just fuck it and make the finances of the country one big free for all, and not in a good way. Even rupees are easy to counterfeit if you think about it. There are plenty of glass bottles everywhere. What's to stop a poor Goron miner from dyeing the glass to look like purple, silver and even the coveted orange rupees?

"We're so much better off than Hyrule."

So we know the military is fucked, this basically a deplorable tyranny and there is genocide all over Hyrule. The only person who seems to have any power to protect the people of Hyrule from further suffering and strife is Link. Link is a self-less, chivalrous man-boy from the genetic experiment region of Kokiri Forest. This poor guy is like the Joan of Arc of the Zelda universe. He single-handedly takes down an entire world's worth of monsters, demonic armies and sociopathic red heads with green skin. But Link does not act out of his own incentive. Zelda is the one who pathetically pleads him to defend an entire nation with just a shield and a crappy, old sword against a man with infinite magic powers and massive army. Zelda, however, never offers Link any sort of reward for putting his life in danger and literally putting the weight of the world on his shoulders. She doesn't even give him basic armament! The most useful thing she gives him is an ocarina and a set of light arrows that are energetically cumbersome. After all his efforts, Hyrule's public enemy number one, King Ganondorf of the Gerudo, manages to come back and kick Hyrule's ass every single time!

Seriously, Zelda? What the fuck?!

At this point Hyrule has been invaded by Ganondorf at least 8 times, if not more. The people of Hyrule go a few years in strife only to then be thrown in an even shittier position when a sadistic, dictator takes over. It's like Zelda and Ganondorf take turns playing Russian roulette with the people of Hyrule. With each game, it seems like Hyleans become more and more indifferent to the situation in Hyrule to the point where they might as well add the line "I don't give a fuck. For 5 rupees you can play a game with my magical cuckos!" to every single character in future Zelda games.

"I don't give a fuck that we got invaded for the 33rd time in my lifetime, buy some astronomically expensive twigs!"

The plan is to place Zelda's neck on this thingy majigg and then we will parade her corpse around the country!

What the people of Hyrule don't realize is that maybe, just maybe, Ganondorf is trying to stage a sort of Bolshevik Revolution style uprising against the tyrannous and genocidal Princess Zelda. Hyrule needs to topple their current government and start afresh. At least we know Ganondorf would protect the people of Hyrule and try to set up a more centralized government for all the people of Hyrule. Link could retire and everyone would rejoice in a federal and democratic socialist government under Ganondorf. Finally then, Hyrule could compete economically with Uganda and join the ranks of third world countries since they seem to be below the world's lowest poverty line.

Vive la révolution de la grande Hyrule!

Top Ten Stupidest Songs I Heard in 2011

2011-12-26T20:15:00.002-05:00

Where to begin this list? Some of the stuff I've heard this year is pretty ridiculous. I think I will end up presenting some of these without comment. All of these songs are so asinine, the only reaction they got out of me was a huge "WHAT THE FUCK?!". Most of these songs were discovered by my sister and then shared with me. Let's get started.

#10 "Me Encanta el Cristal" by Los Amos de Nuevo Leon (Translation: I Love Crystal):

This is a group of crack head Mexicans that play music about the exploits of being a Mexican drug lord and being a Mexican crack head. As if the genre of corridos aren't bad enough, these idiots show up. The song starts with "I fucking love crystal (ie. crack)... I carry so many pipes because I break 'em a lot". Mind you the name of the album that contains this song is "Desmadre en el Baño" which roughly translates to "Fucken' Party in da Bathroom". The moment of asinine glory is about 1:20 into the song. This cracked out entrepreneur tells the listener that "you better be careful when smokin' it 'cos it's a lot of dangerous. I got 10 years smokin' it and it still ain't my vice". If you can't find the intentional translated grammatical error, than your IQ is probably below 90. "A lot of dangerous"... Sure! Smokin' crack for 10 years isn't a big deal, bro.

#9 "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO:

I had never seen the video until I decided to write this entry. Holy shit, this makes no fucking sense at all. I'm pretty sure it's a HUGE medical, and probably criminal, violation for a hospital to keep patients in comas in their filthy, alcoholic exploit attire. I guess a little Grey Goose and vomit never hurt anyone. Every single fucking club, bar and lounge I have been to this year played this song at least 5 times during the night. I think it's a stupid song because it seems to fall into the same pattern of crappy club music. The lyrics don't really make any sense and it has the most annoying chorus ever. I would rather listen to Mexican Crack Heads while I'm drinking at a bar than this crap. I guess if I "shuffled" everyday I would also be in an alcohol-induced coma. Then there's the 2 minute crappy synth solo. As a passionate fan of electronic music, this breaks my heart. It's like a ritalin-happy 7th grade orchestra student passed off his shittily composed song as possible Carnegie Hall material.

#8 "Loca People" by Sak Noel:

There are SEVERAL things wrong with this song. I didn't even bother to watch the video because I thought the song itself sucked so much. 90% of the song consists of butchered language in both English and Spanish. Repeating "vat da fuck" about 38438829820828 times into the intro of the song. This repetition didn't really anesthetized me enough for the agony I would endure for the next four minutes. The second example of extreme ignorance and failed swag is when the chick starts speaking Spanish. She says "fifa la fiesta". I didn't know you could FIFA in Spanish. Another note, are you also so fucking deprived of night life experience that you're baffled by us Spanish-speaking people's abilities to party hard and drink copious amounts of ethanol products? Then the chorus basically gives Spanish language one of the biggest "fuck you's" in the history of crappy club music: She manages to butcher in a horrible accent that "la gente está muy loca". She says it "luh hanta estuh mooee lokah". No, just no. I hope La Real Academia Española is working on a cease and desist letter for Sak Noel and barring that person from ever uttering any Spanish words in his/her/its music ever again.

Also, the name is grammatically incorrect if Sak Noel was going for a Spanish twist. "Gente loca" sounds a lot better.

#7 "Senzatii Tari" AKA Romanian Manele Nyan Cat:

Presented without comment.

Ţigan: Google it.

#6 "Born This Way" by Lady Gaga:

First off, I want to let everyone know that I actually really like Lady Gaga. I like her music. I think it's catchy and fun and in general I think she's a more positive role model for teenagers because she's all about embracing who you are. She puts heavy value on self confidence. There are several reasons I think this is one of those facepalm creations from Lady Gaga. I don't know who the "capital H-I-M" reference is supposed to allude to. Is she talking about that shitty Finnish artist HIM? I think Lady Gaga is harmless. She really does try to convey a very positive and beautiful message with this song but it ended up being a bit of a racist controversy a few days after its release. A lot of people got butthurt over the lyrics " You're... chola descent; You're orient". People thought that saying "chola" instead of saying the politically correct thing was racist towards the Hispanic community. I facepalmed because I didn't find any offense and, well, cholas are an icon (for better or worse) of the Hispanic community. Now, the orient thing... That was a bit of a fail on Gaga's part. People of all ethnicities generally frown upon calling people from far eastern Asian countries as "orientals". I just think Gaga could have put a little more thought into those tidbits.

#5 "Musica" by Fly Project:

Romanian artists have picked up a really annoying habit of singing languages other than Romanian. The reason I think this is annoying is because I personally think Romanian is a beautiful language. It's very melodic and descriptive. Music in Romanian, even if it's crappy, is amazing! I don't understand why a whole nation of musicians whose native language is among the most beautiful in the world suddenly decide to sing in, of all heinous languages, Portuguese. I think Portuguese is Spanish's abomination of a brother whose mother kept in the basement for too long. It sounds like cat's mating in a garbage disposal after eating their owner's percosets. This song is stupid because the artist decided denied the beauty of Romanian and it replaced it with a super shitty Portuguese chorus. I usually understand what people say in Portuguese, but, seriously, WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE BELLOWING?! Romanians should start singing in Vietnamese. VIETNAMESE MANELE.

#4 "Smell Yo Dick" by Risquay

I don't really have to elaborate here. I was REALLY hoping this was something from a Comedy Central special or SNL skit. It wasn't. It's a serious "artistic" endeavor.

#3 "Nyan Cat" by Asians???

A cat in a fucking pop tart flying through space while crapping a rainbow... Why? Favorite meme of 2011.

#2 "Twerk" by Lady:

Watch the video so I don't have to find words in human language to describe my horror. One ass cheek moves, the other doesn't. American strip clubs. Gonorrhea on steel poles. There is no god. (Oh yeah, this video is probably NSFW or your overall mental health so proceed with caution). Also, this bitch never twerks herself during the video. Also, there is nothing lady-like about Lady. She's more of a syphilitic tramp.

#1 "Look Back at Me" by Trina:

Everything women have tried to accomplish by trying to equalize rights between men and women is crushed under the dreadful weight and atrocity of this song. This song is sooooo heinous, my cynicism has met its match and I now have nightmares every day of how much worse life can be in a completely misogynist world. Thank you, Trina, by letting the whole world know that every single woman is totally cool by being sexually objectified. You take the dipshit song award for 2011. If only your brain was as big as your ass.

Thanks to everyone who put up through this horrendous survey of musical atrocities. I also want to thank my sister Paulina and my friends Omar and Tabita for introducing me to all of these horrible songs for the sheer joy of making fun of people. Thanks to Marinel for sitting here with me, enduring the macabre like a BAWSS.

OH DEAR GOD!!!! STOP!!!

Top Ten Songs I Heard in 2011

2011-12-26T04:36:00.005-05:00

So 2011 was a pretty tumultuous year for me, if you haven't picked up on it. Here I have come up with a compilation of the 10 songs that embody 2011 for me when I am 85 years old, wishing I could bang virile Scandinavian men again and I'm on my death bed.

#10 "Volare" interpretation by Martha Angélica

Ok, I have no fucking idea who Martha Angélica is; I'm not even gonna lie. I just really like this version of a classic. The chorus says, "I'll fly, I'll fly and I'll sing. Blue painted in blue". Blue in Spanish-speaking cultures isn't considered a sad color. It's actually a really happy color. They would always play this song when I had a crappy job as a waitress at a bar. Every time I heard this song it would remind me that I was going to make a big break this year for sure. When I hear it, I just feel so much optimism and happiness surging through my being.

#9 "Only One (in the World)" by Rihanna

I don't think I really have to explain this song. I met a wonderful man this year with gorgeous jade green eyes and a pure heart made of gold. He definitely made me feel like I'm the only one in the world. Due to circumstances, we couldn't remain together but, holy shit, did I feel ecstatic happiness every time I saw him. When I hear this song I think of all the beautiful things I experienced with this wonderful man. I will always think of all the good times I lived this year (at least in a romantic sense) every time I hear this song. I don't give a fuck for serious relationships at this time in my life but I know eventually I'll find a man who will top the one with the green eyes and he will make me feel like the only girl in the world. (I also had too many gin and tonics at several Atlanta clubs to this song, so take it easy).

#8 "Morning, Mr. Magpie" by Radiohead

This is probably the creepiest song in this list if you take the time to listen to it. The way Thom Yorke inflects and vocalizes in this song can only embody extreme scorn and resentment for a certain "Mr. Magpie". When I heard this song I was completely entranced by it. Every time I hear this song I can only think of all the shattered dreams I had this year and all of the childhood disappointments that came crashing down on me. The repetitive, frantic guitar reminds me of all the anxiety attacks I had after I broke off my engagement. Yorke's passionate vocalizations remind me of the burning desire I have to pick up the pieces and continue living my life in the search of happiness. It also embodies what I usually hear in my auditory hallucinations late at night. "Good morning, Mr. Magpie, how are you today ? You stole it all. Give it back". If that doesn't sound creepy as fuck, I don't know what does. "...Stolen all the magic and took my memory". Is Mr. Magpie a metaphor for percosets and oxycontin?

#8 "Chico Tienes que Cuidarte" by Hombres G

This song is by one of my favorite Spanish bands of all time! If you speak Spanish, then you will probably find the lyrics to this song pretty funny. It's basically talking about a young guy who is so strung out that everyone in the clinic present for physical thinks he's going batshit insane. Sadly enough, this happened to me in early November. I went in for a check up and the doctor started freaking the fuck out. Not only did she found ridiculous amounts of alcohol and drugs still present in my body, she also found out that I am suffering from temperomandibular disorder. The chorus of this song states "Boy, you have to take care of yourself!!!". I don't think any other song embodies my physical health in a more perfect way. Now ask yourself, reader, how much longer do you think your body will be able to take?

#7 "El Sol no Regresa" by La Quinta Estación

After I broke off my engagement this song became very dear to me. From what I understand, La Quinta Estación is a bunch of Spaniards living in Mexico who refused to leave. This song is talking about how drinking can be the best solution to forgetting about how shitty your life can be. It then refutes it in the 2nd chorus line saying that after so many tequilas the blues go away but they only come back. If there was any reason for my binge drinking, it was the fact that I have a failed engagement and that I generally have nothing left for me in the US. I drank a lot of tequila in the spring and summer of 2011. I also missed my birth town SO FUCKING MUCH. Now that I'm finally going back I take an attitude of confidence and happiness after such a long period of bittersweet tears and agony.

#6 "In the Shadow of the Valley" by ??? from the Fallout New Vegas Soundtrack:

I spent the last 2 months of 2011 playing Fallout New Vegas from beginning to end with my sister and some of my childhood friends from the US. This song is so beautiful. It's a poignant song that sounds like someone has just about given up but in reality it talks about a quiet, peaceful retreat somewhere in a valley. It describes a gorgeous landscape. The singer describes how all of the struggles and pain he's had to endure is definitely worth settling down in "the shadow of the valley". Despite the song sounding weary and a bit sad, it's actually a very optimistic song about a happy ending in a beautiful place. I think this is what 2012 has in store for me.

#5 "Cinema Skrillex Remix" by Benny Benassi ft. Gary Go

For the longest time I wondered if there was a song that could describe me from the point of view of someone who's heart, mind and eyes I captivated. (Not that there have been many of those). Earlier this year I found this masterpiece. Originally by Benny Benassi featuring some guy I have never heard of, Skrillex made a beautiful remix. Whenever I think about the first time I fell in love, this year, I always think of this song. I am spontaneous, eclectic, eccentric, gorgeous and ever changing. No other song could really captivate me en rose like this song. I really am a fucking cinema. If you know anything about old cinema, then you know that those old nitrate films where extremely flammable but had great cinematic performances. I think I'm a flammable piece of nitrate you could watch forever and in the wrong conditions I would burst into flames about 10 time faster than paper. I love myself just the way I am. I am my own cinema. (If you're stoned enough, my name does appear in the stars like in a science fiction novel).

#4 "Pursuit of Happiness" by Kid Cudi

All I can say is this: if I am every feeling down or even remotely sad, when I listen to this I feel so much better. This song basically assures me that it's OK to make mistakes. It's OK to have extraordinary dreams. It's OK to be afraid and it's OK to feel anger. This song is an emotional anthem to every single human being's aspiration for the best and making mistakes along the way. Life isn't really life if you don't take risks and we mistake many pitfalls as opportunities. Many times this year I fell into a lot of pitfalls of heavy binge drinking and drug abuse. I got myself out of it and I'm still optimistic about everything. Eventually, I think if you stay true to your cause that you will definitely achieve what you're trying attain. No song makes me believe this more than this one. After all, aren't we all embarked on a pursuit of happiness?

#3 "Be OK" by Ingrid Michaelson

Usually I hate this kind of music. My sister listens to this song almost every single day in the shower. I learned the lyrics to the song and I know exactly how I'm supposed to try to stay in tune with the song. I love this song because it's so upbeat and it makes me think of all the great thinks I have everyday. It makes me think of how much I love my family, what amazing friends I have and how much I fucking love my dog Porco and cat Chococat. This song is short, sweet, simple and to the point. I just wanna be OK.

#2 "In This Shirt Røyksopp Remix" by The Irrepressibles

I have no fucking idea who The Irrepressibles are. I definitely know who Røyksopp are. They're my favorite Norwegian duo of all time and this year they made a wonderful remix of this already beautiful song! If there's anything I will remember about 2011, it's definitely the time I lived between late August to mid November. I was extremely ecstatic. I was with the man I first fell in love with. The entire time I let myself fall into the depths of an unknown emotion, this song always played in the background. You should just listen to the whole song so you can sort of get an idea of how I felt between that time. Seriously, they were some of the most beautiful months of my life to date and now it's all gone. It's all lost in the decay of time and space but ever present and permanent in my memory.

#1 "Whatcha Say" by Imogen Heap (Dubstep Remix ???)

"What did you say? That it's all for the best?" This pretty much describes every single emotion I have experienced in 2011. This year I found out that I had to leave my home, I got offered the world, I fell in love, I lost love, I battled my demons, I succumbed to my demons, I was lost in drunken stupor, I lived in extreme bliss for 4 months, I found out the meaning of love, family,respect, trust and acceptance. Many of the people who have made me feel wonderfully this year, I will not see for several years or ever again after 2012. After this, I will have many happy memories of everyone I have ever loved. Everywhere I go I will always carry them close to my heart. This song has a the perfect mix of discord, poignant lyrics, intonation and repetition that embodies my whole year of 2011 down to the most minute detail.

I welcome 2012 with optimism and strength. Ignore the empty drink. I derped and didn't take it out of the frame.

Possibly the Best Christmas Gift Ever

2011-12-25T02:24:00.000-05:00

I've been a bit pensive this holiday season. When I wasn't trying to survive the onslaught of the mall and laying siege in the parking lots, I was sitting around in awe of what is beginning to unfold right in front of me. I opened my Christmas presents on Christmas Eve. It's a tradition most Mexican, Catholic families keep up with. It's almost 2:30 and I just got done opening them up. I love my presents! but at the same time I realize that the best present I am about to receive isn't actually something concrete or tangible.

My parents and my uncle and my aunt have given me the best present I could have ever asked for: they're providing me with a chance to start life anew and become someone better through education and work. It's only a few months away, but moving to Spain will be the best thing to happen to me! I've never been given a more fruitful and exciting opportunity in my entire life.

Lately, I can't stop thinking about all of the changes I will undergo. Many of them are extremely positive. I don't think anything else could give me something that would top this new chapter of my life I'm about to embark in. I feel like a little kid, full of uncontainable excitement and a mind full of wondrous visions. Almost everything I talk about traces back to me moving to Spain.

As an added twist of suspense and anticipation, I recently read in my embassy documents that I will more than likely have to travel back to my birth place to process all of the paperwork. I would love nothing more than to be in my hometown for a few weeks! I have my fingers crossed hoping the rest of the documentation I have will lead me straight back to Mexico City. Why? 'Cos I feel like that where I start to unwrap the best Christmas present ever by revisiting places of my childhood!

Aside from the obvious opportunities I can gain by moving to Spain, the coolest thing about moving there is the fact that I am going to completely uncharted territory. I'm literally going to embark on an epic voyage that will take years. I feel like I'm in some sort of Tolkien style saga. How it will all end and where it will lead me is entirely up to me. I have never felt in more control over my future before and that's what makes my heart race.

Having a feeling like that and knowing I literally have a whole world to discover on my own is only a small part of the best Christmas gift I could ever receive.

WHHHHEEEEE!!!!! I really cannot wait! I can't express my excitement in words any further.

Bon voyage à moi même!

The Girl with the Untreated Problem

2011-12-13T03:44:00.002-05:00

The last couple of days I have been seriously analyzing everything in my life right now. I can't say that I'm extremely happy with what I've been doing. The last 3 months or so have been a complete mindfuck where I float around somewhere between euphoria and extreme melancholy. Granted, I'm no stranger to these extreme swings in mood. This has been happening to me since I was around 14. I've only noticed them get considerably worse about 2 years ago. I'm convinced that I've been manic depressive all these years and that no one ever took any notice because they don't know me very well and they confuse my erratic behavior with me being "fun" and "spontaneous" and mostly because I would dare say that 95% of the people who know me just REALLY do not give a flying fuck what happens to me.

For the rest of this entry, I'm gonna blow off some serious steam and just put out the current feelings I have for two men whom I was romantically involved with and how I wholeheartedly believe that they never gave a crap about me. They said they did, but I'm certain they were only saying it because they were being nice and they just wanted something. More on that later. Right now I'm just gonna talk about what I've come to realize about myself.

I've been drinking for a while now, especially for someone my age. I first got drunk when I was 15 and I didn't do it again for a few years. About less than half a year before I turned 18, I got seriously wasted. I can confidently say that that was the first time in my life that I had drank to the extremes and ended up having an entire college experience about 3 years too early. Another half a year went by. I was finally 18. At the time I was dating a guy who was 8 years my senior. I took advantage of this and I got drunk with him several times. From then on it's pretty much been binge drinking for me for a while now. I just turned 21 and I've had more experiences with alcohol than any other thing out there. I've done some things while drunk that now that I look back at it, I am genuinely mortified that I was even able to pull those kinds of things off.

For about 3-4 years now I've also been taking prescription medications like they're pez candies. A year ago my family decided to put me in outpatient drug counseling. I was doing well. I seemed to get my shit together. I was clean for about 9 months. As everyone knows, I had a super shitty engagement with someone I absolutely hated. I ended up relapsing and taking painkillers at least twice a week again. That was six months ago. I haven't taken any in about 6 weeks. I wanna keep it this way permanently.

I've noticed that I go during periods of about 3-4 months where I will have a pretty stable mood: I'll be happy, resolute, careful and generally just a better person. When I'm during these cycles of happiness, I'm at my best. That's who I am. I'm intelligent, I'm on top of my A-game, things with my family go great and I tend to be more careful with what I do. I'm less susceptible to be easily influenced and I tend to stick around my family A LOT more. I'm actually Mariana when this is going on. That's who I am, that's who I want to to be all the time.

Then out of nowhere and for any reason be it 'cos my cat keeps shitting in the garage or because I live in the shittiest region of the US imaginable, or simply because I didn't get something done like I wanted to, I stoop down into a miserable 3-5 month state of absolute misery and bitterness. This is when I am more than likely to relapse on the painkillers and also start binge drinking again. It's a really shitty cycle and I can't believe it took me 3 fucking years to realize I go through this every, single, god forsaken year. Currently, I find myself in this cycle. I was in this cycle about 6 months ago. It's sorta creepy that this change happens with such chronological precision. At this time, I am not myself. This cannot be who I am.

If you were to compare me to what I was doing back in August and September, I am really not the same person. While I was being responsible, loving and clearheaded then, I am an absolute fucking wreck right now. I'm doing things without even thinking and half of the time not even fully realizing I'm doing things that are extremely detrimental to me. I am so disconnected with who I normally am that I've gotten to the point that I would engage in ridiculous, cantankerous and downright abhorrent, drunken behavior out in the streets without any degree of dignity left. On top of that, I am such a shithead I can't even stop to think for a moment that I am jeopardizing the of the most important things I have right now, the only things I'm allowed to have right now: my health, my family and my education. That's right, I'm so out of my fucking mind right now that I'm totally cool with choosing getting fucked up in Midtown over staying on good terms so I can ship my ass off to Spain. Under no circumstance while I'm in the right state of mind would any of this be acceptable, at all.

I've begun to seriously concern my family, moreso than the other times I was being a general wreck of a human being and being plain strung out. Within good reason, my parents sat me down and told me to take a look at my life and see if that's something I'm OK with. I thought about it for a few days. What I thought was a "fun" lifestyle is actually just a spiraling vortex of death. Literally. If I keep this shit up, I'm gonna end up overdosed in the hospital again and this time because I've been constantly hungover/drunk I will probably not make it out of this one. That's looking at it optimistically.

Out of my own choosing, I decided that I'm not gonna wait til I get to Spain to see a psychiatrist. I need to do this NOW, if I want to have a better life in Spain. If I don't do so, I'm gonna be carrying the exact same sack of crap across the world. The only difference there would be that I would be completely alone and a lot more vulnerable. This is the point in my life where I turn things around and keep my real self around permanently, or I let myself flip flop between being a complete piece of crap and dying like a piece of crap utterly alone, strung out, ill and with no one who really gave a shit about me. This is it. I intend to take this chance by the balls, 'cos I refuse to go down without a fight.

This brings me back to the whole thing about the two men who I was romantically involved with at different points in time. I'm gonna call one The Blond and the other one The Daywalker. When I was 18, more impressionable and more of a stubborn retard, I decided it would be a completely healthy idea to get into a serious relationship with The Blond who happened to be 8 years my senior. I thought it would have been a good idea because I had been friends with him for a long time beforehand. Consequently every single gesture of "affection" and "love" The Blond had audaciously made them out of thin air and eventually led me to believe that what I was feeling was, in fact, true love. I thought I was in love and that I was loved and being taken care of and all that other wonderful stuff that I've never, not ONCE in my entire life thus far, experienced. I was living life happily. La vie en rose.

A year later I find out that he had been cheating on me with who knows how many fucking people for the majority of our relationship. Whatever his sorry-ass excuse was and how much of a coward he was to not even tell me he never wanted me to begin with, I don't give a flying fuck about to this day. I felt authentic ire, rage and scorn for the first time in my life. I could not wrap my head, and to this day I still can't, how someone could maliciously pretend to love someone and go so far as to put up an entire act around friends and family to later betray them and show absolutely no remorse for their actions. To this day, I feel like someone as intelligent, eclectic and physically beautiful as me did not deserve any of that at all. Not only was it extremely unfair, the actions The Blond committed against me still afflict me today. After that, I haven't really been able to get myself to think that whenever something in my life fucks up it's not entirely my fault. I beat myself up for it and I blame everything on myself. Yeah, sure, I was an idiot for thinking that someone who was clearly perverse to begin with could have a fulfilling relationship with me. I can confidently tell you that during the whole time I was with him I never did anything to disrespect him, insult him or humiliate him. In the end, it makes me feel like I have absolutely no fucking value in someone's eyes that they would at least owe me the slightest amount of honesty.

Long story short I met The Daywalker this year while I was still in my cycle of happiness and me actually being myself. I guess (and I really am saying this with doubt in my heart) that this was the healthiest relationship I've ever had. I'm not gonna give Daywalker any credit because he already takes too much credit for himself. I've come to the conclusion that if I can get to know someone and establish a relationship based on respect and trust (genuine trust, not that bullshit I squandered on The Blond), then I can actually feel fulfilled and happy in a relationship. Note: This has been next to impossible for me. I met Daywalker right after I found out that I had green light to get all of my papers together to move to Spain and that I had been given approval by my entire family to do this. Needless to say, I was extremely ecstatic (shit, I still am). When Daywalker came around, I knew that whatever entanglement we had gotten into would not last more than a few months. We were both on our way out of Atlanta. I was content with this and I accepted that as a fact. It's life; shit happens. We can't be in control of every situation. I enjoyed the relationship and I enjoyed Daywalker's company every, single day and cherished every moment I got to spend with him.

It wasn't long. We were together maybe, about 3 months give or take. I don't really know anymore. I don't even know what time of the day it is. Because I had managed to start this relationship during a time that I was actually being my "normal", sober, levelheaded self, I really grew to care for the guy. At this point if anyone gives a fuck what I have to say, then that's great. I'm publicly admitting that I grew to love the guy. I can definitely own up to that. Fell in love with him? I gotta give it some time to think about it, but the way I cried when he had to leave and the way I still think of him when I'm sitting in my room wanking and crying at the same time, yeah I think I'm in love with the guy. Gimme 2 years and a trip across Europe. I'm sure that will change by then. (And anyone who says you can't do something like that in a short time can go to hell). Despite the fact that I am completely heartbroken right now, I still feel like this was the happiest and best relationship I've had so far. Daywalker is cocky as hell, and here I go, as much as I dont want to, saying that I got Daywalker to thank for giving me the happiest time I've had during my 7 year debacle with what appears to be manic depression and some sort of serious anxiety disorder. Hell, I'm 100% confident that in a few years I'll still be thanking him for that.

Here's the suck-ass part that involves Daywalker and it ties in with how I've blamed myself for every single thing wrong in the world since The Blond came along: I consciously know why Daywalker had to leave and I'm happy for him, but at the same time I can't help but blame myself thinking that somehow, just somehow I manged to scare him away. I also know that it's completely impossible to ever rekindle any of the stuff we had going on. It'll never happen. In just a few months I'm gonna be, quite literally, half the world away. Honestly, I don't even know where he is. Anyway, I feel horrible because he said he'd see me before I left or that I'd see him again or someshit. I don't really remember exactly what he said. I was trying to calm myself down so I wouldn't have an anxiety attack like I nearly had an hour ago. Deep down in my belly and the jaded parts of my heart I feel like he will never try to keep his promise, word, treaty, agreement, pinky promise thing with me. I'm gonna go off to Europe and wander the world and I'll never see him or hear from him again. It sucks ass because I ultimately feel like he only said that to comfort me and make me not feel like so much shit. He never intends to keep his word. It wouldn't be the first time. I hope it's the last. When you boil it all down on how I feel about it, I feel like he never gave a crap about me either and he only said certain things and did certain things to not make me feel bad about myself, mostly because he knew I'm perfect psychiatric care material.

This makes me feel bad about myself because slowly but sure I'm beginning to realize that all those people I thought would be there for me are not here for me. They talk to me for themselves. They're my "friends" for self-gain. I'm starting to think that every man who ever approaches me is just trying to take advantage of my mental frailty. I have my family, but in a few months I'm gonna be in a place where I've never been before. I'm gonna be truly alone for the first time in my life and I have absolutely no fucking idea when and where I'll see them. I'm getting kicked out of my home and I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I've managed to fuck up my formative years with my family being a strung-out piece of crap who gets involved with crappy men who probably don't even give a crap about themselves to begin with. I feel really lonely, sad and generally depressed. I scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist. I hope he/she can be my best friend because I feel like I'm about to lose it and I don't wanna end up in the psychiatric ward or the ER.

I've never felt this horrible in my whole life.

Dubstep vs. Jazz: Eerily Similar Genres

2011-12-09T00:33:00.001-05:00

Before I get started, allow me to express the following: This is solely an analytical entry about how it might be possible that in 80-90 years dubstep could be considered an experimental genre for our generation. Secondly, I'm not trying to convince anyone that dubstep is the best kind of music out there. It is what it is. Please don't take offense to this post. Thirdly, if you're gonna troll and hate, just GTFO. This is a hub for thought and entertainment, not internet battles and slayings.

About ninety to a hundred years ago, the United States gave birth to one of the most iconic genres of music ever conceived: Jazz. Today jazz has several subgenres and styles. It's recognized by almost everyone in the world and the names of jazz pioneers are known to us all (well at least the ones among us who are educated enough in music). Among those pioneers are Nat King Cole, Bessie Smith, Dizzie Gillespie, Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington.

Jazz was such an innovative genre at the time that an entire lifestyle began to flourish around it. The young people who listened and performed it dressed in very unique and elaborate fashions. New dances were invented in order to follow the rhythm of the music. The followers of the genre began using new slang and making new expressions to not only describe the music, but also mannerisms and habits they had accepted as part of their lifestyle. These were the famous sheiks and flappers.

Almost a full century later, young people have begun to explore music in the same daring manner that the jazz greats once did. With the advent of technology, musicians of our generation have begun to use computers and elaborate sound editing techniques to create a completely new genre: Dubstep. Dubstep has evolved from different styles of electronic music including jungle, drum and bass, and a few others I can't remember right now.

Much like the jazz greats, musicians in dubstep explore different combinations of arpeggi, ascending and descending bass tones and complex variations in percussive instruments and time signatures. Early jazz was known for combining different musical influences from Latin American and African music. Today, dubstep borrows musical influences from reggae, hip-hop, rap and ambient music. These mixes of musical influences and techniques make dubstep a very invigorating genre, much like jazz from the 1920s. Its musical signature are it's dropped distorted basses and electronic manipulation of chords. Jazz was known for it's quick beats, low bass drums and fast chord progressions.

Typical female dubstep fan. Yes, this is me.

Jazz is all-American, make no mistake. It began in New Orleans and flourished in the big cities like Chicago and New York City. As is the usual trend throughout American history, there is always something being completely stigmatized and turned into a huge taboo at any given period in American history. During the Jazz Age, it was alcohol. It was illegal and shunned by society. Today, the big taboo centers around marihuana. Most of the fanbase for dubstep has a great acceptance for marihuana and some even use it regularly. Much like jazz whose many songs talked about alcohol, dubstep also has several songs who talk about the effects of marihuana. Both genres tend to embrace substances that are considered dangerous. In addition to this, both genres have a very strong emphasis on sexuality and feature sensual lyrics.

Lastly, fans of dubstep music have also created their own terms in order to describer certain aspects of the music genre or things surrounding the genre. For example, it's very common for someone to refer to a fan of dubstep as a "basshead". Dubstep fans also use the word "dirty" to describe an extreme and super distorted drop in the bass lines during a song. The dirtier the song, the better.

In conclusion, both genres have many things in common than one would initially would notice. Both have taken American youths by storm. Each has influenced their fanbases to expand on their language and acceptance for musical experimentation. These genres have both centered themselves amongst taboos of their time and have been widely regarded as musical sensations.

OK, now I'm too fucking tired to keep writing and my jaw is locking up again. It's making face hurt. I'll write more about how dubstep is the embodiment of American excesses tomorrow. Thanks for reading!!!

My McKids Pants 1998-1999

2011-12-08T01:50:00.005-05:00

When I was a kid my parents didn't have the resources they have today to buy me super fancy clothes. 1998 was my 2nd year in the US and my 1st winter in Atlanta. My 1st winter in the US ever was in Houston and it doesn't get too cold. It gets considerably colder here in Atlanta. Anyway, my mom and dad took me and my sister to the Wal-Mart by Perimeter Mall to get us winter clothes.

I don't know if anyone remembers, but in the 90's Wal-Mart sold McDonald's (yes, the burger empire) clothing and accessories for children under the innovating, creative name of McKids. As an 8 year old, I actually really liked the McKids line of clothes 'cos it was frilly, really cute, surprisingly well-made (I'll elaborate on this). My parents liked it too because it was super affordable.

I'll never forget the pants I got that day. I got some navy blue, corduroy pants with tiny yellow, red and white flowers printed on them. These pants were probably the most comfortable pair of pants I have owned to date. No fucking exaggeration.

For like $10 in today money, my parents bought me the most amazing pair of pants I have ever owned! Not only did I look super bitchin' in my corduroy pants, they were very warm and they were stain resistant! I would spill finger paint, glue, glitter and Hi-C punch on these babies and the stains wouldn't stay. Sometimes I would literally drag my ass across the playground after taking a horrible fall off the monkey bars and my pants NEVER ripped, frayed or got a hole in them. These pants even traveled! They went with me to Mexico City and survived the rugged, mountainous terrain of my hikes in Mexico's archeological sites and remote villages. They even deterred the other kids in Mexico from stealing my pants as they hung out to dry after laundry day because they weren't brand name.

My pants were so fucking amazing they were even versatile in style! By combining different kids of sweaters, shirts and blouses with them they could go from perfect hiking/playground battle pants to wedding/funeral pants. (I wore them in hiking trips and I wore them to a few people's weddings or someshit). I grew several inches when I was in Mexico. My pants remained amazing and refused to become highwaters before their time. Needless to say, these pants came back to the US with me when I moved back in late '99.

Alas, my amazing pants came to a horrible end when I was playing a game in my PE class in 3rd grade close to the end of the year, a full year and a half after I had gotten them. I was playing some football-style game against some of the boys in my class. I caught the ball. I refused to let go and they dragged me across the field. I got my ass kicked but what devastated me the most was realizing that my pants had torn at both knees and the bottom cuffs were now sagging around my ankles. This was the first time I felt anger in ruined clothes, an emotion I would experience over and over again later in life. The bruises and scrapes didn't hurt. Losing the best pair of pants I have ever owned hurt.

Now as and adult with a very Spanish figure (full hips and small in stature), I find it extremely hard to find a pair of pants that's worth the damn money I'm gonna pay. Whenever I sit there in disappointment in the fitting room from trying on ill-fitting pants or when I'm rubbing burn ointment on the blisters on my hips, I think of my Mckids pants and how much I would love to have an amazing pair of pants like that again. All I have to remember my McKids pants by is a picture of me pissing around Mexico City as a kid.

McKids pants, you will NEVER be forgotten and your functionality and style versatility will forever reside in my heart and wide hips. I salute you, McKids pants.

End Note: Fuck paying over $40 for a pair of pants unless they're part of whatever I'll wear to the embassy or immigration offices. I would wear dresses everyday if I could. Pants are for men... especially if they have nice asses and they wear them in snug sizes.

Il Porco Amato

2011-12-07T00:54:00.002-05:00

Il Porco

I'm not a big fan of dogs. I think they're overly clingy and dependent. Taking care of them is really close to taking care of a kid and that's why I don't really like them. Despite all of this I was somehow given the joy of raising my own puppy. My parents were given this cocker spaniel/husky mix. When I got him he was two weeks old. He didn't have teeth. His ears were still closed off and his eyes were completely shut. This is how the epic saga of raising Pepino also known by his grander name of Porco came to be.

Porco at 3 weeks old.

For the first two months of his life I would bottle feed Porco every 2 hours. He really sucked at the whole feeding thing. I had to wrap him in an old t-shirt to be able to feed him. Nights sucked even more because I would have to get up every 2-3 hours to feed him. He would wake up on his own and whine and cry. In addition to this, he would take craps all over my room or in his pet bed. One time I made the mistake of letting him sleep on the bed with me when he was 3 weeks old. He took a shit on my comforter and I ended up with crap all over my arm. The clean up after this was so friggin' tedious. I had to do laundry at 3AM and in addition to that I also had to shower, clean him up, feed him and wait for my blankets to be washed and dried before falling back to sleep.

The next few months were interesting. My whole family was in on a collective effort to house train Porco. It was an epic fail for the most part because he kept crapping and peeing in the house at whim. It didn't help that he peed when he got excited. He still does that to this day.

His chewed everything up in our house. I only have 3 pairs of shoes to wear this winter because Porco ate the other pairs I had. He destroyed one of my stuffed animals and there are massive bare patches of carpet on the upstairs floor of my house because Porco ate the carpet. He also chewed on my three cats. All of them had disgusting fur for the longest time.

Bitch, if you don't let me out I swear!!!!

Finally, Porco had the most annoying cry in the world. He would do this really long, drawn out whine that would progress one tone at a time going from his highest pitch to the lowest murmuring whimper he could muster.

Despite all of this, I have learned so much with Porco. I've learned to be more patient and accepting of others mistakes. Porco might not be the best trained dog in the world, but he is extremely loyal and protective. When I am sad, Porco will come to my aid. He will snuggle beside me and cry with me sometimes. Nothing brightens up my day more than seeing Porco's melted candy eyes in the morning when I first wake up. I've taught Porco how to give hugs when I come home. He follows me around and even if I'm disgustingly hungover.

Porco trying to get attention.

What makes me love my Porco so much is that he is there for me when no one else will listen. He tries to cheer me up when I feel alone and no one else is there to comfort me. When I talk to him, he listens intently. If Porco sees I'm sad, he approaches me and sits beside me. Sometimes he'll do silly things to make me smile. Porco is there unconditionally for me and he understands me somehow even though he can't speak and he can't necessarily understand everything I'm saying. I feel really blessed to have a pet like Porco. I really love my Porco and I would be so much more miserable without my Porco. Porco stays with me when others have left. I'm going to miss Porco so fucking much when I leave for Spain. I love Porco, mio Porco amato.

This is Porco and me.

Ancient Aliens: How A Meme Returned My Sense of Hope

2011-11-30T02:27:00.002-05:00

About two weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Ancient Aliens meme featuring Giorgio A. Tsoukalos from a popular show on History Channel titled "Ancient Aliens". If you aren't familiar with this meme, then you're missing a little bit of humor in your life. While I understand that this meme is completely idiotic, I find it absolutely amazing because it hits close to home.

Courtesy of my friend Robert.

How does it hit close to home? My sister and my mom are really adamant about trying to get me to understand and believe conspiracy theories circling the concepts of ancient alien races trying to enslave the earth, how ancient architectural wonders are the product of alien techonologies and basically anything else that might be mentioned in Assassin's Creed.

Graphic depiction of a conversation with my mom and sister.

For the most part, I think those conspiracy theories my sister and my mom try to get me into are incredibly unlikely. However, I do believe that there are intelligent forms of life somewhere out there in this expanding, infinite universe.

When I saw the Ancient Aliens meme, I overanalyzed the subject matter and dove into the deepest corners of my mental existence. I am very incredulous. Anything that might not have an explanation I leave it as something that just is. This spills over into things beyond my control like immigration laws, my credit card balance and the South's general shitty weather. When I first encountered the meme, I wasn't familiar with the show at all. I just laughed at how everything unexplainable can now be credited to ancient aliens. I showed my sister. She claimed that the meme does hold some truth to it. I scoffed at the idea until she showed me the first two episodes for the show Ancient Aliens.

The whole show is a detailed survey with interviews by respected members of the scientific and academic communities explaining how it is plausible that otherworldly entities could have aided in mankind's technological advancement. I retract any and all comments making fun of my sister for believing that. It all finally hit me as a strange realization moment when I saw Giorgio Tsoukalos come on the screen and give his interview.

Before I had seen the show, Giorgio Tsoukalos was just the Ancient Aliens Guy and I always pictured him to be a disheveled, crazy guy who rants just like a crackhead does outside of the Inman Park train station. As I watched him give his interview on tv, I become very admirant of his composed, detailed a explanation. I suddenly felt great happiness because he there was a subtle tone of excitement and wonder in his voice. He looks like someone who's batshit crazy, but hearing him speak makes you think otherwise. This man on tv had just given me a subliminal message that I needed. A sort of message from above (maybe from ancient aliens).

Right then and there I regained knowledge of a concept that had vanished from my thoughts and heart since childhood: No matter how absurd or crazy you may seem to others, whatever you believe should be something you should embrace and defend. In addition I also gained insight that maybe my lack of hope in everything and my sheer doubt over everything is what is keeping me from attaining my own peace of mind.

With his insane hair and his wonder-filled eyes, Giorgio A. Tsoukalos has taught me that my lack of hope and my excessive doubt in myself and everything around me is keeping me from believing in wondrous things again. It all began with a meme and making fun of my sister. I now hold a special reverence for Giorgio Tsoukalos. Ancient Aliens and Giorgio Tsoukalos have single handedly unveiled me from my own doubt and hopelesslness, for that I thank Ancient Aliens.

Giorgio A Tsoukalos: my new inspiration in the pursuit of happiness.

You are one of my new heroes!!! And he doesn't look crazy ALL the time.

Yearning of the Birthplace Pt. I

2011-03-07T00:01:00.003-05:00

I was born in Mexico City and I spent about 8 years of my life there (intermitently, not continuously). Most of my life I've spent here in the US in the totally-not-scenic-fucking-horrid south. While I yearn to move to another, more accepting region of the US, my eyes look towards the east for a new home-specifically Northern Europe. A very important part of my essence, though, yearns to visit the birthplace one more time.

I was last in Mexico City in 1999. I was about 8-9 years old. I tried my best to forget the sordid parts of the city. Unfortunately those where the memories that stuck with me the most til about a month or so ago. Suddenly I find myself recalling the cultural grandeur of Mexico City.

For a long time I had little to no desire to return to Mexico City for any reason at all. A month ago I just changed my perspective on the whole world. Although I feel culturally alienated from Mexicans, I feel a very special connection with Mexico City itself. I was born there, I spent my infancy there and I lived my early childhood there.

I figured that the things I want to see most in Mexico City have some sort of moral symbolism to me. These places in Mexico City, everything from taco/torta stands to archeological sites hold a profound meaning; it was in these places that I lived the moments that etched the foundation of who I was, who I am and who I will become. I don't think it's anything is predetermined, but I do think that certain places have special meaning for people in general because they embody something that they truly and passionately believe in or feel.

The Food:

Tlacoyo with nopales.

If there is anything about the food in Mexico City, it's that it is extremely varied. You can have anything from gourmet meals in upscale restaurants to native Mexican indian cuisine that costs pennies on the dollar. The small markets near my home had a wider selection of vegetables, sundries, sweets and livestock that leave a lot of American farmers market with a lot to be desired. The whole city is full of vivid color and intoxicating aromas from the food that's literally all over the place. You can't turn a corner without seeing peddlers and food stands everywhere.

This variety and abundance of food reflects today in who I am. I crave variety in every single aspect of my life. The plethora of choice has somehow become hardwired into my way of thinking today. If I feel I do not have much choice in the matter, I simply do not feel like it's worth much.

Cakes from my favorite bakery, La Ideal.

This variety also means details. Today, my life revolves around details. I take in so much of what's going on around me. The food of Mexico City embodies my attention to detail, my preferences and choices, my curious obsession to discover everything.

Typical Mexico City market.

My curiosity and freedom of choice stem from the food, the lifegiving force, of la Ciudad de México.

La Casa de los Azulejos
This is a famous restaurant in the heart of old Mexico City. It's one of the most famous restaurants and coffee houses of Mexico City.

Zombie Apocalypse Survival Team

2011-03-04T22:40:00.001-05:00

When the world looks like Ravenholm...

I was putting some thought into this whole thing about the zombie apocalypse. In this hypothetical scenario I thought of a few people I actually know that I would definitely want in my survival team.

I think a team should be no more than 5 people, including oneself. Each one should be specialized in some sort of skillset.

Candidate #1: My uncle Apolo.
This guy is a surgeon, psychiatrist and has a diverse background in all things medical. I think he was an orthopaedic surgeon at one point and he's got little to no mercy when it comes to diagnosing and treating infections. He can definitely work under pressure. His morbid sense of humor and astute observations in intricately detailed things make him a candidate to beg for.

Candidate #2: My dad.
My dad is a mechanic by trade. His really fucking good at taking apart things and getting them to work again, be it a car, electrical appliance or what have you. My dad is definitely a Mexican McGuiver. His sense of direction is pretty unrivaled and he learned back in the old country how to gut, skin and prepare almost any animal on four legs. We definitely need my dad so we can get abandoned equipment up and running. Just in case, he will also help secure our survival by being able to expand the choices we have in food.

Candidate #3: My best friend Sloan.
Sloan, a lot like my dad, is also pretty handy with tools. Sloan, however, is also pretty keen with computer programming and definitely more talented in understanding and applying complex engineering concepts. This guy could totally help us devise some sort of system to secure our perimeter as well as probably get us some sort of communication device going. He's got a good eye for bargains too so when we come across another survival group, we could get more stuff as we barter and whatnot. Did I mention he also knows how to navigate and has taken survival courses?

Candidate #4: My friend Tabita.
I put my friend Tabita here because she has an ability to see the some sort of goodness even in the shittiest of situations. She could give us the sort of pep our group would need every once in a while. She knows a few languages too. She would just unify the whole group and that's something that is vital if we want to survive the zombie apocalypse.

Candidate #5: Myself
Well, I speak several languages. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. I'm a natural leader. I know how to barter and make the best use of resources. I think I could figure out the logistics and ration distributions for the group in the fairest way. I know a bit about survival and I did do some coursework to become a nurse, so I also know how to treat minor wounds and stuff.

My buddies from high school sure have changed!

I know I didn't really mention anything about firearms. Well, my dad and Sloan know quite a bit about firearms and how to use them. My dad was actually a pretty good marksman when he had to do his imperative military thing for the Mexican military. Even though my dad is in his mid 40s, his vision is nearly perfect. (Y U NO GIVE ME GOOD VISION?!). Sloan is pretty handy with a knife and he knows quite a bit about handguns. My uncle the doctor is like Dr. Freeman. If you can hack it, he will mince it. Me? I'm pissed at the world... That should be enough.

This would be my team at least until we could find a safe human settlement so I think my group is pretty legit.

Peppercats

2011-02-26T20:07:00.001-05:00

A few months ago my friend Lyndon sent me a link to a Russian website, http://peppercats.ru/. This whole website is dedicated to the Peppercat breed. It goes into detail about awards the breed has won as well was how to pick, care for and how to train your Peppercat.

My favorite Peppercat coat and eye color combo.

I am absolutely fascinated with these cats! I want a Peppercat when I'm better settled. The cats are exactly what I consider the feline ideal. They're such beautiful animals!

The breed is some sort of subcategory of British short hairs. The Russians describe the Peppercats' coats as "chinchilla". My Russian still sucks, so I'm not sure why they refer to the short, dense hair as "chinchilla". Chinchillas are rodents and rodents are fucking disgusting.

Not disgusting rodent. Very beautiful cat.

The main colorings I've seen on these cats is an orange tabby coat and a white coat with a sheer grey overtone. Their eyes are yellow or green and have a bright sheen. They have super round, soft faces.

I wonder how much a cat like that is worth. I'm sure the kittens are NOT cheap. Still, I would want two kittens. These are showcase pets, so superior care is an imperative. I think owning some babies like these would show a level of success and fulfillment.

Pictured here: Success and Fullfilment.

I got the pictures from the Peppercat website: http://peppercats.ru

Raised in Alienation, USA.

2011-02-26T19:37:00.001-05:00

People always ask me what was the hardest thing about growing up in the United States. I just realized that the hardest thing about growing up in the US is that this place robs you of a home and cultural identity.

I realize that I do not feel any strong connection or sentiment to my birthplace. I feel respect and reverence, but I don't feel pride because I feel disconnected from real Mexicans. I'm not saying this as a way to sound arrogant or racist. I say this because this country has done to me what it has done to millions of other immigrants before me. This place has a way of making a person feel completely alienated.

Something about life here makes a person slowly distance themselves from their motherlands while stripping them of cultural pride. Then the worst happens: the general consensus becomes that you are 100% assimilated, but society itself shuts you out like a disease-stricken pariah!

One feeling desperate and rejected, seeks shelter in what was once familiar only to find that the culture in which one was raised in has suddenly become unbeknownst. The shocking realization kicks in: you don't belong with what was once your world because you know nothing of it and the rest of what is left doesn't want you. You're stripped of your cultural identity, cursed to wander existence aimlessly without a true feeling of innate pride. No solidarity.

That is the hardest part of growing up here, being slowly stripped of the identity I was born with to the point of never being able to regain it.

A lot of people would say that I'm betraying my country. Thing is, I don't have much of it left. I can always visit and teach my children about where I'm from and share my favorite Mexican traditions. I'll never deny the fact that I'm Mexican. I'm not ashamed of being Mexican. I am ashamed that I cannot fit cleanly into Mexican culture.

Right now I'm working on finding a new home and assimilating into my new home's culture and language. In the future I wanna feel good about myself moreso than I do today. I want those who caused me pain to see that they were wrong. I might have been stripped of my cultural solidarity, but I am not stripped of my willpower to strive for the fullest extent of my potential.

I will regain cultural identity, even if it wasn't the one I was born with.

Lucid Dreaming

2011-01-31T01:06:00.002-05:00

I've been having lucid dreams for a few years now. The latest development in my lucid dreaming is that dreams have become continuous, sometimes over the lapse of nights. The latest noteworthy dream I had revolved around the themes of genocide, loss of family and loved ones, rape, exploitation, fear and cultural alienation. Either this dream was a monster child of me drinking tons of coke while reading Gears of War books and watching WWII documentaries and fantasizing about Alexander Skarsgård, or maybe it's my subconscious trying to tell me something.

My usual dreams, just add more machine guns, an Audi, Emporio Armani and Scandinavian men.

Anyway, my dream began with me being in some very exotic country somewhere in Southeast Asia. I'm seriously thinking it was Vietnam just from the way people sounded in my dream. Apparently I was in Vietnam with my sisters and my husband because my husband was on business. (This is a dream so it's not necessarily coherent). The dream began with my sisters and I doing some shopping in a small shop where they had all sorts of traditional dresses and accessories. People seemed really edgy on the streets. People in the store where softly talking to me in what sounded like Vietnamese or Thai as they walked hurriedly out of the store. My sisters suggested I just hurry up and buy whatever the hell it was I was buying. As we exited the store I noticed that the people in the streets were all talking to one another in paranoid tones. I saw men hover over the women as if something were looming by. Women picked up and clutched their children tightly in a death grip against their chests. A PA system came on and a man in a stern tone began blurting some sort of speech while the crowd began to look scared shitless. I was oblivious along with my sisters so we braced too. Suddenly an overwhelming number of soldiers poured from every imaginable corner.

Delicious goodness from Vietnam ruined in 3..2..1..

The people in the streets began to panic and run all over the place screaming, crushing one another as the soldiers began to violently seperate them from their families. I tried to remain calm as I tried my hardest to weave my sisters out of the crowd. I remember holding my little 4 year old sister as hard as I could. A soldier crept behind my 18 year old sister and pulled her hair as he brought her down to the floor. I screamed and took off running with my little sister in my arms when another soldier approached me and simply hit me in the face with his rifle. I dropped my little sister and they dragged my sisters away as I tried to ignore the agonizing pain on my face while fighting against the panicked crowd.

Somehow I ended up bloodied and severly injured, walking back to my hotel. I was trying to call my husband. As I was walking back to the hotel I remember seeing soldiers lining and propping people up against walls. After close inspection I realized those people were dead. When I finally got to the hotel I was apalled to see that they were rounding up the women from the streets and stripping them of their clothes. I remember that a soldier spotted me as I entered the hotel. I took off running and weaving in and out of stair wells. I ran into a random hotel room but somehow all of the clothes strewn across the floor were mine, my sisters' and my husband's clothes. I remember closing the door and hiding under the bed, calling my husband frantically. From the window of the hotel room I could see that there were buildings on fire. The din of machine gun fire and screaming was incessant. I don't remember ever being that scared in a dream. Everything was so real.

I could feel tears quietly run down my cheeks as I cried silently. I couldn't stop thinking about my sisters and my husband. I had an incredibly sharp and throbbing pain on my forehead and my cheek burnt. I could feel the warmth of my blood running down my face. I could taste the salt in my sweat. I distinctly recall the smell of the blood rotting in the heat, tasting the its bitterness mixed with a vague chemical taste. My cellphone began vibrating and I jumped in sheer discombobulation. It was my husband. For some stupid reason in my dream, I had never felt so relieved to hear a human voice from a man I did not know. A man who doesn't even exist in real life. It was my husband. Somehow I managed to keep it together as he warned me to not go looking for him, that he would be coming to the hotel to come get me so we could leave the country together. He sounded so resolute yet distant, shocked. He even had a weird-ass Russian sounding accent. Somehow he knew that my sisters had escaped and were trying to flee. He told me to hide and wait for him.

I don't know why but I decided to hide in a utility closet in lower level of the hotel building. People were clustered together trying to comfort one another, clearly scared shitless. Some people were severely injured or beaten, men and women alike walking around completely naked. While I was hiding in the utility closet I got overwhelmed. I couldn't fathom the thought that I had probably lost my sisters and that my husband would probably be killed in trying to rescue me. It was weird because I didn't cry. I just crouched in a corner feeling woozy as I lost more blood through whatever the hell injury I had on my face. I could hear people screaming in Vietnamese or whatever the entire time.

It seemed like hours when I finally got another phone call. My husband commanded me to return to the hotel room. I blindly followed his orders completely disregarding the fact that a soldier could stop me and execute me, or worse, right on site. I remember being in the hallway where my hotel room was and screaming "Alexander!!!" the entire way down until I finally got into the hotel room. My husband was leaning against the window. He was badly injured. His shirt was covered in blood, but it wasn't his. He had a ripped up shirt slinged over his back, cradling one of his arms. His face had cuts all over it and his suit was completely ruined. I noticed one of his fingers was badly broken. Despite all the grit, injuries and blood I noticed that he was a peculiar look alike of Alexander Skarsgård. I ran towards him and obsessively prodded him making sure he wasn't shot, stabbed or whatever the hell I thought he was. He stopped me and just hugged me so hard I could feel my ribs poking into my insides, slowly crushing me. He kissed my bloody forehead.

He looked like this but bloodied, covered in cuts, sweat and bruises. FTW!

He stood over me like a looming figure of comfort and protection. Even with all the horrors that were going on, I felt myself falling in love with him for some stupid reason. He told me that he had taken hours to get to me because he had managed to get my sisters to the airport in the last flight out of the country, somehow. He grabbed something out of a locked drawer and told me to put on this black cloak he was suddenly holding. This cloak looked like a burkha. He took my hand with his uninjured hand and began walking me out of the room. I absent-mindedly asked him about the jewelry and clothes. He told me to not worry about it, that he would buy me a new wardrobe when we got home, wherever home was. He draped the black cloak over me and practically shoved me the entire way out.

I'm not sure how we ended up in an airport. We squeezed our way through this frantic crowd of people trying to force their way into the airport. My husband told me to not remove the cloak because the soldiers had orders to kill people who did not look native. Then he added that he had absolutely no fucking desire to be in the country when the US military forces got in and that the Japanese had already started an assault on the coast. My thought was "what the fuck?!". He then added that the Japanese had already taken control of the airport which was why my sisters were safe and why we were able to get out. I was so fucking scared and confused. Everything felt so real. I remember clinging onto him so hard that I was throwing off his balance. He just held me as tightly as he could without hurting me. I could smell his sweat and the faint rotting smell of the blood on his clothes. Every time I kissed him I could taste this sulfuric crap along with his semisweet saliva and bitter breath. I felt like I owed my entire life to him. The Japanese (or so I assume)began sorting people out to load them into the next aircraft. They were only loading people who seemed sickly, pregnant, elderly and women with children. I got incredibly scared. I didn't want to be seperated from my husband. I practically squeezed him for dear life.

The Japanese-lookin' guy began pulling out people from the crowd onto the trolly to get loaded onto the plane. The Japanese guy asked my husband in really heavy English if I could ride. My husband just blurted out, "Yes, sir. She's pregnant. She's only pregnant by a few weeks. She needs to get back home. Take her". I panicked and began crying and screaming, throwing an all-out tantrum. I grabbed him as the soldier took me by the waist and draped me over his shoulder. I began screaming "I don't wanna leave without you! Don't lie. He's lying!". I was pulling his clothes with such force that I was basically ripping them off. The soldier carried on with me. My husband squeezed my hand and reassured me he would see me in Brussels, back home. (I've never been outside of the Americas, WTF?!)

I think my body might have had some sort of adrenaline rush while I was sleeping because I woke up immediately, sweating and breathing hard as if I had just finished a brisk jog. I was flipping my shit. I got up and took down my Daniel Craig poster, threw the half drank bottle of Coke in the garbage and went back to bed. I thought to myself "I will never look at phơ the same. I will never look at marriage the same again. I appreciate my sisters a little more now. Now I definitely know what qualities I want in my husband. Any man who can walk around to rescue me from genocide while suffering from substantial injuries is a man worth his weight in gold and a lot more. No more sci-fi and Coke at night for me.

Public Transport

2010-12-27T01:44:00.002-05:00

I was talking to one of my friends about something I'm frustrated about. I got everything else sorted out and I am relieved. Trust me, I am really fucking relieved. I feel a glimmer of belief that there might just be a god out there. That's how fucking relieved I am. Unfortunately there is ONE thing that is bothering me but I don't think I will ever fix. I just think it's unattainable. It has to be, at least for me. (No, US citizenship is not it).

So here's the perfect metaphor for that unattainable crap. With all the reasoning of why I'm even better off without it.

" I'm gonna quit saving up to put the own payment on that lexus. A bike will do. I've never even owned a car,so yeah, I'll just wear my Hello Kitty snow coat on shitty winter days. I probably couldnt afford the maintenance on the Lexus, anyway. Insurance is high. Cars deappreciate quickly.I find some strange comfort in riding the MARTA train because the strangers seem to like me. They never fuck with me. When they tell me to keep my 'scrawny ass' moving it sounds genuine. The drunken homeless guy who always tells me to take North Avenue has a sparkle of kindness in his words referring to me as 'Miss'. Old black women call me 'sweetheart' as they ask to take the seat next to me.

One massive group of people, all frustrated and going different places; sharing that one car together if only for a few minutes. The Lexus would erase me from that brief moment of feeling noticed and wanted. "

Pariah

2010-12-11T03:38:00.004-05:00

I once wrote in a letter to a former lover, “…I have continued to fight despite the limitations Law has imposed on me… to share the victories of our struggle to uphold the values we hold dear: honor, respect, perseverance and education”. The difference between him and me is unmistakable, impossible to conceal: he was an American, born and raised; I am a foreigner, expelled and subdued. My country suffers an affliction of violence, corruption,and misguided principle. My new home, my surrogate mother, has given me everything I could have asked for as a mere child. But I am no longer a child. I am a woman seeking my subsistence.
Expelled and subdued: I find myself as such. Unlike my friends, I cannot force out my call of need to any authorities. I am but a reed in the wind, howling a song of struggle and fear. I have no way to move about without concealing everything I do. As I grow older, it’s becoming merely impossible for me to carry out the things my American peers do with relative ease. I am unable to defend myself, sustain myself, pay for myself, and use myself to build my legacy.
This is a great country! Principles of liberty and happiness are protected by its people, its government, its spirit. With so much poverty and hopelessness, my country has worse in store for me. My rights, what little they may be, would be trampled under the dead weight of a chauvinist system of ideas in my country. The people here move up the socioeconomic ladder by the might of their own hands. I desire nothing more but to part take in this graceful but tumultuous race to the summit. I want to build on to the new future of America. I want to be America. I am not American. Alas, the truth: I am nothing more than a pariah in the face of American Law.
I do not, however, lose hope that one day this great nation will adopt me as a daughter. I do not lose hope that one day I will give back to this great nation as a citizen. I consider myself to be an American at heart. I lived my childhood here. I live here. I am part of the myriad of people, the bright mosaic, that are the United States of America. But, I am the outsider. I am the foreigner, an intruder simply begging for mercy and a place where I can live in peace by working my fair share.
A woman with no country.
I see most people look at me as an outsider with evil will. I am shunned by those who have forgotten that their grandfathers before them were also foreigners. If they could see my struggle and that of my family, they would realize that I share the same spirit their grandfathers did. They would see that before them, there was nothing but arduous work and painful sacrifice. Would they ever realize that at one point in time their own blood kin where the pariahs peering over from Europe with an intense desire to build themselves up from the ashes intro grand glory?
Perhaps I am not an outcast. I am not a pervert who had come in like a thief in the night*. I am more than willing to pay my fair share and work to contribute to American society. I wish to give my talent and its fruits as payment for the opportunity this nation has given me.
I am not a pariah. I am a wandering child searching for a comforting home. The glorious tale of the People of Israel instills in me hope. I have wandered aimlessly for years without direction, only hope and a promise I was presented with as a child. I will find Zion and my erratic struggle in the desert of fear will cease and I will thrive in a land of milk and honey.
I will no longer be a pariah, but a child of solidarity. American solidarity.
* thief in the night. 2 Peter 3:10

Shower Symphonies: You Know You Do It, Too

2010-12-10T02:48:00.003-05:00

It has been brought to my attention that I absolutely love singing in the shower. Actually, I realized this nearly two years ago after having a little run-in with a very special someone. By "someone" I mean some sort of psychoactive experience. Anyway, I think that everyone can agree that showers are relieving moments in which one can rejoice in privacy and comfort. This is a perfect breeding ground for impromptu dancing and singing. And why not? The moisture in the air makes a person sound better. Let's admit it, we all get passionate about our favorite songs when we're naked, dancing around and singing Chiquitita (as if anyone wanted to hear or see that).

What's not to love about being blanketed by fluffy steam and pleasing aromas of cheap body washes to attract the opposite sex while singing? Since showering is such a sublime experience in my eyes, I have come up with this list of the top 10 songs to sing to when one is showering. I will also add why I chose each song.

Thus it begins!!!

#10: Inevitable by Shakira
Now the reason I pick this song is because I think Shakira's work in Spanish is phenomenal. It's probably 'cos I speak Spanish, but the emotion evoked in her work is nearly palpable. The whole song is about how she's basically not that great of a girlfriend/partner but how she will never give up on thinking of how great her former boyfriend/patner was and how she will always love him. Frankly, this is applicable to me cos A) I'm terrible at keeping fixed routines therefore sucking at being a traditional girlfriend and B) I always have a soft spot for my ex...more on him later.

#9: Chiquitita by Abba
There are two things I absolutely adore and can't resist: Scandinavians and cheesiness. I genuinely believe that the 1970s were a great time for music. I also think that Swedes make great music, kinda like The Hives, Mando Diao and Millencolin. What's awesome about this song is that they say "chiquitita" which my dad would always scream shortly before rushing me to the ER as a kid. I dance and sing madly to this song because the Swedish cheesiness warms my heart as it reminds me of my childhood trips to the ER. No lie.

#8: Dani California by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
The last two songs were sung by women. I'm a woman so I sound like I'm trying to harmonize. With Anthony Kiedis and Co. singing this song I sound even worse than I usually do. I don't really know what the song is about 'cos Kiedis mutters a lot. I love the fact that it sounds aggressive and it says "California" in every other line. The vague rapping beat is cool, too. While I'm trying to imitate Kiedis as I do my fail-ass chorus my sister is banging the bathroom door telling me to get the fuck out 'cos I'm already running late. "California, show your teeth." YEEEAAAAHHHH!!!

#7: What Else is There? by Røysopp
Once again, proclaiming my love for Scandinavians. Røyksopp is a duo from Norway that is known for their ambient, catchy music. Unfortunately this is a song I butcher mercilessly as I do not have the vocal range the female singer has. This is my favorite song to play when I'm having some sort of visit from my psychoactive friends in the shower. I like to pretend I'm floating in the ocean playing with biofluorescent fish and walruses. This proves there is a small child living within our hearts... sort of. Maybe I need to speak to my therapist about this one.

#6: Stronger by Kanye West
A shower is supposed to revitalize the body and mind, right? I love Kanye West, like a lot, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I have the loud rush of the shower to thank for concealing my wretched singing along. When I'm naked I feel sexy. When I sing I feel powerful. When I sing Kanye West while naked about possibly fucking someone I feel stronger, sexier and -uh- nuder. I also dance to this. Sing along to a douche to feel like a douche. Chansons dans la douche par un <<douche>>.

#5: La célula que explota by Caifanes
I was born in Mexico City and this band is from Mexico. Despite the fact I hate speaking Spanish, I love to sing in Spanish. Back in the old country I would go on excursions out to rural settlements with my grandparents and uncle. Sometimes a lot of these villages didn't have indoor plumbing so I showered in the woods over a bucket. This song reminds me of the freedom of the whole experience of showering outdoors. I love to sing to this 'cos it's so damn Mexican! It's a beautiful song and the instruments added to this song sound so festive. Showers outdoors are beautiful and this song embodies it for some strange fucking reason. Shower outside at least once, just make sure you don't get arrested. Listen to this song too!

#4: Here Comes the Rain Again by Eurythmics
This was almost a given, guys. When you're drunk at 5am and you feel the hangover coming on, singing this song while you're dousing yourself in water to hide the reek of cognac is fabelhaft! I even imitate a lot of the poses the chick did during the video. Pretty ridiculous, but remarkable. I think I sing this accurately enough to dare sing this at a karaoke bar. I've always thought about walking in the rain with my-uhh- lover. At least with this song in the shower I can imagine my fantasy that will most likely go unfulfilled 'cos I can't stay in a stable-ish relationship for more than 2 months.

#3: Show Me How to Live by Audioslave
Back to the theme of sexiness. This song makes me feel sexy. I also have my loud shower head and piping to thank for masking the sound of my heinous singing. I love to pretend I can sing like Chris Cornell. The shower gives me enough cover so as to not insult anyone within a 300 ft proximity of my bathroom. Singing this in the shower also makes it a lot more invigorating. I don't know why. I think it's the bad-ass guitar part. I will confess, I'm an atheist and screaming this in the shower is like frustratingly screaming at some sort of deity/deities for his/her/their cruel engineering of the universe we live in.

#2: Bad Romance by Lady Gaga
Go ahead and bash me in the comments. I think she's a great musician even if she is kinda creepy as a person. To be fair: if there's anything I am frustrated about in my young life, it's the fact that I suck at keeping healthy relationships. A lot of people the world over say that music is an excellent outlet for emotions. I like to sing this song in my shower as an outlet for the shitty love life I have. I am the most unlikely candidate for a serious relationship, but deep down I yearn for that. Personally, singing and dancing along to Lady Gaga to quit thinking about my shitty love life is a lot better than crying about it or crying on the phone about it to my exes. Currently, I have a huge crush on a guy who I think is unattainable. Singing this song while pretending I am proclaiming my passioanate infatuation only goes to show that I have no balls when it comes to admitting my emotions to another human being.

#1: Bodysnatchers by Radiohead
I fucking love Radiohead, but there are several reasons as to why this is an all-time shower favorite. First off, I think this is one of those songs I sing accurately 'cos Thom Yorke does an awful lot of mumbling. It helps with the intonation, I guess. Secondly, this song is about (from what I can deduce) about putting up a façade so complicated and ill it'll make one rip out of their own body. A lot of times I feel like I put up a show of fortitude and courage when I personally feel that I am someone weak and susceptible to collapsing morally. I am at my second most vulnerable state in the shower. My entire body is out there to see. Even my embarrassing singing and dancing antics are out to see. So like my flaws and inner demons, I hide my weaknesses and express them in the shower while singing. This is why Bodysnatchers is such a powerful and breathtaking song to sing in the shower.

It will peer into your soul.

You see, kids, I think what you do in the shower shows who you really are and singing is a way we express our innermost passions, dreams, fears and weaknesses. I have a feeling a lot of you will say, "you're being overly analytical. We like to sing in the shower 'cos it's fun and it kills time". I will reply by agreeing and staring blindly into the distance thinking that the art of shower singing holds more mysteries than my young mind can even fathom to comprehend.

To Begin My Ranting

2010-12-07T00:42:00.001-05:00

This is the first time I decided to start blogging again after two years. It would probably be a good thing if I start off introducing myself.
I'm a young woman in my early 20s with a really strong interest in mechanical engineering and booze hounding. I am also one of those people who likes to make overly analytical observations about the most mundane things. When I'm not over analyzing myself into rampages of paranoia, I'm doing something impulsive and decadent. In this day and age, we can't be too tied up in formalities. Decompression after compression, people.
One of the few things that inspired me to begin a blog was the idea of having some sort of record of my ideas and exploits that could be shared with whomever has an internet connection. Granted, I'm sure a lot of the things I'll write on here I will look back in a few years (perhaps when I'm more established as a productive individual) and regret the crass rants I will produce.
I really hope that you as my anonymous audience will enjoy or at least kill some time with my rants. I sure as hell will love to post random crap about nothing and everything whenever I feel the itch.
After all, isn't the internet considered the super highway of information or someshit like that?

Metaphorical super highway of information and free porn