Obsessed

I am obsessed with burlesque dance.

I watched the Bravo series Forty Deuce last night. Bravo had the whole series as a marathon. It ran from 10-2:00 a.m.

I remembered seeing the commercials before, and I could never remember when it was on, because as we all know, my brain has many fart pockets going on. Anything that doesn't require diapers, milk, feeding children or cleaning up seems to become forgotten. AKA my favorite shows, relax time, me time.

I stayed up, even though I needed to sleep. I loved it. After it was done I went to Ebay to look up burlesque fat girl outfits so I could have one for hubby man. I couldn't find one.

Shut up.

I want to be a burlesque dancer. Don't laugh at me. I am serious. Shut up. I am sure they can make an outfit to hide my fat somehow, right?

Anyhow, it was amazing. You could be sexy and not have to take off all of your clothes. It had that old fashioned sexuality about it. The kind where you could shimmy your ass and wear a bikini with fringe on it and be sexier than a stripper at an all nude strip joint.

I have always been drawn to pinup girls, 40's & 50's memorabilia, vintage shoes, clothes, things of that era. So this was a sort of cool thing to watch, as someone took an idea of the old Vegas, and brought it back to the new. Vargas meets Vegas. Awesome.

Now I want to go to Vegas and stay at a nice hotel with my husband, get drunk, go to Forty Deuce and watch the dancers. My god the fun we would have!

Go see the sexy womens...
Forty Deuce Presents The Luscious Peaches

Then go here and check out Dakota Ferreiro, she's my favorite: Dakota

And dont come back here after your done. I don't clean up grown folk.

Fuck You Red Bitch

I got my fucking period 10 days early.

What. The. Fuck?

No wonder I am tired and dragging ass. No wonder my hair has a life of it's own. No wonder I devoured almost a whole box of Little Debbie Nutty Buddies.

I hate being a fucking woman.

Chucha the Chicken

The other night, my friend and I decided to hang out at the park while our daughters were at Brownies.

After quickly realizing that the beach section of the park was filled with more washed up tampon applicators than we could count, we began to head back to the car.

We saw a couple. And a chicken. A couple and a pet chicken.

I wasn't gonna say anything, but Trini had to. "Is that your pet chicken?" she asked as I tried not to laugh out loud.

"Jes, she itsa ourrrr pet." Said the woman with the Russian accent.

"Cool... how cool is that!" Trini giggled with enthusiasm.

"Howww cute!" I said as sarcastic as I could be.

"Jes, she vaz given to us for the soup pot, but we decide zat ve love herrr too muchs..." Said Russian lady.

She went on to tell us that the chicken's name, was Chucha. One letter off from Chocha. Which, for you nonspeaking Spanish, means women's genitalia. Chocha is like saying pussy, or like saying coochie, or- well, you get the idea.

Chucha, the chicken.

Trini kept asking questions, that made me want to laugh. And kept saying nice things about Chucha. "Wow, what beautiful colors on her beak. And look at how nice and white she is...." She was right, Chucha had really pretty feathers, big brown eyes, and a pretty bright red beak.

"Jes, I give her bath and make her fluffy. Her legs are blue, see? And her feets are blue (she shows us her "legs and feets") and when I first give her bath, I could not get the you know to be clean and then I realize her you know is blue too!". Thanks for describing chucha's chocha, Russian lady.

"They are talking abouts you Chuuucha! Don't talk dirrrteee about her!" said the Russian man. He cradled Chucha in his arms and pet her gently, like a dog.

The Russian lady told us she was ready to lay eggs (Chucha, not Russian lady). That she had a little box filled with hay and things for her to feel at home in and that she was "fooorrrt-eee years oldah".

"Wha- what?" asked Trini with her bewildered eyebrows sticking up.
"Jes, she is forrrteee years oldah... I look up on internet, and it say that she vill leeve to be abouts eight yearrrrs old." Then we realized she said she was four and not forty years old. Chucha, not the Russian lady.

She also tucked Chucha under her coat and under her tit to show us how Chucha likes to be cradled by Russian woman and be warm.

As we left, I had strange thoughts about Chucha wearing thigh highs and being the new "Subservient Chicken" for Burger King. Complete with a website and pictures of her wearing lingerie.

As we got into the car I said "Only us, Trini. Only we could find a couple at the park with a pet fucking chicken."

"I know. Only us." she said giggling.

"But one thing, I wanted to ask and didn't have the balls to ask is... Does the chicken have large talons?".

Trini just stared at me blankly.

one of them days

My kids have colds.

It's raining and muddy and nasty and cold outside. Mother nature threw us some nasty shit a week before MAY. Thanks Mother nature. Bitch.

My stomach has been acting up and everything I eat is making a quick exit.

I have hemmoroids.

I have 6 loads of clothes to wash.

I am broke. Even though I have money in the bank, it's not mine. There are bills and CRAP that I have to pay for, therefore, it's already claimed. So, I am broke. Yay. The story of my fucking life.

My Csection scar is acting up, six months after I gave birth.

I have chin hairs that I can't pluck because they have roots made of steel.

I have a pimple on my ass cheek.

My son threw up on the floor this morning, because his phlegm was gagging him. He threw up hot dogs mixed with orange juice. Mmm.

My baby threw up approximately 23 minutes after my oldest son threw up, due to his own phlegm gagging. All over me. Yay. Mmm.

My sewing machine is acting up. And I broke the needle. Great. Now the quilt I have been making my son since I was 5 months pregnant 11 months ago, will never be made.

Happy day to you.

John Mayer has green balls

I had a celebrity sex dream last night.

I dreamt that I went to a John Mayer concert, he invited me backstage, and we ended up doing the deed.

It was really good. Really crazy, and fuzzy at times. He was wild! Yee haw!

I remember at one point looking at his "area" and his scrotum looked like it was made out of green play dough. And his penis looked like it was made out of mismatched robot pieces.

And I met his mom afterwards. Who declared to me that I was such a nice girl, she wanted to be a grandmother to my three children.

I called my friend Trini, and told her I had slept with John Mayer, and she goes "Dude, you're fucking married, remember?". I was all... "yea, oh, yea. But I don't care, it was good, but something weird about him- his balls are green and he has a robotic penis....".

Then I was being stalked by some serial killer that looked like Scott Savol from American Idol, and Freddy Prince Jr. saved me by hiding me in his bathroom. Then Freddy baked me cookies and we went on his personal jet, where Scott Serial Killer Savol chased us some more and then I woke up scared and sweaty.

Why couldn't the sex be without green scrotums and robotic penises?

My peace

Do my finger's look like Miss Piggy's hooves?

I once had a guy tell me I had the hands of Miss Piggy. He was a pig himself. Gross. Ignorant. Plain old fucked up.

This is me at night when everyone is asleep. My only peace. My only time. Only breath that I have at the end of a day.

"You have dedicated 6 years of your life to your children and family. Do something for you. Something that is all your own."

I will. I promise.

 

knock knock...

I have a tremendous opportunity knocking at my door.

Almost too good to be true.

In fact, so good, that I almost shit myself.

Why do I clam up when things that should be happening to me, happen?

Is it because I feel as if I don't deserve them? Because I feel like I have no clue how to handle them?

I guess you can't help me with that. I guess that is what my therapist is probably for.
Speaking of which, I haven't seen her in like two months. Healthy, good times, huh?

I can't afford to. I want to, but can't afford to. And my shitty insurance only covers so much.

Last time I saw her, I gave her my blog site address. She is probably analyzing my thoughts from her computer desk. Is that why she hasn't called me? Because I scare her? LMFAO!

Lord, I need so much therapy, it's sad.

Which leads me to a thought of peer pressure from the other night, when I sat drunken with "The Lady Upstairs".

The lady upstairs: wanna smoke a bowl?
Me: uh, no thanks.
The lady upstairs: come on! You need to relax a little. You take care of kids all day. I see how much of yourself you sacrifice. I feel bad sometimes because you need to get out and relax.
Me: uh, no thanks.
The lady upstairs: come on! Get a buzz!
Me: I do have a buzz. That's what antidepressants and beer are for.
The lady upstairs: oh.

scared about bacon

I just ate a BLT.

I cooked the bacon in the microwave. Does that mean I am gonna get worms?

I mean, I cooked it and then put it on the stove because it was almost all the way cooked, but I threw it on the stove to be safe.

It was kind of rubbery and had blisters on it.

I am gonna die in my sleep now, aren't I?

Answers

Thanks to all of you that asked me questions! I loved them and will do them again soon! Here are the answers!

A dream. A fantasy. A book. A poem. The woods. Real and imagined. Solitude and what 'it' may produce from you. A moment with you inner self, away from daily chores. A hidden Mariposa, still in a cocoon. How would she looks like when free from it?

Very nice question. I do not have an actual worded answer, simply because I have something better to answer this with...
This picture:

 
My six year old daughter took this picture of me. I was deep in thought, I was, as I like to say "seeking the answers to my little universe...". It was the first day in spring and my soul had opened up and was breathing. Taking in all that was around me.
I love this picture. When she is older I will give it to her and tell her, that it means so much to me, because she took it upon her tiny little self, to take a picture of her mama, that caught me as my true self.

 Why is your blog so lame?
Hmm... lame. Ok. LOL. I laughed at this. Because only I know it's a joke. Nothing I do is lame... it's always fabulous!

Tell me about fun or embarrassing things from grade school and high school.
I remember one time I went to a high school dance. I was late getting ready to go and had just grabbed two pairs of shoes and left without looking. I didn't notice until my friend and I had gone to the bathroom, that even though my shoes were both black, they were NOT THE SAME SHOE. I spent most of the night with one foot against the wall and the other down, so no one would notice.

What are your parents like? My parents are very intelligent individuals. Very free spirited.  They had made choices in life that gave them both hard times. I learned from things that they did and saw how they struggled with things that they chose to do and I put that together with what I was taught while being raised. Meaning, I learned from them. The good, the bad and the ugly.

Ignore No. 1 (why is your blog so lame?). You know I'm kidding, kid.  I know that Hossie!

When was your first kiss? Hee hee... interesting. I kissed a boy when I was 17 years old. I was a very late bloomer in the sexual field of flowers. I kissed him, but being he was only 14, I ended up "talking" with his brother who was 17. I ended up losing my virginity to that brother of 17, and he was a complete jerk. I felt bad about doing that to the younger brother, who was actually a nicer boy and much more sensitive. What is funny is, I thought he was so much more younger than I was, but I married a man that is 3 years younger! Talk about coincidence!

When is your birthday? My birthday is March 1, 1974. Pisces in DA HOUSE! Woot woot! Water signs rule!

Do your have a tub of Vicks Vaporub in your house right now? But of course! LMAO! Half used from this shitty winter we had!

What is the name of your favorite book...movie...song?  My favorite book is Dirty Girls Social Club. It really reached me. It talked to me. And it made me a new friend :) My favorite song is "Somewhere" from West Side Story. And my favorite movie is Stand By Me.

Where were you when you heard about the WTC on 9-11? Did hearing about it make you need to go somewhere else?  This question is very emotional for me. When 9-11 happened, I had just given birth to my oldest son six weeks earlier. I woke up holding my children in my arms ( my daughter was 3 at the time) and answered the phone that was ringing crazily all morning. My mother had called me to tell me what was going on. She told me to turn on the TV. Which I did. When I did, I saw that picture of the dust clouds over NY  from the angle of the Statue Of Liberty in the foreground. I collapsed to the floor as my mother was telling me what was happening. A ton of emotions flooded me, as I held a newborn in one arm and a three year old baby in the other. I felt as if the world was ending, and I would have to watch my world collapse after such happiness was filling it. I had many strange disturbances after that happened. I needed to sleep with my children at all times. I thought that the world would end. I thought my children would die. I kept picturing the whole thing when I would close my eyes. I had a kind of post traumatic stress thing going on and I wasn't even there! I soon had visions of death surrounding me.
I slipped into deep depression and ended up being put on medication because the attacks triggered something in me that had never been let out before. My fear of the unknown. My fear of not being the strength to promise what my children needed promised, a full and protected life.
I now know that as a parent that is not possible, but I learn to take things one day at a time, because that is all we can ever do.

Pepsi or Coke?  Hmm... depends on my moods. LOL. Lately, neither, because I am trying to drink only water and juices. I would have to say Coke though. Lol.

Who or what inspires you? Of course, my children and my husband. But also the world around me. I can meet someone on the street and something about their character might inspire me that day. A squirrel stuck in a tree can inspire me to think about how much I hate them and why they are so evil to me, LMAO.
 A dragon fly might inspire me to think freely. Anything that catches my attention usually inspires me a great deal.

If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be and how would that affect your life today?
I wish I would have had more self esteem and would have realized how much of a good, creative, beautiful person I was as a teenager. I was full of so much and I never gave myself enough credit. I read things I wrote back then and I just want to grab myuself and just tell myself to look deeper and not just at the fact that I couldn't fit into a size 5 jeans! And maybe I would be able to have more sense of self, now at 31! LMAO!

Describe the colors of a Mariposa's soul... Hmm... lots of pinks, blues, greens, yellows, and oranges. Purples for serenity, blues for peace, reds for love and soul. There is also black. The blackness that I try to overcome each day. The blackness that almost had me consumed a few months back. The blackness that is my depression. I fight the blackness and fill it with the other colors each day. It's a struggle to not be in the land of black and death and bones. But my other colors, they are brighter.

does your husband help you with the kids? Yes, he does. There are times he is overwhelmed and has just worked an overtime shift. His bones are tired. His muscles ache. His head is pounding. He works a lot. So that I can be home. He puts his self on hold daily so that we can eat, and live. He helps me even when he feels like this. He gets up with the kids when I am tired or sick or HUNGOVER (like sunday) and I get to sleep in until the afternoon. He makes dinner some nights. He takes the kids outside so I can get a moment of peace. And he helps me bathe them or put them to bed. He has his moments when he wants to do nothing. But so do I. Don't we all? All in all, he helps me tremendously.

Aren't you glad you used Dial? I don't use dial, it makes me itch. I use Lever 2000 or Olay soaps. Silly ass. But the remedy to itch is more cowbell ;)

 

 

Go ahead and ask me...

Do you have questions for me?
Ask me some questions about me, my life, my brain, anything. I will answer them in the next entry. I need to have at least 10, so everyone leave a note.

BBQ madness

We decided to cook out yesterday.

We put weiners and burgers on the grill, I made mac salad. We got beers for the adults and pop and juices for the kids.

We had my brother in laws come over and one of Keith's childhood friends. His uncles came over later on and the people upstairs hung out with their kids and us.

I fed the kids, and let them play until 9 p.m. outside. I fed Ryan and by his normal bedtime of 7 p.m. he was grunting to go "night night". As I had him in the stroller, already in his jammies, I decided as the other two ate their burgers and weiners, that Ryan and I would escape for a nice night night time walk.
I took him down some really nice shaded streets. Every time the sidewalk would end, and the little "bum bump" sound of the next sidewalk crease would go against his stroller wheels, I would hear him giggle. He thought it was so funny. He giggled until he went sleepy. I watched his big eyes get sleepier and sleepier as he looked at the orange and pink sky. Soon he was snoring.

As I put him back into the house and set the baby monitor. I got the older two ready for bed. I got them to bed and was going to sit down and watch Cops.

Cops. When there was beer and fun outside.

I went outside.

My sister in law came over and I kept downing beers. Soon it was so chilly outside I could see my breath from time to time. So I kept drinking beers. I lost count.

My brother in law was giving out shots of Jack Daniels. I had one. Nice and warm. Ahh. Nice buzz.

At one point my sister in law and my husband were chasing a cat around the field, screaming "DAISY! DAISY NO!" All I saw was the neon pink of the blanket wrapped around my sister in law's shoulders and I started screaming with laughter. She looked like a vampire and my husband looked like he was running from her. Drunken madness in my brain. I couldn't breathe from laughing.

It wasn't even my cat. It was a stray. They realized this after someone yelled "DUDE! It has STRIPES! Chill out!" Daisy is all black. "oh." said Keith.

Then the lady upstairs (formerly known as ABW= Alchoholic Bitch Whore) came out again after her and husband Potty McPothead, were arguing. She made me a White Russian. I drank it like a mad woman. "MAKE ME ANOTHER!" I said as she giggled and I started dancing to something of the likes of Tupac and Eminem. I don't even know wtf was on the radio. Someone would change the station every song. There was country, then rock, then rap, then blues.

When I went with her to her house upstairs her husband was pissed off because she wasn't upstairs with him and she was sitting with me. I felt kind of strange and left to the stairway. She came out and said "Oh shut up! I will still have sex with you- you FREAK. Let me have some fun with Mari for chrissakes!". I asked her if she should just go in and she goes "No! I am just sitting with you in the yard and giggling. Fuck him!". At that point I realized I needed to get to know her and stop calling her ABW.

I drank two more White Russians and then someone passed around some long island iced tea in glasses. I drank one. After that, it was all funny and blurry. The lady upstairs kept talking about her husband and how she is leaving him. She said she is selling her "cranberry crystal and china from 1943" and I kept smiling and thinking "I have no idea what the fuck your talking about..." She said something about how her china and crystal were her "ticket out of her marriage". Then she told me all kind of secrets about their arguments. She asked me if I hear them argue and I lied and said no.

My mouth, fingers and nose were numb from the cold, but yet, I couldn't quite feel it.

She told me about her sad life, how her fiance who treated her like a queen died 5 years ago before they got married. How she was beaten by her ex-husband. How she had her first baby at 16. How her father died of alchoholism and how she supported the guy upstairs when she had cancer by working while getting treatment... I sat there and wanted to cry. I kept hugging her. I was so drunk.

It was 2 a.m. and everyone was leaving. Lynard Skynard was on in the garage and my brother in law got beligerent and I sent his ass across the lawn to go home (they live across the field next door no driving). Something about "Why does Keith like the Lynard? I thought he was down and liked only rap!". Stupid ass. We are diverse. Even drunken diverse.

The lady upstairs went upstairs, sad and cold. I sat in the lawn chair looking at the sky. I had eaten something and was feeling more sober. I drank some water and felt more sober, and sleepy. I felt so sleepy. I wanted to sleep with the stars in the backyard, but I couldn't, so I went inside.

I put on my jammies, went to sleep and woke up to having to clean out Keifer's turds from his potty. He is now officially trained. THANK GOD. But when you haven't had a drunken night in almost 3 years, and you get up at 7 a.m., the last thing you wanna do is clean out turds from a potty chair.

My husband only had a few beers last night. He laughed as he saw me disheveled and hung over this morning. He told me to go back to sleep and he would get up with the kids. I did. Until 1 p.m.

I had a nice night. Full of drunkeness that I usually never have. I deserved it. But I tell ya one thing, I don't know how I used to drink and party so hard in my early 20's. I can hardly stay up today. I keep drinking water and taking vitamins and trying to keep up with the kids. How did I do a night out in clubs being drunk until 5 a.m and then go to Mcdonald's and then to work for 8 hours back then? HOW THE FUCK DID I DO THAT? Then go home, take a shower, get ready and go back out to end up getting picked up by some club dude and going hotelling with him? HOW DID I DO THAT SHIT?

There were other funny madness stories last night, like my brother in law Bobert putting on a hat made out of aluminum foil and running around a tree only to fall on his face and burn his finger with his cigarette. And my other BIL Guissepe trying to figure out the life cycle of an ant. And some drunken lady that came over to see the lady upstairs to see if she was ok because her and Potty had a huge fight, and the lady ended up being hit on by my husband's uncle.

We sound like assholes. But we never do things like this, honest. We just become crazy drunkards every other year or so. To let it all out. Honest.

Hi, my name is Mari and I am a Coke head.

I recently started drinking lots of water.

I bought a buttload of sparkling waters last week because they were sparkly. They had fruit flavors in them. No sugars. And they were sparkly, I need sparkly. Bubbles. Carbination.

I figured I wean myself from my coke and pepsi. I drank lots and lots of coke's and pepsi's. Lots. I can drink a two liter like a can of pepsi- I just got a visual of Da Ali G. Show when he played the Kazakhistani guy at a dating service. "I have penis big like can of pepsi...". But anyhow... like I was saying, I can drink tons of pop. Soda. Sparkling sugar. I loved it. I used to drink it in a bottle as a child. Get my drift?

So, as days have come and gone with me dragging much ass, I realized after talking to my friend Trini, that I don't drink much water. In fact I hated water. No flavor, no drinky. Trini had just weaned herself off of her many cokes. So I decided to copy cat her and see if I felt any better. Trini's skin was glowing. So I wanted to see if I could give it a try.

Day One: lots of those sparkly waters. Lots. They were bubbly and had flavor. Not bad. But I was pissing insanely.

Day Two: More waters. Mmm... the taste not bad at all, almost like drinking pop. Many headaches. Kind of bitchy.

Day Three: Waters again. Almost the whole 12 pack gone. Ahh well. I will get more.
More heachaches. Not so bitchy.

Day Four: Waters gone. Husband says we don't need the sparkly stuff, since we have regular bottled shit. No fizzy? No nice fruity flavors? Huh? " Put some fruit juice in there as a splash...". So I did. Cranberry watered down was almost as good. No more headaches. No bitchy.

Day Five: Craving Coffee like a mofo. I sip some of the Coffee Queen AKA my MIL's coffee in the morning before I take Mya to school. On my way back from dropping her off, I get a HUGE migraine of massive proportions type headache. "Must be 'cause I drank a tich..." I say to myself. Yea, dumbass... must be.

Day Six: More cranberry homemade splash. Drank two 16 oz. In 4 hours. Pissing like racehorse. No headaches. No bitchy. No bloat! WOO HOO! NO BLOAT? The bloat was still there before because of the carbination from the sparkly shit. AHA! I SEE!

Day Seven: I decide I been a good girl. Drinking lots of good healthy water. Drinking cranberry splashes. I decide with dinner to drink me some Pepsi in a glass. I drink it and it tastes like gold. One hour later, I have massive fucking bloat and a headache from the bowels of hell. I am also bitchy at my kids and husband. I feel strange. I feel psychotic. I feel... like shit.

Day Eight: I drink another glass like an ass and it tastes nasty to me. I don't even want it.

Another thing I realized, I used to wake in the middle of the night, with a HUGE craving for anything sweet. I would scrounge old Easter baskets in search of a jelly bean, or a reese cup and then I would feel better. After not drinking so much sugar, I notice I don't want that much sugar. I bought donuts two days ago, and I have not eaten all of them. I have eaten 2 of them. ME! ATE ONLY TWO! FUCKING UNREAL!

I have come to the conclusion I was probably borderline diabetic. My sugar levels were fucking WHACKED because I was drinking so much pop. My body craved sugar, because it was used to it in such large levels.

I feel better when I don't drink so much pop. I feel better all around. I need to keep it up. I need to not become dependent on shit food and beverage. I had diabetes with Mya, when I was preggers with her. It sucked. It runs in my family. I am petrified of ending up with it, so I need to do what I need to do now, so that I don't get it.

And not just that, I need to do it, because it feels better. Even thought I thought a donut made me feel better, it really didn't. It was just the sugar high.

My Little Handsome

My Little Handsome
Ryan Joseph 6 mos. old.

My God I thank you for this face.

Those toes, those eyes.

I thank you for making him look like me, and not just like his father like the other two do.

For making him mild tempered (except for spoon taking), for making him smile at me in the morning like I am the best thing he has ever seen.

For making him a part of my life and for making him fill a piece of my heart that was so sad, so empty.

For making him blow raspberries after he cuts a fart, because it makes me laugh like nothing else on earth.

For making him have an appetite so hardy. Hardy enough to make his thighs wrinkle like a baby sumo wrestler.

For making him exist and show the true love his father and I still have after 8 years, and will continue to have for 80 more.

For making him be a baby brother so that his brother and sister can love someone else and not want to eat their flesh.

For making him chase the cat as he scoots on his belly, because he wants to slobber on her fur.

Thank you God, for my Ryan Joseph. My baby boy. My pride and joy. My life. My happiness. My little handsomeness.

Freak of nature

I just went off on my husband. He didn't even do anything.

"Why don't you ever push me to succeed?" I asked him.

He was talking about cell phones.

I was talking about life.

He got silent. Confused he said "I never held you back from doing anything you wanted to do. You're full of self esteem, why should I push you when you have all you need inside of you?"

Then I went all woman on him.

"You never push me! You don't want me to do anything with myself? I will not be a lost woman when my children leave the coop!".

Then he wanted to let me go. Because I was going all woman on him, so he could eat his lunch.

Then I cried.

I felt suffocated. Not because my husband said anything or did anything, but becasue I imagined he was suffocating me.

"Never want me to do anything with myself but breed and take care of children? Never want me to succeed? I will show you! You can't hold me down! I will do what I need to do with what I have in my soul!" and I think I pounded my fist on the table. Or something like that. I can't remember, I was all teary and weirdo-like. In a trance.

I always imagine something like this. I always imagine he is some tyrant that he never is. Never was. Never will be.

I am so godamn freakish. Such a freak.

Other crap

My son likes this new Disney show. Called the DoodleBops.

The Doodlebops scare the fuck out of mommy. They remind me of colorful zombies. They are strange. Me no likey. No likey one bit.
Doodlebop Scary Mother Fuckers
Doodle Fucks Part Deux.

if you can't see the link here is an example:


See? See what I mean?

Now THOSE are freaks of nature.

I am irritated. I need a smoke. Bye.

Buttloads

I have buttloads of clothes to wash.

Beh.

I hate washing clothes. I hate washing dishes. I hate doing anything that requires me to do things over and over.

Clothing is always dirty. Dishes are always dirty. House is always dirty.

I clean them daily. In a haze. I try to numb out the pains of doing these things over and over and over again. But soon, after the last load is washed, the last dish is dried, BAM BOOM! There begins another BUTTLOAD.

That's why I hate doing them. Because they are never ending. NEVER ENDING. PILES. OF DIRTY THINGS.

I'll try to sum it up to people who don't understand. Compare it to climbing a mountain. But never moving from the same spot. No matter how hard you climb. How long you climb. How much EFFORT you put into climbing. Nope, same spot. Fuck you. Same spot.

So, that is why today I cussed out my buttload of clothes, and my buttload of dishes. I called them every name in the book. I HATE YOU!

I rather rescue a small village. Anyone know where a small village needs rescuing? I would gladly do it.

Pat been a bad boy

What is up with these dirty old men who possess well known jobs in the media- being so fucking dirty and nasty?

I spent the better part of my morning, laughing my FUCKING ass off at the Pat O'brien tapes.

My brother calls me and tells me how Howard Stern (his personal favorite) was making fun of the dude. So I go "why? what happened? That's so mean! What is wrong with Howard always picking on these poor people!"

Turns out I am like one of the only people, on the face of the earth, that didn't know that Access Hollywood's Pat O'brien and how he had made some pretty funky nasty voicemails to one of his co-workers/aquaintences.

So. I Google it. Like I do with everything that puzzles me.

Oh the Google, so good for the informations.

The Google presented me with enough material to make me laugh like a maniacal hyena. I laughed until I cried, people. When I was done, I needed a cigarette.

So I sound mean? Yea, I guess. But so is he, it turns out. Mean and just plain NASTAY.
Supposedly he did the following after I googled all about his NASTAY ass: he has licked the face of co-host Nancy O'Dell at an office Christmas Party, grabbed the ass of another co-worker and made nasty sexual comments to an openly gay producer... "I got something for ya... bend over".
Also he said something of the likes of "What's up my n_ggas!" to some african american co-workers as well.

He allegedly did these things before he went into rehab. BEFORE the tapes came out.

There are also pictures of him masturbating all over the internet. I am NOT Googling that shit.

This man scares me. I am gonna have scary celebrity sex dreams because of all this Googling.

He and Bill O'Reilly need to go hell together in a hand basket. Weeeeeeeee!

The best ones are:

http://www.thesuperficial.com/archives/000793.html

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/227154 (*be sure to watch the little movie with Pat on the phone little icon next to it.)

And this message board with hilarious comments from people: http://chud.com/forums/showthread.php?t=79055

So, go on ahead, listen to this idiot. Why would a man, with a voice known for narrating hollywood access television voice overs, leave messages like this??? We know it's you Pat. C'mon, now.

When I feel down, I shall listen to this moron say things like "you are so fucking hot.... I feel crazy... I don't know why I am doing this.... I want to get some coke, do drugs and get a hooker...". He says other gross things like " You and Betsy (his girlfriend) can eat each other and I will...." It gets worse. Really bad.

Oh yea, and in the background, is that rap music I hear Pat? You are so diverse.

It's all relative

Uncle Vincenzo (my mother's brother) likes to call me on Friday mornings. We have a nice Friday morning chat, and he tells me about his health and how his legs and his shoulder are coming along.

He was in an accident last summer, where he fell down a cellar in his home. He fell so badly, he was in the hospital for two weeks and had to have his heel and shoulder blade replaced.

He wasn't able to move for months. Incapacitated. He was lucky he lived. The doctors told him it could have been fatal.

Over the winter he would call and would sound so depressed that it often scared me. As he was getting therapy for his limbs and able to move more and more, he would sound more like himself as time moved on.

Now he walks with a cain, and is able to drive. He said it's liberating to do the things that he once took for granted.

So, he called and we chatted. He talked about estranged members of my family that no longer want to have shit to do with me. I tried to sound like I had interest in them. I know he does the same to them, about me. They most likely say things meaner than what I say. He tells me about my other uncle who looks like a Puerto Rican George Costanza and acts just like him. About my grandmother who we all know thinks of me as "dead to her".

Then he told me he went to visit my biological father at his home. This always leaves a sting on my heart. My soul. "I went to see your Dad. He wasn't home. Your sister answered the door, and she had a baby girl about three months old in her arms. The cutest thing! She looks like you both when you were little . . . "
Stinging more than ever before.

I don't call my biological father my "dad." I call my Daddy my Dad. The man who raised me is my Dad. Not the man that donated his sperm.

I have never spoken of my other brother and sister before on here. Because there really isn't anything to speak of, not much of a history. The brother I speak of on here is my little brother with whom was raised with me since birth. My brother from my mother's side. We share the same mother. The other brother and sister I have are from my paternal side. Sperm donor's other donations.

The life I had with my biological father as a child was scarring. He beat my mother. Would lock us up so he could disappear for days at a time on drug and sex binges. He abused my mother mentally, psychologically, verbally.

I remember times being as small as three years old, and him beating the living crap out of her. I remember those times and they make me want to hide and cry.

We left when I was almost four. He disappeared and began another life. He had tried to kill himself in front of me when I was about four and half. He threw a fit in my grandmother's kitchen because he wasn't allowed to take me with him, somewhere. He grabbed a butcher knife and he held it to his chest as he lay on the kitchen floor. My uncles were fighting to get the knife out of his hands. I stood there motionless as he did this and looked into my eyes.

I felt nothing for him. I felt scared for myself.


I want to sob when I think about that day. I was so little. But felt so strong and so old. To be four and a half years old and to feel nothing for a man who is laying there with a knife to his heart. Maybe I learned and grew my strength from days like that.

He soon disappeared out of our lives. I heard things from people that knew him and our family, but my life was taking a better form. My mother met my real Daddy and they married when I was six. Our life from there on out was much better than the one I would have had, had I stayed being raised by Mr. Dramatics.

Now comes the stranger than fiction part. A part that even had my therapist raise her eyebrows.

When I was in 12th grade, I started at a new school. I was actually pretty much thrown out of my Catholic High School for being a trouble maker and because my parents were sick of paying money for a crappy education. So I went on to a public high school to complete the rest of my credits so I could graduate.

I entered my English 12 class and there sat this boy. I never knew him, but for some reason he looked at me as if he knew me. As class went on and on, we had to get into groups. As we all said our names, he said his . . . Michael S*******. I almost shit. I had the same last name. Now I already know what you're thinking... so do most people. But my last name was a Hispanic last name that is not very common. Extremely uncommon. So I looked at him, but just kind of kept doing what I was doing.

As my turn came to say my name, he turned and looked at me intensely. It bothered me.

Class let out and he came running after me to my locker. "Your name is Mari, isn't it?" I was weirded out, because my first name is not Mari, it's a nickname to my first name of Maritza. And in school, my name was always Maritza, not Mari. Only family and friends new me as Mari back then.

He then went on, to tell me he was my long lost brother. A brother I never knew about.

And to cut this insane story in half and keep from blabbing so much, he was my brother that was six months younger than I am.

How is that? You ask? Because when my mother was three months pregnant with me, my father fucked around on his pregnant wife and made another baby with someone else. A woman he would go on to marry after their divorce and have another child with, my sister Nena.

So when I found this all out, I went into a sort of denial. I bitched this kid out, and told him to fuck off. The next day, he came back to school with baby pictures of me. Me and my sperm donor dad.

Sting. My heart was stinging. My eyes were watering.


I learned that day, what it felt like to have your heart reamed through a ringer and sting and hurt in ways that I never thought possible. I had moved on from this man, who was my birth father and yet he still found ways to hurt me, even after he was out of my life.

My brother and I eventually grew close our twelfth grade year. We lied to people in school and we told everyone we were twins. I helped him pass Government class so he could graduate, and he beat up the boy that took my virginity for blabbing it in the boys locker room.

I was in his wedding two years later and let by gones be by gones, and finally embraced my biological father. Even though it still hurt to look at him, and to think of the things he had done to scar me.

Years went on, my sister grew up and she and I would try to stay in touch. When she called me back in 2000 to tell me she was going to have a baby (at the young age of 16) I was there for her. I went to my nephew's birthday parties and she came to see Keifer when he was born. She would bring Mya presents for her birthdays and come sit with me when I was down and upset. We began a relationship, a sisterly relationship.

We were trying to grow close. And then one day, it all stopped. I guess I stopped calling and she stopped calling and we don't know why, or maybe we do, but it stopped. My brother moved away to Florida and I never hear from him anymore. I have nephews that don't even know me. I have a new niece and they have a new nephew named Ryan Joseph. My son and her daugher most likely, will ever know how close in age they are to each other, and will most likely never know ofeach other.

I am still stinging from this morning's conversation. Not only because my uncle non-chalantly tells me of these things, and I know he has good intentions, but I just have no intentions of trying so hard anymore. They knew of my transfusion and my complications from Ryan's birth and they never called when my uncle gave them the hospital number.

I on the other hand have not kept up in trying to call either. I know I am to fault as much as them.

I tell you this though, it's so much harder on my end. They grew up knowing of me as their lost sister. I knew nothing of them. Until one fateful day, and that day is when the stinging began.

I still hurt from the betrayal my father did to my mother and me. I can never let that go.

So, I wish to my sister, happiness into the springtime wind. I wish my new niece a lifetime of prosperity and health and love. I kiss her tiny cheeks from my end of the world, and I hope one day she will hear about me.

I have a brother who does stay in touch, my younger maternal brother you see and hear of on my blog. He has always been in my life and will never be out of it. I am grateful for him, and one day he will make me an aunty. Even though he claims it won't be until he is 50 years old, so be it.

Also, my friend's children see me and know of me more like an aunt than my own nieces and nephews ever will.

As strange as life is, I guess it's all relative.

The face of a tantrum

 You my friends are staring into the face of a tantrum.

"But how? How can that be? He looks so sweet!" You ask?

That's what I thought. Up until moments before this picture was snapped and he threw an actual temper tantrum, complete with leg throwing, arm flailing, and head banging. Thank God the Boppy pillow you see him ever so sweetly laying on here, was under his head as he was banging it.

"About what?" you ask?

About a spoon. Because Mommy wouldn't let him hold the spoon I was trying to feed  him with.

I thought I had more time to savor his sweetness, people. I forgot how early the bitter parts begin.

See his eyebrows all sweaty and red? His eyes all teary? His cheeks all flushed? Yup... those are the signs.

Stinker. No other words could describe this kid. Stinker McGee.

I took this picture because I was in sheer disbelief that my almost 6 month old son could do the damage he had just done. And so when he is 21 years old I can go "Look! Look at how young you were when you began driving me crazy!"

Poop, Pizza, & Snow

I am really tired.

My little brother stayed over this weekend. We watched gory movies and had pizza and beer, and then he witnessed "Friday fun nights at Mari's house"... as my middle son woke and I had to help him birth a constipated turd at 3 A.M.

Potty training has him holding his shit in. Which means he holds it in because he has no desire in sitting on a potty. He stopped shitting on my floor but now he is not shitting at all. So he gets kinda backed up. Especially with eating lots o' Easter chocolates.

Last night he had to birth it. I had to help him. I had to tell him to ease it out and to put his legs way back. My brother sat motionless in my recliner. Eyes wide open. Scared.

When I got my bouncing five pound turdish grandson out... my baby got up. At 4 A.M. And he wanted to PLAY! YAY! WEEE!

It went something like this:
Me: go night night bubba
Baby: Buuu-bahhhh (I think he said either bubba or baba or just baby jibberish, you be the judge)
Me: Here is baba, you want baba?
Baby: ::::blows raspberries at bottle then pitches it::::
Me: Pleeeease go night night
Baby: Buuuu-baaahhhh. Ahhh la la la ::::smiles::::
My Brother: :::sitting motionless in my recliner::::

This went on until almost 5 A.M.

I woke up this morning and my kids had helped themselves to hot dogs, chips, chocolate and a botched attempt at making Kool Aid. And they were playing an acoustic version of the Sesame Street Theme song, with my daughter's guitar- in my brother's ear as he tried to sleep on my couch.

I whisked him quickly to the boy's room, so he could get some sleep and so he wouldn't go into shock.

"Mommy, look! SNOW!" They said.

It's still snowing. Spring is fucking with me.

And I think my poor little brother may never have the desire to procreate. Ever.

Save A Library... please

Save a library from closing.
Click the link below and see what you can do to help save Salinas Libraries.

No community should have to go through this...
http://www.savesalinaslibraries.org/

Easter Pics

My Daddy and my baby.

Do you know that it is merely impossible to get a family of five to take a decent picture? After we visited my Dad's house we went to my Mom's house, she attempted to get a "family picture" of all five of us. I should have known it wasn't gonna go. Look at my face. I am in lala land trying to numb all the pain.

 My little brother (he is going to be 21... my GOD how did that happen?) and my baby.

 My kids actually believed that the Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera. All day long "Wuelita! The Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera... Grampa! The Easter Bunny took pictures with Mami's digital camera!" It was so cute. God I love their ages and how the world is so new and fresh and full of things like the Easter Bunny taking pics with a digital camera.

Easter at my Dad's house....          From left to right... my daughter Mya, My Stepmother holding her Grandson, My Dad holding my youngest son Ryan, My brother Elliott holding my oldest son Keifer.

This was taken the night before as the sun was setting. I love how my daughter's hair is glowing in the sunlight that was beaming through the window. And I love how Ryan looks like he smells a turd, LMAO! Actually, it was a tender moment, she was showing her baby brother how to play with his very hungry caterpillar.

Here is Mr. Troublemaker terrorizing my stepmother's bird, Petey. Petey doesn't like my kids, lmao! He puffs his chest out and hides in the corner when they come over and he bites at the cage. Of course, Keifer has Spiderman on his t-shirt, what do you think he would wear on a special occasion?

There was my special Easter. It went well but it was exhausting at the end of the day.