Miss C is officially hooked on infomercials.

After getting some Blendipens and Bendaroos for Christmas, for which I had to take up a Master's in Engineering to figure out, she is convinced that these are life changing items.

If by life changing you mean the guy from the Shamwow looks like Gollum and that can be a life changing experience, since you don't wanna purchase towels from a goblin who was obsessed with a ring..

Yeah, I guess.

She insists I get the Spacebags and is totally convinced that all I need in my life right now is a Snuggie.

Because you know, reading and balancing an oh-so slippery blanket is a tricky task. Especially if you have just showered in olive oil.

The Snuggies are my favorite. You know, the people who go out to the sports games looking like monks or people in line waiting to get their degree.

It's inspiring.

No more cold feet for me...no more complicated socks or pants for the cold.

A Snuggie is just the option, especially if that nasty remote control always gets in your way.

What Miss C especially loves is the "Wait there is more".

I mean, who doesn't? Who doesn't love a free bargain, an extra, a bonus?

"Miss C's mom, her therapies are all set...but wait there is more...you won't have to come into this office to file a complaint EVER again".

Now, that's a bargain.

Miss C somehow thinks that the free reading light that comes with the Snuggies is just right for me.

"Momma, so you can see better, don't ya think?"

Honey, I just spent $400 on a pair of glasses, I think the whole "seeing better" issue is resolved.

But I admire her hope, her innocence, and her ability to believe in anything and in anyone. That hope and lack of doubt that glows from her insides. Even when she screams that we should get that scissor that cuts pennies in half and I try miserably to explain we are in no condition to due such atrocious thing.

We need all the Lincoln's we can get...especially if we want that new Slider Station from Billy Mays....

It is complicated.  That's all I'm gonna say.

We the human race are the only ones that can get everything we have dreamed of and then go turn around and not want any of it, anymore.

Because that is who we are.  Because that is in our nature.

I apologize for the vagueness.  But I feel right now as though I am the mother of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde, the daughter of Virginia Wolf and Michael Meyers and the I am no where near the things I hoped I was.

It has been one of those rough couple of weeks.  But I am still here.  Longing for a solution.  Longing for something to anchor onto.

And trying desperately to be good.  If any such thing exists.

But I'll be ok.

The other days as I was getting in my car, after a long day of unfruitful government office appointments, I noticed something I had not seen in tons of years.

A “Morivivi” plant., which literally means “Die and Live”.

I remember when I was a kid and I came to Puerto Rico for my summer vacations, my cousins and I would constantly play with these plants. They were all over my grandmother’s yard.

The peculiarity of these plants is that with only one touch, they would close up, only to open back up later.

My cousins would trample on these poor things, almost torturing them.

I remember my amazement. I would, contrary to my cousins, delicately touch them with the tips of my fingers and squeal in delightment when I would visit them later on to see them open up again.

Sometimes I feel like a Morivivi, constantly being trampled on by feet that couldn’t care less; opening up to quickly be shut down again.

And I stared at the plant, with all those memories gushing in. For a moment I felt so compelled to touch it, for ol’ times sake, but I let it be.

Cuz, jeez, every once in a while, we all deserve to be open.

Dear Teacher,

What makes you think I have pictures lying around of school supplies to paste in my daughter's notebook?

Let's see.
I'm on those days of the month, the Yankees are sucking and Miss C continues to wreak havoc.

Other than that, things are swell.

On Friday after having another hell of a week, I decided on an impulse to get my hair cut...it's hot, I am not hair friendly and I needed to have a change, since getting another tat is strictly out of my budget, for now.

This is how it turned out:

They have X mas lights for sale at Kmart.

In August.

And I couldn't find lighter fluid and charcoal for a barbeque this past weekend.  The staff at Kmart told us in a very matter-o-factly tone, that they had stored it all away.

What part of tropical island do these people not get?

Maybe the Faith Gene is gone.
Maybe I used it all up.

Fact of the matter is, lately I kind of don't believe in much.

I mean, on an island where people decide that in their wake they should be viewed standing up, where can my Faith go.

Yesterday a lady in the bank politely asked a gentleman how he was doing and he quickly answered:

"My father is dead. He died this week. He was 95".

No, "thank you and you...? Oh by the way my dad died..."

Just flat out tragedy.

It's a wonder some people still believe in Ol' St. Nick.

I've been MIA from church for three weeks, for several reasons, valid or not. Underneath it all, I haven't missed anything.

I was feeling out of place. Doing empty things for no apparent reason.

There are dynamics of God that I don't fully understand yet, and no one, has given me an answer that can somewhat make sense.

I think too much.
That's True's theory.

Right now I'm on a different path.
And as much as I want things to be as they were, I don't think they will.

And this is going to stir up some problems.
Especially with True.
Because frankly, even if there is love between us, which there is, how much can that love make up for the fact that we want totally different things right now and are on totally different pages.

I can't support him on his endeavors, because frankly I care for none.
And I couldn't care less if he cared for mine.

I don't know if I'm going back to church and his Faith, his glorious, undying Faith, is too much for me to bare right now. I just don't get it most of the time.

I look back to a couple of months ago and I don't really know if I was truly happy.

I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. I had lost all sense of identity.

I had stopped being me and became True's girlfriend.

And as nice as that sounds, I still prefer my first and last name.

So, right now it's all a puzzle, it's all a question mark and there are no answers from anywhere.

So I had just about had it.
The new neighbors aka the new hooligans were driving me mad.

They are up very late during the week, smoking weed and their friends stop by with motorcycles starting all kinds of rawkus.

As if it weren’t enough with the Mariachi loving neighbor who now sells drugs and has befriended the hooligans.

It was 9:30, mariachi lover was playing up a storm, beating on congas, cheering like a Mexican, with his door wide open.

I kindly leaned out of my door.

“Um…you see that window, it’s my daughter’s window, do you mind listening to the music for yourself?? As in real low”.

He looked, shocked, almost appalled. But immediately went inside to lower the music.

Then the hooligans began their matinee.

Last week I quietly called the cops on them and that had simmered them down but last night it looked like an all-nighter.

At 10:30 I had had enough.

I went outside, walked straight up and said:

“You guys don’t work tomorrow, or go to school, well that’s all nice. I actually envy you, but some people on this block do and my kid has school tomorrow so I will appreciate you keep the volume down, real down”.

They agreed to do so and I went back in.

But an hour later they were at it again, laughing, cursing, revving up their bikes…

Aw, hell to the no. Not on my block.

I headed downstairs again, this time not so diplomatic.

“Shut up!! You need to shut up…are you deaf?? Did I not just tell you guys to keep it down???!! There will not be a third warning, I will call the police, so shut up”.

They were stunned, they apologized and headed inside.

I’m tired of this crap, tired of no one on my block doing nothing because they fear these 15 year old punks.

I’m organizing some sort of committee and I’m taking my street back.

Nothing much to report on my side of the tracks besides the fact that I am hooked on the Olympics, finally decided to peg my jeans and where them like Katie Holmes and desperately need more sleep.

How can I manage more sleep into my life when I am already sleeping at 8pm????
I'll probably hire a driver.

::snicker::

Miss C has been doing fab.  Screaming and slapping children around before the bell goes off, you know the typical children behavior.

It's hard watching her do this while the 'other' parents stare at you in bewilderment.
"Other" as in the perfect parents with the perfect kids.
Needless to say, I am NOT the most popular parent in the bunch.

That's why when the parents met up today to discuss the extreme heat and the broken down A/C, I was the first one to pitch in $5.00 to get a fan while the quote on the A/C repair is ready.

Anything to fit in a little bit more.

Maybe I should stop wearing my "it's funny how you think I care" shirt to school.

I'll ponder that.

Meanwhile, I've decided to stop job searching for now.
I've decided to try to make the most of my time and wash and clean and cook and enjoy my kid in the afternoons, without all the traffic and all the rush.  Eat, bathe and be in bed by 8pm.

Because I am an old fart.

There I said it.

how are things on your side of the monitor?

Maybe Sinatra had it all wrong when he said he had few regrets about doing things "My Way".

Maybe he was a man with lots of guts and very ballsy.

Maybe at night when he was all alone for doing everything his way he drank his night away with a nice bottle of Merlot.

Maybe he just sat and watched the Olympics in Beijing.

Either way...maybe ol' blue eyes had it all wrong.

He was there again this morning.

He approached my car and I rolled down my window for some fun.

He gave me the flyer, still holding on to the other side.

"Will you spare some..."
I didn't let him finish.
"I don't have any change".

He started to pull the flyer back..."when do you think you'll have some??? tomorrow?"

In the most patronizing voice.
If I EVER wanted to hurt a Senior Citizen, Lord Help Me, now was the moment.

I snatched the flyer back and rolled up my window.

It's on.

So there he was AGAIN.

The little old man who gives away leaflets of God near the intersection.

He's dressed very sharp and looks very sweet.

He approaches my car and I roll down my window. I grab onto the leaflet.

"Would you care to make a donation for a child we sponsor?" He points to a World Vision flyer he has in his shirt pocket.

"Um, I gave you a donation on Monday for your little dominican boy".

He started to snatch the flyer back.

"Well this little boy doesn't only eat on Mondays, he eats everyday and bathes every day!".

I looked in shock.

I snatched the flyer back and rolled my window up.


WTF???????????

You have no can with no picture on it, no ID, just some flyers and you were gonna snatch away the Word of God because I couldn't spare some change this morning.

Get out of the intersection tomorrow, if ya know what's good for ya.

I've been crashing at True's Parent's house for the past week, since my Van is in the Repair Shop, yet again.

True's parents are awesome. They take care of my kid, make sure I eat a decent meal and his mom always makes sure my room is full of pillows and fresh sheets.

What I can't stand: The heat.

The ohmyfrigginlord heat.

The room I sleep in has 4 windows, 3 of which don't open.
True's room has one window, which is almost always closed.
Their living room has 4 windows, which True's Mom doesn't open.
Their room doesn't even have windows I believe.

Their bathroom DOESN'T HAVE WINDOWS!!

And they have no A/C.

I don't mean to sound like a snob but I can't sleep without A/C in a hot as hell house.

And I sure as hell can't shower in that house without going mad.

By the time I finish taking a shower and get dressed in the bathroom, sweat is rolling down my forehead.

And I am NOT a sweatin' kind of gal.

They have a huge gigantic fan they don't use because, get this: it blows air too hard.

So I kidnapped the fan into my room.

"Are you sure you wanna use that fan? It is very powerful".
"Yes".
"I mean I can get you a lighter fan"
"No, don't worry."
"Really it is not a problem, because it blows very hard and we can never use a fan like that. The one in the family is lighter".
"Look, trust me, I appreciate it, but I'm gonna tough it out on this one. I'll risk loosing my eyelashes for a good night rest".

So, it's hot.

Yesterday I commented to Vader how the flesh below my shoulder blade hurts and it is bruised. But I had no idea how. When I went to bed last night, a spring from the mattress bulged out and almost perforated my blade.

Now I know where the bruise came from.

At 1am when I went to pick up True from work (something I have to do if I wanna use his car during the day), we drove home real quick to pick up some paperwork I needed for a psychological re-evaluation they were performing on Miss C today. As I took all my paperwork, I stood in my bedroom and felt homesick. The house already smelled like empty.

I grabbed my pillow and made my way back to True's.
It seems no matter how nice I'm treated and how good I have it at someone else's house, there is no place like home.

A cooler, A/C bedroom, Serta mattress home.

Sometimes I love silence.

Sometimes when I drive I shut everything off including my brain. Because silence is golden.

I hate it when people disturb my silence and try to make me talk.

Sometimes silence is grand.

"Oh yeah?"


I got in the shower, checked out the movie times decided I was going to treat myself to a movie.

::ignore ringing phone::
::ignore ringing phone::

repeat this 15x

After 10 minutes of trying to look some kind of decent and not like some Maniac woman just fresh out of the mental ward, I decided to get in my car.

Who cares if the car had just left me minutes ago, stranded in front of the bakery (like I had EXACTLY dreamed of the night before...just pray I don't dream my death), I was going out.

Rage, Rage, Rage.
Popped in my Fionna Apple CD. The one that rages about how unrecognizable you are and drove off.

I thought about church that morning. How I had an urge to step up when everyone was doing it and pour my lil' heart out. How I wanted too, some sort of redemption, but the other side of me was a lil' bit louder..."stay don't go up there...what redemption?" How I sang praying no one would notice how robotic I was, praying no one would want to chit chat with me about the marvels of God.

I thought about how dry up I was. How for the past 4 days I had not slept a wink.
I thought about "not being in first place" and how enraged I was when True sly commented back "well, that's too bad for you".

I was craving a drink.
I was craving for the first time in years a bottle of Bailey's or a Midori Sour or a Malibu with Pineapple.

I was craving going out to smoke some pot.
That's why I was headed out for the movies.
Anything to keep my ass outta of trouble.

The phone kept on ringing.
I kept hitting the ignore button.

As I pulled up to the theater, the parking was going through renovations and the entrance had changed. I kept driving. Even keeping out of trouble was complicated.

I picked up the ringing phone. I couldn't spare to turn it off, because Miss C was chilling with her dad that afternoon.

It was a conversation with static, like when your inbetween stations and you get all these people mixed up in a jumble.

I turned around. My attempt of going to the movies alone was pathetic.
I drove on the solitary streets for what it seemed like an eternity.

I had hung up the phone in an attempt of not completely cutting off the only people left lingering around in my life.

::sigh::

I thought about bombs and the end of the world, and Spongebob and wars, and death, and life and Wall-e and money and crap. Like a broken record.

repeat 10x
All random nonsense

This is why I wasn't sleeping.
My head and body had completely disconnected themselves from me.
I was trying to sleep in a body and head that wasn't mine.

It's like staying over at someone's house and sleeping on a different bed.
It just isn't the same.
The familarity is gone.

I've gotta get my head back.
And scew it back on.
and try to salvage whatever's left.

"Are you listening to me?"

Really I'm not. The doe eyed, zombie look I'm wearing, isn't a facade, and I'm not trying to look cool. I am frankly, sincerly, out of it. It's not that I don't love you anymore, it's that I feel like a wild animal that's been picked off the road and forced to live in some retirement home called: "Villa Placid".

Sometimes, I don't wanna a "we", sometimes I wanna "me". Yesterday you mentioned how sad you were that we weren't going to see each other. A part of me was also dismayed, but the part of me that "jumped for joy and almost cried of happiness" won me over.

What gives?
You are the best man that has come into our lives. You have invested your time and more into us. I am more than fortunate. You do have your flaws, some of which in these days have been magnified, but it isn't your fault. I do it on purpose. I push myself away when something becomes too intense, when I feel my space is being invaded. And frankly it's really not invaded, it's just that after almost 2 years, it's perfectly rational and normal that we become more closer, especially with a long awaited ring on my finger.

Sometimes the thought of two people under one roof, makes me wanna snap.
Yesterday as we had lunch, the guy behind the counter was so happy, so cheerful, so blissful.

"That is the kind of happiness that makes me wanna jump over the counter and kill a few".

You looked at me and remained silent.
You didn't get it.

The other days I was at my grandma's house and my cousin was over. The perfect cousin, the one with the baby and another on the way, with the perfect husband, house and gas sucking SUV. And for the first time I felt a slight ping of envy.

I could probably have it if I wanted it. But did I want it?
I want it, but am I willing to pay the cost of it?
Am I willing to be civil?
Am I willing to give a layoff to the tyrant, dark side of me?

"I don't know yet, but we are gonna make it!"
You too, feel the thickness in the air, you too know the rocky bridge we tread upon, but you are so happy and optimistic, that I stand in delight. Almost in envy, wishing some of that would rub off of me in a way I could still recognize myself in the mirror in the morning.

What have you put away to make something work?

I'm on day number three of Insomnia.

I'm starting to feel like Christian Bale's character in The Machinist

I toss and turn all night. I have nightmares, short very real nightmares. I lay in bed awake all night.

I wake up with huge headaches but amazingly enough very fresh faced.

Thing is I don't know how much longer my body is gonna take it, at this pace.

I'm not overly stressed or preocupied, so I don't have a legit reason to not sleep.

Hopefully I won't fall asleep and chop anyone's arm off like Bale.

I'll keep ya posted.

"Some women are like the Amazons from Greek mythology. Powerful no hold barred I can squash men with my feet kind of women. Women who feel they need no men in their lives. Women who don't like being put under the authority of men because they feel inferior. They are the women who don't think twice to open their mouths and offend and yell, among other things. Men, if you are in a relationship with an Amazon, evaluate if this relationship is worth pursuing."

-Something I heard yesterday, while True was sitting right next to me.

Part of me wanted to scream with joy and pride and raise my hand "Ooh ooh ooh that's me!! that's me!!, lookey there True, you're dating an Amazon!"

Part of me wanted to head for the hills.
Part of me wanted to quote Carrie Bradshaw in the latest installment of Sex & the City, "You said a mouthful there sister!"

Yet part of me was thrown into a "swirling vortex of terror" (taken from Finding Nemo)

I was an Amazon.

A warrior, a no holds barred woman.
But really, was there something wrong with that?
I mean, yes I understood the point behind the yelling and screaming and yes I know I can at times, be a total bitch to True.

I am not gonna defend myself on that point.

At Miss C's party I wanted to hold up the piñata and Empress pointed out that why doesn't the man of the house do it, to which True replied:

"Because she doesn't let me be the man".

Is there any truth to that?
Am I taking True's manliness?

Part of me still longs for days of solitude, days where I can roam the empire that is my flat and prance around in my underwear and hog the remote and stereo.
Another part of me enjoys the weekends we spend together.

But I think all of me wants to be the boss.
It's hard not being.

I still feel certain higher rankings over my pad. I still feel I am the one in charge, of everything.

I've even become a little touchy on the Miss C issue.
I sometimes don't want his two cents.
Sometimes I feel like yanking the kid and saying "ya' know what? there is only room for one ringmaster, comprende?".

What is wrong with wanting to be the boss? of your house? where you pay the bills?

Yes, True has offered to help. He has helped in some areas. Maybe he would help more if I let him. But I feel that if I let him help out more, I'm giving him more turf to boss, make decisions and be partner.

I sort of like the Lone Ranger. A lot.

What do you mean it's wrong for a woman to be free? What do you mean that women need to have some male authority figure above them? What do you mean that women can 'help' out with the finances of the house, but that it's technically a man's job?

What do you mean that I can do all this and still retain my female power?

Give me the secret please.

In the era of female empowerment, why is there a need to feel we have to make our selves less in order to be loved more?

Would True love me more if I was less controlling, demanding, if I were more like our moms (not mine) who did everything the men suggested.

"Men do the big picture, women are good at details"

Whey can't we be good at both without being judged as control freaks or feminist "amazons".

Why can't female empowerment be viewed as a good thing.

I am not saying we don't need men. I am not saying Men are Scum. I am saying that we can be equal. We can do what the men do. It doesn't have to do anything with proving ourselves, it has to do with how times are.

If I didn't take on a man role in my house, fixing stuff, taking the car for repairs, who would've done it for me???

The invisible Man sitting on my couch?

Now I have a man, and it's hard asking for help, it's hard being the damsel in distress...

"Oh please prince, please rescue me from the pitfalls of darkness and screw in this 50 watt light bulb in my room!!"

When I can just stand on a freaking chair and put it there myself.

I will never be such damsel, to my dismay or to my sucess.

I will never limit myself to things just because I am a woman.
And frankly I don't know if I can submit myself to the authority of a man.

Especially if I'm doing my share of work.
What I do believe is in partnerships, in equal shares. In letting the other person be.

I may not be there yet.
Hell, I ain't there yet.
I am a Full Fledged Amazon. I may yell and scream and wanna do things my way, all the time (but that's a whole 'nother post). But I cook dinner, fix electronics, screw in the lightbulbs, wash the car and have tools.

And I ain't apologizing for that.

The Yankees are sucking. Sucking so bad that the other days, ESPN was giving a game (which is very rare) and I prefered watching "American Beauty" which I've watched before like 3 times.

Joba made his debut as starting pitcher last night, and poor ol' Joba sucked. Poor Kid. 22 and sucked at his first game.

Put your head on my shoulder I'll make you some hot chocolate. That is, after I beat your hands with a stick to see if we can get some circulation goin'.

As for us, I'm still on a working hiatus, Miss C is counting down the days until her birthday (next Wednesday) and I'm trying new ways to stretch out my savings, like living in a dark home to reduce the ridiculously priced energy bill.

"Momma I need a light for the bathroom".
"No you don't sweetie just feel yourself around and squat".

I also have some new 'fans'. I'm having people talk behind my back.
*gasp*

Saying I'm a waste of talent, that I'm a fake Christian and that I dance with the Devil.

It's all very funny to me until I feel the urge to rip someone's head off.
The funny part, the 'fans' doing the talking are men.
Men who don' t have the balls to tell it to my face.

I've taken action on the matter and stirred up some people with some commentary.

I too can play hardball, without losing my class.

As far as dancing with the Devil, Jesus does a much better tango.

what's up witchu?

You know your a gonner:

When you were your underwear inside out for the 3rd time this week.

I'm no saying it happened to me.

::tugs at size tag poking out from her jeans::