I am little more than one week into my school year and I already had a break down last.
I don't know if it is because I just started my old job (good ol´ Starbucks) and have a difficult semester or just because I am tired of the sudden, abrupt changes that keep occurring. And then packing, and then unpacking... then having to pack up again and move... again.
A little over a month ago I moved back to the US after my year in Chile, and a little over two weeks ago I moved from my city, my home, my family (that I barely saw) to my University. I am still adjusting... And I hate it.
It was nearly a two day process packing up my two (under 50 pound) bags to come back to the states, then another two day process to unpack.. Then two weeks later I had to repack all my stuff I had just unpacked then repack all my stuff that was in my parents basement sitting there for my year abroad (which I SWEARRR my pile of stuff grew while I was away.. I dont know how I manage to aquire MORE things when I was out of the country for a year...)
I come from a family of hoarders. And I am not exaggerating. It is absolutely sickening to sit there and watch my mom and uncle get into a drop-down BLOWOUT over who really has ownership over a rock. (yes, a rock). I have a older cousin and an uncle that live next door to each other and they share a shed. They kept on getting into a fight about how the other person´s "stuff" is taking up to much space in the shed. My uncle claims that my cousin´s stuff kept "crossing" into his side of the shed so he took spray paint and spray painted a line around where her "boundary" was in the shed and wrote "DO NOT CROSS".
My cousin, on the other hand, swears that her stuff was not the problem. That actually it was HIS stuff that kept crossing the boundary into HER space.
Regardless of who´s shit is where, if you ask either one of them what kinds of things are impeding into their "part" of the shed neither of them can actually say. They just know it is happening.
About a year ago, some kids broke into this shed full of my uncle and cousin´s shit and stole some things. They called the police to file a report but neither of them could tell what was actually missing (if anything actually was).
I went in there one time, I counted 4 different tables. Why would someone need 4 tables in storage?
They don´t.
I keep promising myself that I will not be like that. That is why every time I pack up to move I fill up at least one bag full of things to take to Goodwill. Just to get rid of needless things.
I try. I really do. Then of course my mom and sister come through and take AT LEAST half the bag out claiming "YOU CAN THROW THIS OUT!".
Two years ago when I was moving back home from my University my mom came to pick me up. Since I knew it would be impossible to throw things out when she finally got there I quickly pre-emptively took out all the trash and things I didn´t need out to the dumpster. Since it was the last weekend at my university, the dumpsters were absolutely FULL of things. (Dumpster diving is fantastic to do the last week of school if someone needs to furnish their apartment.)
Anyway, when my mom got to my apartment. She first makes all sorts of comments about how I "just have SOOO much stuff... it is almost sickening". After being horrified at the amount of things that we have to fit into the truck for about five minutes she spots the dumpster. And precedes to go and pick things out (some of which were mine, and purposely placed there to try and avoid letting my mom see them). By the time she was done, the truck was twice as full. And my mom was SOO please with herself. You would have thought she struck gold.
My cousins, my sister and I made a pact together. When my mom, aunts or uncles dies from that part of the family we each get to pick 5 things out (ONLY FIVE) and then there is a three day process. Day 1, Garage Sale. Day 2, Cheaper Garage Sale/starting putting things in bags. Day 3, Goodwill runs and Dump runs till everything is gone. No fighting. We split the money evenly. And be done with it.
I already informed my dad that every year they need to get rid of 10 bags of stuff to goodwill. When he asked why, I told him because every year he gets one year closer to dying, and that is one year closer that I then have to deal with his shit. I am just thinking ahead.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Heartache.
I miss you. Not my life there. Not the country. Not the culture. You.
I miss your smile, the way it starts from the left side of your mouth.
Your cigeretes. Your laugh. The way you find laughter in everything.
My body physically feels the pain of missing him. Of loving him.
My heart aches. It feels like my chest is collapsing in on itself.
I miss feeling young and being completely, madly in love.
I miss your hands. The way you touched me.
The way you protected me.
Your patience.
Tu tranquilidad.
I miss you next to me in bed. I still sleep on my side of it even though no one is there to sleep on the other side.
I want you here with me. In my life. By my side.
I miss your smile, the way it starts from the left side of your mouth.
Your cigeretes. Your laugh. The way you find laughter in everything.
My body physically feels the pain of missing him. Of loving him.
My heart aches. It feels like my chest is collapsing in on itself.
I miss feeling young and being completely, madly in love.
I miss your hands. The way you touched me.
The way you protected me.
Your patience.
Tu tranquilidad.
I miss you next to me in bed. I still sleep on my side of it even though no one is there to sleep on the other side.
I want you here with me. In my life. By my side.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Fat neighbors and paper thin walls just don´t mix.
So I just recently moved into my two bedroom, two floored duplex at my University. The fist thing I noticed is that the building is old. Really, really, old. I would assume that the complex was built in the 60s (the bright orange counter tops and the brown shag carpeting give it away). The building itself looks like a ghetto low income housing complex plucked straight out of Baltimore and placed in the middle of a college town.
Its really quite terrible looking, however the inside of it is well lit, newly painted walls and overall really clean (which is RARE for college housing). I am really pleased in general with it due to all the extra space, tons of windows and awesome location (middle of the neighborhood where almost all the students live). When I first saw it (our apartment is the last, most bottom one in the complex... completely isolated) I thought, Well, at least we won´t have a noise problem. WRONG.
As I said before our apartment is two floors. The first floor is the huge living room with the kitchen. The downstairs is the bathroom, laundry room, and the two bedrooms. The first day I was home alone in my room I thought I heard someone enter the apartment and was walking around in the living room. I called up to my roommate and when I didn´t get a response, I paused and continued to hear footsteps.
I did, as would have most girls, alone in a over sized apartment would do, I armed myself with whatever was most handy (in my case it was a hair dryer) and slowly go upstairs as quietly as I could to look around. As soon as got upstairs I realized that the convincing footsteps were actually coming from the floor above the living, TWO floors up from my bedroom. I laughed at my silliness and went back down stairs to finish unpacking. After living here for one week, the creepy sounds from two floors up are still so loud that they scare me every time I hear them. (I now religiously lock my door immediately after coming inside).
I just obliviously blamed bad insulation for the reason why the footsteps were so loud. Then I saw my upstairs neighbor. Not kidding, at least 300 pounds. And I was wondering why his footsteps were so loud.
Then yesterday when I was trying to talk on the phone with my best friend from back home I was down in my room and hear this sound like someone was knocking on the door. Really, Really, Forcefully. I go upstairs on the phone and realized there was no one outside. There was a pause in the noise. Then suddenly it got louder and faster.
The pounding was shaking the apartment. Literally shaking the walls. I felt like I was in one of those funny movies were asbestos and dust were about to fall from the ceiling to add to the effect.
Then heard a load moan and groan and it was over. Then loud footsteps to the bathroom.
Overhearing sex is nothing new, after living in the dorms for a year there is nothing surprising that that goes unheard, however it is different when there is a fat man screwing someone so forcefully it shakes the building.
This is going to be a long year. Especially without a boyfriend.
Its really quite terrible looking, however the inside of it is well lit, newly painted walls and overall really clean (which is RARE for college housing). I am really pleased in general with it due to all the extra space, tons of windows and awesome location (middle of the neighborhood where almost all the students live). When I first saw it (our apartment is the last, most bottom one in the complex... completely isolated) I thought, Well, at least we won´t have a noise problem. WRONG.
As I said before our apartment is two floors. The first floor is the huge living room with the kitchen. The downstairs is the bathroom, laundry room, and the two bedrooms. The first day I was home alone in my room I thought I heard someone enter the apartment and was walking around in the living room. I called up to my roommate and when I didn´t get a response, I paused and continued to hear footsteps.
I did, as would have most girls, alone in a over sized apartment would do, I armed myself with whatever was most handy (in my case it was a hair dryer) and slowly go upstairs as quietly as I could to look around. As soon as got upstairs I realized that the convincing footsteps were actually coming from the floor above the living, TWO floors up from my bedroom. I laughed at my silliness and went back down stairs to finish unpacking. After living here for one week, the creepy sounds from two floors up are still so loud that they scare me every time I hear them. (I now religiously lock my door immediately after coming inside).
I just obliviously blamed bad insulation for the reason why the footsteps were so loud. Then I saw my upstairs neighbor. Not kidding, at least 300 pounds. And I was wondering why his footsteps were so loud.
Then yesterday when I was trying to talk on the phone with my best friend from back home I was down in my room and hear this sound like someone was knocking on the door. Really, Really, Forcefully. I go upstairs on the phone and realized there was no one outside. There was a pause in the noise. Then suddenly it got louder and faster.
The pounding was shaking the apartment. Literally shaking the walls. I felt like I was in one of those funny movies were asbestos and dust were about to fall from the ceiling to add to the effect.
Then heard a load moan and groan and it was over. Then loud footsteps to the bathroom.
Overhearing sex is nothing new, after living in the dorms for a year there is nothing surprising that that goes unheard, however it is different when there is a fat man screwing someone so forcefully it shakes the building.
This is going to be a long year. Especially without a boyfriend.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Catholic Devil Cat.
Last night there was a birthday party for one of DK´s roommates. She lives with 7 other people, 3 cats and a dog. I once lived with three roommates and it was terrible... Everything was always dirty and disgusting (as her house is with so many people and animals). Anyway, the party was a huge rager and of course made the animals go crazy.
This morning they could not find one of the cats.
He eventually was found. In the catholic church down the block.
In the middle of mass he had hopped up on the alter causing the priest to sneeze. (He was allergic to cats). This cat also drank the holy water and snuck into the church kitchen and started eating their food.
A good catholic tried to return the cat by calling the phone on the tag, however DK had lost her phone two nights ago and had to disconnect the number so the woman had to spend the entire day trying to track down DK and eventually found that she was registered to her ex-sorority and brought the cat there, and the house mom had to then call DKs friends to try and track her down.
This morning they could not find one of the cats.
He eventually was found. In the catholic church down the block.
In the middle of mass he had hopped up on the alter causing the priest to sneeze. (He was allergic to cats). This cat also drank the holy water and snuck into the church kitchen and started eating their food.
A good catholic tried to return the cat by calling the phone on the tag, however DK had lost her phone two nights ago and had to disconnect the number so the woman had to spend the entire day trying to track down DK and eventually found that she was registered to her ex-sorority and brought the cat there, and the house mom had to then call DKs friends to try and track her down.
Welcome to my life.
This blog is about me, my life, my social and cultural confusion as I try and come to terms with myself and the world around me. You will hear about a sense of racial identity I struggle with (to be honest I am white, and wish I were anything but it). You will hear about the stupid social drama that seems to follow me (or maybe I attract it.. who knows.) My struggles as I try and integrate myself back into my life here, here as in my University (and I will not say which one).
Need to know details about me.
I am an inner city kid, born and raised in a big city in the west coast.
I go to a huge public state funded university. And our football team is terrible.
I just got home from a year abroad in Chile.
Just broke up with my Chilean boyfriend (who I started dating almost immediately after Big and I broke up, and I started dating Big shortly after I broke up with my high school sweetheart of three years.) Doing the relationship math 3 years + 1 and half + nearly 10 months… a non single girl for nearly 5 years.
It is my mission for this next year is to avoid relationships. Boyfriends are my weakness, and I don’t remember how to be single so some can say I may lack some self confidence and am dependent upon other people, aka boyfriends, to make me feel good about myself. I would rather put it as me liking companionship rather than being needy.
I want to be a Maneater, Heart Breaker, an emotionally detached somewhat of a skank.
So basically I have arrived at a time in my life where I have a cultural and social crisis, and all I want to do is behave badly. This is my personal version of the Bad Girls Club and Jersey Shore. Put too many girls in one place it is like putting too many rats in a cage, they start to eat each other. My university, like reality TV shows encourages drama and bad behavior induced from consuming too much alcohol. This blog is my confession booth from the chaos of the TV show that is my life. My opportunity to offer my narrative on the crazy events that occur everyday from just living here.
Need to know details about me.
I am an inner city kid, born and raised in a big city in the west coast.
I go to a huge public state funded university. And our football team is terrible.
I just got home from a year abroad in Chile.
Just broke up with my Chilean boyfriend (who I started dating almost immediately after Big and I broke up, and I started dating Big shortly after I broke up with my high school sweetheart of three years.) Doing the relationship math 3 years + 1 and half + nearly 10 months… a non single girl for nearly 5 years.
It is my mission for this next year is to avoid relationships. Boyfriends are my weakness, and I don’t remember how to be single so some can say I may lack some self confidence and am dependent upon other people, aka boyfriends, to make me feel good about myself. I would rather put it as me liking companionship rather than being needy.
I want to be a Maneater, Heart Breaker, an emotionally detached somewhat of a skank.
So basically I have arrived at a time in my life where I have a cultural and social crisis, and all I want to do is behave badly. This is my personal version of the Bad Girls Club and Jersey Shore. Put too many girls in one place it is like putting too many rats in a cage, they start to eat each other. My university, like reality TV shows encourages drama and bad behavior induced from consuming too much alcohol. This blog is my confession booth from the chaos of the TV show that is my life. My opportunity to offer my narrative on the crazy events that occur everyday from just living here.
My kind-of characters in my not-so-fictional story
Here are the characters in my not-so-fictional story.
Romeo, my Chilean ex boyfriend, however the not-so-ex love of my life. He is called romeo because our relationship was like Romeo and Juliet in the sense that I was so in love with him, yet we were from separate cultures, languages, families, and worlds.
Joey.. (like the Australian term for a baby kangaroo). He is the Australian Millionaire who is best friends with my room mate, and is buying me a ticket to visit him because he thinks I am cute. (okay it sounds a little creepier than it actually is.. I am going with my roommate and one other girl, however he is really excited to meet me apparently…) And lets be honest, me plus alcohol, plus a decent looking boy, with a bomb Australian accent who just so happens to have lots of money, not a good combo.
The Grenade (yes.. like from Jersey Shore). The current “girl of interest” for Big. I have known this girl for years and never had any drama with her before this year, now that she is dating big, and I am back from Chile she feels very threatened and probably talks a lot of shit about me when I am not around. She is not cute. And kind of looks like a man. She is friends with my roommate and is in the same sorority as her.
Frizzle, the girl, who, no matter what I do, will always hate me. She can never mind her own business, and she is friends with The Grenade. (She is called frizzle because she literally looks like Miss Frizzle. Not. Kidding.)
Big (that’s right I am borrowing this term from Sex in the City). He is not called this because he is Mr. Big and Important like Big was in Sex and the City. I call him this because my friends all called him Big Poppa due to his enormous size. Big and I are complicated, he is my ex boyfriend of a year and half (we broke up while I was in Chile) and now that I am back at school I see him EVERYWHERE. And we have so many mutual friends in common it is impossible to avoid him. So instead of him being Big Poppa, he is Big and Complicated.
Sober. My best friend who is currently undergoing rehab from drugs and alcohol (she is 21 years old). I will call her that because she will be the sober eyes and ears throughout all of the drunken chaos that surrounds us. She is Big’s roommate, and has no filter and offers her own comic relief for incredibly awkward and bad situations.
Greek, My best bitch, my roommate, friend for life, who is in a sorority, with the Grenade and Frizzle.
Maraca, (that’s Chilean Spanish for skank), She is my best Chilean friend and my sister, twin and soul mate. I am calling her maraca because she completely encoargages my bad behavior. To a very dangerous extent. We caused a lot of problems together when I was in Chile.
Gringa, one of the few Americans I was really good friends with in Chile.
As for my family they will be referred to as Sister Bear, Momma Bear, and Papa Bear. I read a lot of Bernstein Bears when I was little.
Romeo, my Chilean ex boyfriend, however the not-so-ex love of my life. He is called romeo because our relationship was like Romeo and Juliet in the sense that I was so in love with him, yet we were from separate cultures, languages, families, and worlds.
Joey.. (like the Australian term for a baby kangaroo). He is the Australian Millionaire who is best friends with my room mate, and is buying me a ticket to visit him because he thinks I am cute. (okay it sounds a little creepier than it actually is.. I am going with my roommate and one other girl, however he is really excited to meet me apparently…) And lets be honest, me plus alcohol, plus a decent looking boy, with a bomb Australian accent who just so happens to have lots of money, not a good combo.
The Grenade (yes.. like from Jersey Shore). The current “girl of interest” for Big. I have known this girl for years and never had any drama with her before this year, now that she is dating big, and I am back from Chile she feels very threatened and probably talks a lot of shit about me when I am not around. She is not cute. And kind of looks like a man. She is friends with my roommate and is in the same sorority as her.
Frizzle, the girl, who, no matter what I do, will always hate me. She can never mind her own business, and she is friends with The Grenade. (She is called frizzle because she literally looks like Miss Frizzle. Not. Kidding.)
Big (that’s right I am borrowing this term from Sex in the City). He is not called this because he is Mr. Big and Important like Big was in Sex and the City. I call him this because my friends all called him Big Poppa due to his enormous size. Big and I are complicated, he is my ex boyfriend of a year and half (we broke up while I was in Chile) and now that I am back at school I see him EVERYWHERE. And we have so many mutual friends in common it is impossible to avoid him. So instead of him being Big Poppa, he is Big and Complicated.
Sober. My best friend who is currently undergoing rehab from drugs and alcohol (she is 21 years old). I will call her that because she will be the sober eyes and ears throughout all of the drunken chaos that surrounds us. She is Big’s roommate, and has no filter and offers her own comic relief for incredibly awkward and bad situations.
Greek, My best bitch, my roommate, friend for life, who is in a sorority, with the Grenade and Frizzle.
Maraca, (that’s Chilean Spanish for skank), She is my best Chilean friend and my sister, twin and soul mate. I am calling her maraca because she completely encoargages my bad behavior. To a very dangerous extent. We caused a lot of problems together when I was in Chile.
Gringa, one of the few Americans I was really good friends with in Chile.
As for my family they will be referred to as Sister Bear, Momma Bear, and Papa Bear. I read a lot of Bernstein Bears when I was little.
365 days. 365 posts.
So I had to watch Julie and Julia for my Spanish class (..don´t ask me, I don’t get the connection either), and it was about a woman, who was about to turn thirty with a failed writing career that decided to start a blog about cooking. She made a goal of cooking everything in a cookbook and then blogging about her experiences. She had one year, and something like 500 recipes to follow. Obviously I will not be blogging about cooking, because I absolutely despise it, and find it more stressful to make eggs on the stove than how some people find studying or school work stressful. (Alright crappy comparison… Bear with me, this is my first post).
In the movie, this goal stresses her out beyond belief and she ends up putting strain on herself, her husband and every other aspect of her personal life. However as she kept writing success slowly started to come to her. People started reading her blog, she had followers, or even fans, rooting her on by sending her sauces and gifts to help her out with her cooking. Slowly, through her blog she got recognized, giving her the self affirmination she was lacking.
I was able to find several parallels from her life to mine… actually we really have hardly anything in common in reality except the drive to write, the need for self affirmination and the drive to be successful in writing.
That is what gave me my own drive to make a goal, and through thick and thin stick to it.
365 days.
365 posts.
Here are my rules:
Everything I post here will be non-fiction, real events, real stories, real life.
The only lying I will do will be protect identities of myself and others.
No one in my “real life” will know about this blog, everyone (if anyone) who reads this will not personally know me.
I will post once a day, if I miss a day I will post twice the next day (two separate subjects.. not the same subject split in two).
My goal is to get readers, people who find my writing interesting.
Things I write will be brutally honest.
This blog is my escape from a cultural bound by its social rules about honestly, and the double standards that come with it.
Obviously at this moment in time I don´t have a main theme like Julie did, or a so called mission, and hell no will I even attempt cooking, however I do want to write and through my words a theme will develop itself.
In terms of my personal life and professional life (and by profession I mean my life as a student), I usually am able to follow through with things.. If I have something forcing me to. However I lack success in my writing, because I lack personal motivation. Success in writing comes from dedication (and talent and skill).
So you guys, my invisible and currently non existant readers, are my motivation. I will post once a day, through thick or thin, through finals week, through crisis, through hangovers (the last one is the one that always gets me).
I am writing through a pen name (that I currently have yet to create), and all the names of people and places will be changed in order to protect my anonominity. This veil will give me the corage to write honestly about the people I care about and not have to immeadiatly face the social consequences that seem to follow my few works that have been published. Writing, when successful, impacts someone, or something.
Although you don´t know what my name really is or who I am, I promise you, the stories that follow are all true with only minor details put into place to protect the people in my life. I don´t know if you will find these stories interesting or funny, however that is my goal. It is not that I find myself or my life incredibly entertaining or funny however weird shit does happen to me and I try and keep my perspective of the world humorous. Or at least positive.
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