The Adventures of a Stale Mind

Birthday/Celebrations

2011-08-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

I have a very strange relationship with anything that celebrates me as a person. I love it when I get to see the people I love and spend time with them. I love it when they say they want to be with me and just have a good time. But I hate having to talk about it or hate it when they think I expect more than just seeing them.

People have been asking me what I want to do for my birthday, seeing as it's coming up. I don't know what to tell them...

It's not that I don't want to do anything. On the contrary, I'd love to do something. I'd love to say, "Shit, son! It's my birthday! We're gonna party til the crack of dawn!" Or something similar and less silly.

But I can't bring myself to. I keep answering with, "I don't know. I don't really want to do anything..." Such a lie! I want to have fun and I want people to come over and I want birthday hugs and I...I want to just not feel bad about wanting to have a party.

When I was younger, I was a very selfish and self absorbed person. My cousins can vouch for that. (You should also know that this is actually really hard to share, considering this is me showing you a very vulnerable part of who I am...but this is all about me being honest, right? Right. Also! I'm not looking for pity or any of that bull. I would just like genuine thoughts, if you're so obliged.) In fact, even now they make fun of me or remind me of how horrible I was. I really was a brat. And selfish. Things needed to be done my way. I needed the attention. It was just who I was. I was a stupid kid that would do these elaborate performances and they were always pathetic and boring. My cousin's called me Angelica (they still do) behind my back. (That Rugrats character...the older girl that was bossy and a little witch.) I didn't know they did at the time, until recently when they confessed about it. They joke about it now and stuff. And I put on my fake smile and throw out a fake giggle. Do I find it funny? Of course not. My own family is telling me how much they hated me back in the day. I get it, I was a kid. Yadda yadda yadda. Trust me, I've seen kids like that that have grown up to be amazing and sweet and everything...

But knowing that they disliked me, knowing that even the adults were annoyed with me...it's made me not want to have celebrations. Yup. I'm a psychological disaster. ha! I just feel uncomfortable...and it's a problem I guess I'll hafta get over.

How do you get over disliking that part of yourself? Not who I am now...I know I'm a good person. I really do. I try to always maintain honesty and I try to always be delicate with things (I don't like hurting people's feelings, unless they've been hurtful to people I care about, then I don't give a flying rat's ass). Who I am now is nothing like what I was back then. It still doesn't change the fact, though, that I can't stand that little girl I had been. I can't stand her because my family couldn't stand her. So, again, how do you get over that self loathing? Especially when people still remind you of who you were?

I could probably go up to them and say, "Dude...I'm not like that anymore." Or something of the sort. But why bother? Besides, if they feel like clicking this link they'll know exactly what I'm feeling. I can probably guess their responses, even.

I'm not writing this so I can point at them and say, "Douchebag douchebag douchebag." No, they had valid reasons as to not liking me very much. And if they carry on that resentment til this day, I can't blame them. I feel like I deserve it and I'm not going to stop them - even if it hurts.

So how do I allow them that while still wanting to be a little selfish on my own birthday?

Ew. This whole thing sounds pathetic. Whatever. I'm in a confused rut right now. And I feel like either laughing or crying. Laughing because I'm actually very happy. My social life rocks currently, my professional life is still in the works (but I have hope), my writing is awesome as of late, and I'm in like with someone.

Crying because I need to get over this bullshit and have no way in doing so without sounding insane - as this blog has proven.

Anyways! My birthday is coming up. And all I want is a birthday hug. And maybe a birthday kiss.

Best,

C

P.S. - Call me "Angelica" one more time and I'll seriously show you what it's like to deal with a bitch. :) Have a good day.

Dating.

2011-08-04T15:25:00.000-07:00

Be warned now: this is a rant. One about how ridiculous some people are when it comes to dating. I'm not saying I'm an expert. What I am saying, though, is that people need to seriously stop trying so hard and just be sincere. Unless they're sincerely insane...in which case, they shouldn't be dating.

I've told my friends this story many times. Well, many friends this story at least once (though, I'm sure I've repeated it on occasion). Anyways! So here is the perfect (and true) example of what not to do on a date:

I was picked up a few minutes late. That didn't bother me so much. It wasn't like we were on a tight schedule. So my dad opened the door while I was still upstairs (grabbing my purse and spraying the last bit of perfume). He introduced himself to my parents and such, said hello to my younger siblings and all was groovy. Went downstairs, said bye to the familia and we walked outside. The first thing he says to me was, "You never go out on dates, do you?" I kind of laughed and asked, "I'm sorry?"

"Your family acted like they never see a guy come pick you up."

"My family just likes meeting people I have in my life...sorry if that bothered you."

"Nah, it's cool. Just feel like I'm in Junior High again."

"Really, dude?" He seemed to drop it after my annoyed remark.

So then he opened the car door for me (which was nice) and jumped into the driver's seat. We started off a mellow conversation about what movie we were gonna watch. When I noticed he started to drive to a restaurant I asked where we were going. "Oh. BJ's. I'm starving, aren't you?"

Well, no. I wasn't. I didn't know we were going to dinner. Just thought we were chilling out before the movie. I ate before this date. To answer him I shrugged and said, "I already ate...but...I don't mind sitting with you."

He gave me this sideways look and I smiled. What the hell was I meant to do with that look? Punching him in the face seemed too early in the date. "Hey, you look pretty," he suddenly said, surprising me.

I gave another smile and said, "Aw. Thanks, I do try."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uhm...that I try to look pretty for special occasions."

"Oh. Right...whatever."

I just looked out the window until we arrived at BJ's. When I got out I accidentally hit my head on the door frame. I laughed at it and said, "Well, that was classy." "More like retarded," he decided to say. I probably should've punched him then...

Anyways! We sat at a table and a really kind waiter came to take our orders. My date insisted I have something to eat. So I asked for a small appetizer with an iced tea. All was cool. Until we had this conversation:

Him - "So do you drink?"

Me - "Occasionally, yeah."

Him - "Smoke?"

Me - "Nope."

Him - "Drugs?"

Me - "Uh. No."

Him - "You know weed is considered a drug?"

Me - (I gave him a look and nodded) "I know that. I don't do drugs. Uhm...I feel like I'm being instigated by an officer."

Him - (He laughed) "Oh no, man. Just wondering, 'cause I do drugs."

Fabulous, I thought. Just fabulous.

The waiter came back to make sure we were doing alright and told us our order should be out soon. My date gave him this horribly rude glare and snapped out, "Dude. Can you give us same space?"

The waiter actually apologized as I sat there with my mouth hanging open. "Did you seriously just say that to him?"

"What?" He shrugged and blew it off. I just sat there glaring at him.

"So what do you like to do for fun?"

I was still sort of shocked that I gave my regular answer to that question instead of pummeling his face in with my glass. "Reading, writing, going out with friends. Disneyland-ing."

"Cool cool."

"Uhm...you?" I was trying to just be cool. I mean, maybe he just had a bad day? Maybe...

"Oh yeah. I like snowboarding. Hanging with friends. Ya know, the usual. Oh," he paused and smiled at me, "I also like ****ing."

"What!"

"Haha. Yeah, thought that might get your attention."

Now. Even to this day, I don't know why I didn't throw my food at him. Nah. I knew why. I wanted to watch the movie. And so I figured, I'd get him back. Somehow and someway.

A few more rude comments to the waiter on his part, an apology to the waiter on my part, and we left the restaurant. On our way out he sort of said to himself, "Now if I can only find the car..."

"I remember where we parked."

"You do?"

"Yup."

"I knew you were good for something. Now you need my beer in your hand and you'd be the perfect woman."

I said something along the lines of, "Wow. Douchebag." And he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh. You're a feminist." I held my tongue to that. I wanted to watch that movie. Which one? Paranormal Activity 2.

I like scary movies, so I was hoping for a good freak out. On our way to the theater I told him as much. His response: "I hate scary movies. I can't believe you're forcing me to go with you. I'm scared of that bruja shit. Seriously, you're mean for doing this to me."

He acted like a baby all the while. I rolled my eyes and said, "Whatever, dude." Then, as we were on the freeway, I noticed how he kept looking out his window instead of the road. And I looked out to notice another car (a similar model and make to his) pull up and a dude in the driver's seat give him a look. My date nodded his head and all of a sudden the car jolted as his foot hit the pedal to the floor. I laughed. Seriously. Could this guy be serious, I asked myself. He looked over at me and said, "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said it with a "sly" smile.

I gave him a dumb look and shook my head, "Don't know what you're talking about."

I wasn't going to let him think he was badass. Because he wasn't. Stupidass more like it.

ANYWAYS! So we get to the theater and I'm finally thinking, "This movie better be good. Because if not, someone is gonna die. And it ain't gonna be me."

We watched the movie and all the while he's jumping and freaking out next to me. And I'm laughing. It's hard to scare me with a movie. Really hard. I just found the whole thing hilarious, to be honest. And this guy next to me was also making me laugh (not my date). The theater was packed so there were no empty seats between anybody, so I had my date to my left and this group of guys around my age to my right. This one guy to my immediate right was covering his eyes and saying, "Dude...stupid bitch. Get out." And he was joking with me and stuff. My date didn't seem to notice because he was nearly pissing his pants.

Let's just say, the guy on my right would've been a much more interesting and enjoyable date than the guy on my left.

By the end of the movie my stomach was hurting because I was laughing so much. My date said, "Never doing that again. You're lucky I like you."

"Oh, yes. Super lucky." That was dripped in sarcasm. Which he never seemed to get.

He drove me home and walked me to my door. Looked like he was expecting a kiss, but I just smiled and said, "Thanks for the movie." I walked in and he walked off my property.

For months he texted me saying how much fun he had and how we should get together again. I sent him this one day when I was just fed up:

"Were you on the same date I was on? Looked like you would've rather gone drag racing instead of spend another minute with me. So thanks, but - actually - no thanks. I'd appreciate if you never tried getting into contact with me again."

A day later he texted me and said, "You were the wrong Natalie. My bad."

I responded immediately with, "Really? Because you mentioned PA2 three times in those texts. You also mentioned doing BJ's again to the text I responded to. You also said how it's funny we used to work together - you're not dating anyone from there, we'd all know. So! Really, dude? You're hilarious. LOL. Have a good one."

And proceeded to block him.

I wanna sit here and tell you what you shouldn't do on a date...but I think it's pretty obvious. And if not, then you seriously need to go and get a clue. From someone. Anyone. Or just deal with the fact that you might need to get someone who is so clueless you both can be idiots together.

:)

Best,

C

Google Plus.

2011-07-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

Oh. Yes.

Let me explain to you about this most amazing website ever.

It's like Facebook. But it isn't. It's like Twitter. But not really. It's like delicious meat drenched in amazing-sauce. Yes, that yummy!

So far, everyone is awesome on the site. I've met some pretty cool peeps. And I've been lucky to not experience any spam...

Yet.

See, there's a downside to this site: it's so new that everything seems amazing, until stupid people and stupid things start happening to make it go booooo.

I'm sounding really childish right now, forgive me. I'm going through geek-mode. And aggravated-mode.

Geek because this site rocks my socks off.

Aggravated because I know it's gonna go to the gutter once the stupidity of humanity starts ruining it.

I hope it doesn't get ruined. Silly though, really, considering everything awesome on the web somehow gets ruined. Well, anything popular. Trust me: this site is going to sky-rocket into popularity. It's Google for hell's sake.

But when it does become popular, I wonder if the people I've met will still interact with me. Or maybe they'll move on...or they'll be washed out.

Or, worse yet, what if I'm washed out? Sigh. Time will only tell.

But, dude, G+ is the shit. Everyone should get on that sort of level.

Best,

C

Book Country, Support, and Life.

2011-07-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

This blog has been a long time coming. Seriously.

Book Country:

Let me tell you about Book Country. It isn't just some site where people post up a little chapter of a story they're thinking of working on. Or where they giggle and read cute stories or cry over a sentence that just speaks to them.

No.

Book Country is a community. You know Twitter? That's a community. You know Facebook? That's a community. Book Country is this...magical place where writers and readers and editors and anyone who just wants to get lost in different worlds and have their own words be taken seriously can come and hang out and get along and help each other.

It's silly - this infatuation I have over this site. But then, when I really think about it, it is so far from silly.

This site has made me a better writer. A better reader, even. There's this whole support to it. Like I said, you don't just post a chapter and hope for the best. Well, maybe you do. But you up it a bit. You have to put in more than just your own writing. You go off and read something out of the ordinary for you. See, I primarily deal with Romance. Romance is my thing. Paranormal, historical, anything...but then Book Country came into my life. I went from reading about happy endings to reading about broken hearts, frozen lizards, and dead men walking. About robots and aliens and the apocalypse. Don't get me wrong, I stuck to Romance, but Romance didn't cut it anymore when I started reading High Fantasy and Sci-Fi and all those amazing tales of different worlds and different species. It, basically, rocked my world.

Book Country doesn't just better you as a writer or a reader. It betters you as a person looking for something more. It opens your eyes and connects you to people who help you become the best version of you (in the writing/reading community). Let's just say, if Book Country was really a country, I'd immediately go and get myself citizenship there. And live happily ever after...

Check it out: www.bookcountry.com

Support:

I had applied for a job. Didn't get it. And it didn't bother me that I didn't get it. I mean, of course I was crushed, but I wasn't too heartbroken over it. I'm used to being "rejected." I had sent queries back in the past (when I was far from experienced and so not ready for that step) and dealt with those heartbreaking form letters of rejection. Then there's boys, of course. Rejected by some of those guys. And then friends. And then family.

I've been rejected in places. By people I've wanted to love, by the dream I've always wanted to live out...so I know what it's like to be told "Nope. You're not good enough."

Usually people will bicker and feel bitter about it...but I don't. I hurt for a while (depending on what it is and how extreme my feelings are linked to the issue) but I usually pop right back up. And it's not because I'm a strong person. I'm not strong at all - compared to some.

See, I have support.

My family and friends have always been there. They've seen the good, they've seen the bad, and they constantly see the ugly. But they make me feel invincible. They make me feel like I can take on the world and every single obstacle it chooses to present me with. And you know what? I put on that mentality. I take that image they think I am and I wear it like a glove.

So this is where I say here and now: my support is limitless. And I love it.

Life:

There are some haters these days. Some cruel individuals that feel the need to shout out their hate over people simply because they're (let's be honest) jealous of what that person has.

I'm gonna bring up Rebecca Black. (OMG! Shoot me now!) Nah, I'm serious. Let me mention her this ONCE.

Sure, her song isn't my favorite. In fact, I was a hater. Why was I hater? Well, let me ask this: why her?! Why did she get all of the attention? Whhhhhhhhhy?

I don't know. No one probably knows. But she did and I'm over it now. She's a sensation and she has the support of top celebrities: Katy Perry and Lady Gaga.

Yeah. Them! Big guns, right? And you know what? I'm happy for her. She was...bullied. Like, literally. People told her to go kill herself. People told her that she was a horrible human-being.

People hate her because she's getting attention for doing what she WANTS to do. And doesn't every celebrity get this sort of treatment? ...What the hell?

Why? Why should they? I'm not going to "hate" on people anymore. At least, try not to. Unless they seriously do something to hurt me or the people I love.

So I'm backing Rebecca Black. And anybody else who decides to get famous fast by doing something "horrible."

Also...why do people like the haters? Since when is being vicious a quality to be admired?

Best,

C.

Two Weeks.

2011-05-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

For two weeks I had disconnected with the life I have here in Southern California. It was a gift my amazing family decided to bless me with: a graduation present.

Three countries in fourteen days. Sounds insane, doesn't it?

It was.

I thought it would be relaxing. That maybe life would provide for me a time to myself, a time of self discovery - of peace.

Oh, how I was wrong. The tour I had signed up for had other plans in mind. I waltzed through the streets of Rome without a chance to catch my breath. I swept Florence with the cuff of my jeans. I fumbled to stand through the French Riviera and Avignon. Then I stumbled into Barcelona only to fall to my knees in Madrid.

The food was delicious, the people were amazing, my tour group was a gem, and my mind had never been so clear.

Anyways.

I can't explain how I feel now. I'm not saying I've completely changed. I'm not saying I've changed at all. But something's different.

I was away from the news, from media; I was away from music and the food I'm accustomed to. I was away from my family and friends. I was away from everything I knew.

The only anchor to the life I have in California was my cousin - my companion on the tour. She was all I had to remind me that I'm going to return to the life I left behind.

Silly, isn't it? It was only fourteen days. Not a year or even a month. Two measly weeks. But those two weeks were long and short at the same time.

Something is different. I hope it's the fact that I took into myself all those beautiful people I had surrounded myself with. From California, to North Carolina, to Florida, to Texas, to New York, to Wisconsin, to Australia, to Canada and to South Africa...from Roman to Spanish to French.

Each one of them had something to offer me. Little or big, it didn't matter. They gave me a smile or a way of saying things. They gave me new sound, new laughs, new ideas.

They were my inspiration. And my cousin was my anchor.

"Life is brighter. Beauty is contagious."

The time I spent in Europe with my tour is a time I would never trade. Even through the drama and even moments where we were lost - literally. It's still a time I would relive. And I would do it all the exact same way.

I'm still Natalie. Just with more to offer now.

Best,

C

Commencement.

2011-04-27T15:42:00.000-07:00

I, as other students of my school, have been invited to speak for my graduation ceremony.

Obviously, I declined. I'm not a "speaker." I barely articulate myself well in writing, how could I possibly try doing so in speech? So I passed on it.

But their "prompts" (suggestions on what we should speak about) made me really, well, think. One of them more so than others:

It asked us to think back on our college career. Then it asked us to pick a professor or a class that we appreciate...that will resonate with us after we leave UCR.

This is what I originally thought about that prompt:

1. There is no way in hell I would be able to pick one professor. I've been pretty blessed with those I had to sit in a lecture with. There were some who made me laugh, some who made me think, some who made me question myself and others, some who...who just inspired me. One? I could pick five. Easily. And each one for different reasons. So my speech would run on too long and it'd be way too kiss-ass-y. I wouldn't want to go for that, thank you very much.

2. Most students would pick a class that they excelled in, I'm sure. They'd pick one that made them feel comfortable, that they flew by with pretty colors trailing from their bums. They'd argue it was their calling, that it opened their eyes to what they really wanted to do with their lives. They'd even probably recite a snippet of their final paper, or discuss the physics behind the theories they studied. (This is me just being bitchy, forgive me.)

3. Speaking about my success seems boring. And so...fake.

So this would be my speech. Or, erm, a form of it. Maybe a rough draft?

Latin. Yes, the dead language. I took a course on it. In fact, I took five. Well. I took four, then I repeated the fourth. We'll get to that.

Latin will stay with me. Not because I remember everything, mind you, but because it was my Hell (it deserves a capital). It was my nightmare, my anguish. Latin made me cry. It cracked me and it stole parts of my soul. I was it's bitch, basically. There were nights where I couldn't sleep. Days where panic attacks were my only companions. I dreamed in Latin, but never understood a damn word.

It was horrible.

Yet, it is the one class that I would easily and with no hesitation give my appreciation to. If it were a person, I would hug her. If it were a man, I would beg for him to be my husband. If it were a child, I would nurture her. ...I would give Latin my last breath if I could.

I failed in Latin. Or, rather, nearly failed. It was the single class that I worked my ass off in and yet the single class that kicked my ass for somehow not trying hard enough.

From UCR I would gladly take my failure over my success. Because with that failure, I take with me determination. You see, Latin pushed me. Latin hurt me: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Latin punished me. And Latin made me feel useless.

But...Latin never gave up on me. I know that's silly to say and I know others would argue that it was me that never gave up, but they'd be wrong. I had given up. Repeatedly. I was going through hell with it, why couldn't I give up? I couldn't because every day a tiny little voice in the back of my mind would say, "Natalie, you can do this. It isn't hard. Just...try." And I'd retaliate with something along these lines: "But I am trying."

The voice would never say anything again. Instead, it was that book I'd glance at. That bible of a dead language, and if I opened it, it'd start me off with something easy. Something I could manage.

That book was my anchor. I slept with it on my nightstand and I hugged it to my chest while I walked on campus. It was my companion, and it never left my side.

Again, it's silly to think that a book could never "desert" me. But imagine if it hadn't been so imposing. (It was, literally, the size of a bible. Not those pocket sized ones...the large ones. The big mommas.) I wouldn't have glanced at it, I wouldn't have even cracked it open...I would have allowed myself to fail.

The point of this crazy-talk: I'm going to leave UCR not with stories of success (though, I do pride myself in them), but with the story of the one class that I nearly failed. The one class that I collapsed in. The one class that drove me to tears and near insanity.

I leave UCR with Latin and the dedication I found in myself because of it.

But don't ask me to translate or speak anything of it: I will shank the hell out of you.

vale,

C

Dream.

2011-04-22T12:16:00.000-07:00

Don't we all have one?

Whether it's to run across a country, be in two places at once, skinny dip in the Atlantic Ocean, or become a world leader...we all have a dream.

It's something that we all want, something that we all crave: the single thing that pushes us on in life just so we can reach it.

I'm going to share my dream with you: I want to be an inspiration.

When I say "inspiration," I mean inspiration. I want to be the woman some child can look at and say, "Momma...I wanna be like her." The woman a man can look at and say, "Damn...I wanna be her." And a woman another woman can look at and say, "Pops...I gotta get someone like her."

I'd like to change the world, somehow. I want to be involved, to be part of something beautiful...

My dream is difficult to reach. In fact, nearly impossible. I'm a nobody. I don't have much to offer the world. I'm not gorgeous. I'm not a genius. I'm an average chick.

An average chick who writes. So there it is. That's my one little weapon against the world: writing. It's all I have. To be sure, I'm not marvelous with a pen/keyboard.

Average - the word of the day.

But writing is all I have. Writing is what I can do fairly well. And writing is the only thing that makes sense to me. Also, it's the only thing that drives me absolutely insane. Seriously, I've never felt so much hatred, frustration, bliss, confusion, love...the list goes on. Writing brings out the best and the worst in me.

My dream is to inspire. The one thing that might help me reach my goal is the one thing that requires inspiration: isn't that a bitch? More than that, though: it requires support. Every dream needs a dreamer, every dreamer needs a pillow.

I have a pillow. I have such an amazing pillow.

And - for whatever your dream is - count me as a pillow. So long as it has nothing to do with harming children or animals, I'm game.

Also, please, share your dream. :) Tell people. Don't be shy about it. Dreams sometimes need a little bit of publicity, after all.

Best,

C - The Dreamer

P.S. - The sass will return sometime soon.

Brag.

2011-04-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

I believe all of us are lucky with the people in our life. I think we all have at least one person that makes us smile and makes us feel like we're heroes. When they make us laugh, our day is brighter. When they hurt, our day darkens. We have people in our life that we adore and that we'd never trade. And that is beautiful and wonderful and I think everyone has a right to brag about how amazing the people in their lives are! Why not?

...But don't come to me and brag about what you have. Key word being "what." Don't tell me about the ten cars you have. Don't think I'm impressed by what suit you're wearing, or what scent, or what you had to eat today.

I don't respect that sort of bragging "right." It makes people seem like pompous assholes. Like twits. Like...douches.

I would rather listen to what you could accomplish with those "whats." Tell me what those ten cars can do and how they've bettered your life. Tell me about the meaning behind that suit. Why did you pick that scent (does it remind you of someone important? was it a gift)? And why did you eat that $500.00 steak? Was it because it was for a good cause (in some weird universe)?

I like meaning. I like hearing a story and an amazing reason. I dislike it when people think they're bank account will get them anywhere they want. I mean, sure! Money is great. It makes the world go round and it helps buffer the obstacles in life. I get that; I'm a fan of money, definitely...

But don't flash it in my face.

I like honesty. I like appreciation. I like humility. And I like knowing that the people I surround myself with are humble, noble, and fuckin' amazing. They make my world go round. And they're all I'll ever need.

So, with that, I say: brag all you want about the "who" and "why" and "how"...but, please, don't sit there and tell me about the "what." I won't listen. :)

Best,

C

Very important edit:

There are the exceptions, of course.

Like...let's say you just bought your first car and you write a whole blog about it, or you send a mass text message, or you mention it for over a week about it: I don't consider that to be bragging. I consider that to be appreciation and pride in what you've accomplished.

If you just bought a house? Amazing! I'm excited for you and I'll sit and listen to every little detail about the house down to the water spot on the second floor that really doesn't bother you...but we both know it does.

Or if you just went to an insanely priced restaurant because you've always wanted to go there? Tell me about it! And make sure you take pictures and post them on your site - I want to see the deliciousness.

If you're going to Brazil for a much needed vacation? I want to squeal with you and jump up and down in excitement. Even if you go on a trip every year, tell me about it! Because I bet you're more excited about doing something fun and something you've worked your bones for rather than pushing it in everyone's face.

Ah! And what if you just got engaged? And you literally have a ten pound rock on your hand? Girl/boy, work it. Tell me about that story, because I'm sure you'll be blushing more about the person you've committed yourself to rather than the rock weighing your hand down.

Like I said, there's always an exception. Or, actually, always an interpretation of what you're saying. There's a difference between: "Oh my gosh...I...I did it. I'm going to Harvard!" and "Yes, well, I already assumed I'd be going there. After all, my father and his father both attended that prestigious school. It's tradition, mind you." BIG difference. I like the former over the latter. All the time.

Racism.

2011-03-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

I don't look like your "typical" Mexican. I have lighter skin. I don't have "thick and curly" hair. My eyes aren't big and wide. And I don't have a larger, elongated nose.

Some people would say, "You're lucky." Some people (Latinos - not just Mexicans) would say, "I wish I were you."

Do you know what I wish? I wish I had darker skin. I wish that my skin had a hue of red in it...I wish it looked like the sun licked my body. I wish my hair was frizzy and long and thick and too hard to maintain. I wish my eyes were as large as horse eyes. I wish my nose was thick and flat and wide. Much larger than what it is now.

I wish all of that. Why? I'm actually proud of my heritage. And I want to walk around representing it.

"But you have a last name that makes it obvious you're Mexican. Why do you need the features?"

Do you know what people ask me when they see my last name? Not, "Oh, where's your family from? Jalisco? Guadalajara? Adonde?"

No. I get: "Oh, is your father/mother Asian? Are you part white? Etc. Etc."

[Let it be known now: I am not disrespecting any other racial group. I am just here trying to make a point against racism.]

I'm sick and tired of that. What does it matter! What does my race have to do with anything? Why do you have to verify that I'm not just some wet back? Really, why do I have to stand here and explain to you that I'm Mexican and that I'm proud of being Mexican?

I have dealt with racism, trust me. And you know what? I'm not understanding. I don't pity those who hate. I don't attempt to understand that they're accustomed to a different lifestyle. Truthfully, I don't give a flying rat's ass.

They are ignorant, disgusting, and I do my very best to make sure they see me loving my "lesser" heritage.

I'm a minority. I am Mexican. I stand by my black, yellow, red, brown, white, and beige brothers and sisters. And you know what? Screw you, Racism. We're beautiful being the colors we are. We indulge in our colors: together, we are the paint to the brushes that'll smooth out a better world.

Best,

C

P.S. - I'd rather be part of a rainbow than partake in hatred.

Family.

2011-03-25T20:43:00.000-07:00

"Family comes first." I grew up with that in mind. I believe it and I follow it as if God came down Herself and slapped it across my face.

Family, for me, always comes first. But let me be very specific about what I constitute as family: it doesn't always mean "blood" relatives.

So let me begin!

My brother and sister are first on this list: I will do horrible and unspeakable things for them. Don't even test me. Because I will. I'm protective of them, I love them fiercely, and I don't take kindly to those who talk shit. You've seen Taken? Basically, I'd do that. And they aren't even my kids. Imagine if I ever have kids the sort of things I'd do. Yeah. Apocalypse, basically.

Now that I've terrified you, let's move on to my parents: I love them. I respect them. And they are the source of my inspiration. They came from, practically, nothing. And all because they had me coming along the way. (They were 21 when I decided to ruin their lives) How can I not cherish them? Or give them whatever I can to pay them back for being the best parents a girl can ask for? Yeah. Mushy moment...

Grandparents: I grew up with all four. They rock hard. 'Nough said.

Great-grandparents: I grew up with four out of the eight. They made me smile more than anyone can...til this day. True story.

And then the rest of my family...you see...half of my family is related by blood, half of my family is a "step" family. But if you knew me and my "step" family, you'd think we don't recognize the "step" part of that title. And you'd get a prize, because we don't recognize it at all. You see, blood means nothing when it comes to my family. My blood relatives I love just as much as those I'm not blood related to. Why? Because family is family. Married in, a new member, adopted, picked up off the streets...it doesn't matter. The minute you walk into our family, you're sangre. Even if you aren't.

Then there are my "friends." But they aren't "friends." Those bastards are family. They know my dreams, they let me be ridiculous. They've seen me cry, they've lifted me up, they're the spine in my life.

So, you see, "family" is all relative (no pun intended). Blood doesn't constitute family. Love does.

If you step up against any of them...well...let's just say it won't be a pretty outcome. Yeah. That's a warning. And what?

Best,

C

P.S. - Go text or email or call one of your family members today. And just wish them a good one. :) They love you, after all.

Weirdos.

2011-03-24T14:47:00.000-07:00

I draw them in. I don't know what it is about me, and I don't mean to be disrespectful...but why do you think I'm going to suddenly be your best friend?

Also, I'm sure we all endure this. For example, when some random person requests to be your "friend" on Facebook? Sure, you accept and just go with it because you're being nice, right? They leave a few comments. You politely reply. Then all of a sudden...things change! It isn't about being polite, it's about getting your phone number. About suddenly being your best friend.

And that's when they become the weirdos none of us want to deal with.

But we do. And we even ask for it. If you have a blog, a Facebook, a Twitter account...you're inviting people into your life. It's social networking, obviously. It's funny though, isn't it? When we look a the picture or the comment and ask ourselves, "Who the hell do you think you are?" I mean, we invited them into our lives. What gives a right to reject them from it?

"It's my life, duh. I have every right to deny someone access to my personal information, etc."

You're right. So to that I say: continue hating! And push all those weirdos out of your life. How dare they try being your "friend." I mean, you have enough as it is, don't you?

Best,

C

P.S. - I'll accept your friend request. I'll even follow back. Until you do something that freaks me out. :)

Children.

2011-03-23T15:09:00.000-07:00

No, this isn't going to be some sick and twisted blog about my love for children. Though, I do love kids. I understand them better than I do adults. Kids are real. Hardcore.

That being said: I'm going to Disneyland.

Yes. I am a 21 year old who still giggles at the thought of going to the happiest place on Earth.

But I have some rules. Well...three:

1. When in line, do not get too close to me. I will glare at you. And you will cower. And then it'll be awkward for everyone.

2. Keep an eye on your kids. Yes, it is a place for children. Yes, I love kids. And yes, I understand they're excited. But if they get in my way or if they're screaming and throwing tantrums, I will judge your parenting. A happy kid comes from a happy parenting. A bitch of a kid comes from lack of parenting.

3. If you are pushing a stroller, I will let you by if you kindly smile and we have eye contact. I will not let you by if you glare at me, sigh loudly, grumble to your partner, and start maneuvering all crazy-like. You are the one with a stroller. I understand there is a child. But that child is not Jesus. So calm yourself. You are the inconvenience.

:) Have a happy day!

Best,

C

P.S.- DISNEYLAND!!

Diary of a Disgruntled God: Entry #2

2011-03-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

Dearest Diary,

He had asked why she was weak, why - suddenly - she was relying on him more than usual.

I had listened to those questions intimately, more astonished at his use of language than what he was asking. So, as he stood there with that linear face full of concern, I smiled down at him as I replied, "She is carrying your child." I could feel the life inside the woman, beating and moving, evolving into a person that'll have his eyes, but her lips. His body, but her voice. The perfect combination of the two humans I had made. The child would be raised wonderfully - so I had thought.

"You must protect her," I commanded, "Feed her generously, expect days where she'll be less energized, and make her smile." They were easy enough tasks.

But the look of concern had washed away. It was replaced by a look of concentration. "I'm stronger?"

Smiling, I nodded, "For now."

"She is...weak?" He looked at me quizzically, as if I were opening another door for him - a door to a place I didn't want to lead him.

Yet, I answered, "Yes, for now."

He nodded as if I had dismissed him and walked away, turning his back on me. Instead of halting him, instead of forcing him to listen to me and elaborate by what I meant...I allowed him to walk away.

For me, days passed. For them, years. And the dynamics of their relationship changed.

He began to assume a role that had never been intended: he began to demand from her. He treated her as something less. Sons were born, as were daughters. The sons he praised and cherished...the daughters he slapped, locked away, or ignored.

And she allowed it to happen. Why? Because her body was inclined to follow his lead. In creating her with a part of him through an act of love, I had tied woman's fate to something cruel and heartbreaking.

In hopes of changing the future of their children, I brought man and woman to my side. I coddled them, nurtured them, spoke to them. The first man was lectured, the first woman venerated. With them, I made peace and, with me, they began a new existence.

For days I spent with them, learning of their thoughts, better understanding their motives on Earth. And for those days I began to understand how my intentions had been manipulated into something other than what I had foreseen.

In my attempt to better understand, I had neglected the humans still dotting the world. I stepped up to overlook their stories. All with the hope of finding them at peace. Loving one another and coming together in honest adoration.

Wasn't so. Women were belittled. And so were...men. They honored "leaders." Leaders? What leaders? I saw none!

So I developed a plan. Instead of striking down with force, I worked on the perfect "man." A "leader." He would have power similar to mine (but not entirely). He would walk among the common people, befriend them, he would be loved and respected. And he would be something more than human, as I added magic into his blood that no man or woman possessed.

And then, at the peak of his life, I would sacrifice him. I would demand he rest his life in the hands of those "leaders" and die. Why? To prove that even the most immaculate perfection faces death. That there is no point in assuming a higher role simply because of what runs through your veins.

So I sent him down...

And he was killed. I sent him back, with a hug and a smile, and he spoke of a day when he would return with his Mother.

Needless to say, I was pleased. He did what he was told and he proved my point. Or so I thought. It only took a few moments to see history unfold on Earth. Men wrote of "Jesus." Of what his "Father" the God wanted from man. They wrote in "my" words...

By sending perfection down, my humans managed to take what I created and twist it again to something far fetched. You see, I loved them. I gave them every possible outlet to express their love for each other...and yet, I was watching them destroy truth and beauty and appreciation.

So I walked away from them. I neglected them. I was too weak to end it there. Too stubborn to think I couldn't find a cure. For those few days, in fact, hope had been my companion. Hope and faith. Blind faith, betraying hope. The world I had created...was dying. Men hated, women feared. Lust was confused for love. Truth disregarded as malarkey.

Finally, after days of sobering up to the idea, I decided it was time to end it. And so I chose a day where the sun shined brighter than ever. Where the breeze wilted the trees and flowers.

I turned to my lover, with tears in my eyes. He said, "You don't have to do this," while taking my hand (ever the supporter).

I responded, "This is all I can do."

I wept for my first creation as I looked it over. No matter how much pain it put me through, no matter how much destruction it brought on itself, it was still my child - my beloved.

Before I began the disassembling, though, I chose to do one more thing. One more act: it seemed fitting to live a life as a human the day I decided to end all...

___________________________________________________

One more "entry" then it's all over and done with. I like the final entry much more. Makes me happy and sad all at once.

Best,

C

The Grenade.

2011-03-18T10:18:00.001-07:00

Bruno Mars says some ridiculous things in his song. If you have been living under a rock recently (or stay away from romance), here is the song I'm speaking of:

Let's break it down, shall we? Basically, he's saying he'll die for someone. Alright. Very sweet. He'd catch a grenade for that special person in his life. How wonderful! I mean, because everyone in a romantic relationship would like for their partner to suffer that sort of pain. Oh yes, most definitely. Or have a bullet go "straight through [their] brain." I'm not sure about y'all, but that's a dream of mine: my partner getting shot in the head.

If you haven't caught on yet: I don't understand this song. Please, enlighten me. I mean, would you allow your loved one to step in front of a train for you?

If you answered "No," right on.
If you answered "Yes," please go step in front of a train...I'll be there after it runs you over.

Not really, but please explain it to me! I would never, EVER, want someone to "die" for me. Or get physically hurt. Or emotionally hurt, for that matter. That isn't love, that's obsession. And you know what? Dying for someone is so easy. Probably the easiest thing anyone could ever do. People consider it as a sacrifice. Really? What makes death a sacrifice?

I mean, imagine, right? Let's say I decide to "catch a grenade" for someone. That means the next day everyone I love and care for will be crying over me - I'm basically worshiped. And then they have a "party" for me after. Also, my bills? No more. The struggle of finding a job? Psh, don't have to worry about it. The future? What future? I'll be dead.

What am I sacrificing? I mean, that may sound selfish of me, but really: what am I giving up? Looks like I'll be giving up a lot of crap. Also, I'll be labeled a "hero" after the deed is done. Can it get any better for me?

Sarcasm aside, I really can't support that message. Dying is easy, it's living that's difficult. In death, there won't be any surprises. You'll be dead. During life? It's a different story. Nothing can prepare you for tomorrow, nothing will ever be easy, and everything is at stake. Life comes with pain, with real sacrifice. Everyday you give a part of yourself to others, you get exhausted, you deal with pressures, and you're overcome by society. In life, you're not your own person. You belong to someone or something, whether you admit to it or not.

Basically, I would rather want someone to live for me than die. That seems like such a more daunting task, and it seems like a better way to offer yourself up to the love of your life.

Now, while I sit here and type this all out, I have to admit: I'd rather die for someone. I'm not strong enough to live on without them. Especially if I knew I could have somehow prevented it. But that's me: I'm a coward and I'm weak. And I'm selfish. I would rather be dead and not have to worry or fret over the people I love than watch them die.

That all being said, Bruno Mars is a genius for twisting the truth: we'd all rather catch a grenade than step aside and live with that guilt. It just makes more sense...

The day someone tells me, "Natalie, I'm willing to live for you," is the day that I know I'll have found someone worthy to love. But I can't promise I'd live for them.

Best,

C

Religion: Christianity.

2011-03-16T21:44:00.000-07:00

What an excuse. I'm not kidding, either. I'm serious. It is an excuse. People hide behind their religion.

I think I only know one true "Christian." Someone who doesn't rub it in anyone's face. Someone who doesn't pass judgement on others. Someone who genuinely cares about others and their wellbeing over their spiritual standing.

Too bad I only know one. And too bad so many people hate others because of their religious standing, or see them as something "lesser." It, honestly, breaks my heart. How can people walk around with a bible in one hand and a gun in the other? The gun is, usually, metaphorical.

They preach "goodness" and "love" and "faith" and "trust." And yet they accuse "evil" and "sin" and "hate." It's disturbing to see the people who are meant to represent all that is "good," show only a side full of "evil."

In my utopia, there would be no religion. What's the point? Religion would just be an excuse to set up a place where gangs can meet up and discuss their "rules." Yeah, I just compared religion to a system of gangs. That's what it's like. You have to be "initiated" into said religion. You must follow their "rules." You have a "leader." And if you ever try breaking away from it...well..."bad" things happen to you. It's ludicrous.

If you're going to believe in a god (fact or fiction), can you at least preach respect and equality? I'm sure your god would rather that than a place full of words such as, "Pray for their souls because they're going in the wrong path." or "We're right, they're wrong. Let's kill all of them." It's disheartening...all of it.

Also, those with the pickets: you crack me up. Shoving a sign in my face is going to "save" me? Or will scare me "straight" (whatever you think that means)? No. A sign does nothing. You know what works? Love. Understanding. That works wonders...

Maybe I'm being a hypocrite. After all, I'm writing about how those people frustrate me and how they're so cruel and bitter...I'm passing my own little judgement on them.

I don't hate them, though. I don't pity them. I question them. I honestly wonder where this mindset comes from and how we can prevent it from reaching a larger mass trying to get initiated in a gang that makes no sense - logical or biblical.

Best,

C

P.S.- If you couldn't tell, I really just stuck with the predominant religion I'm surrounded with. I'd rather not rant about things I don't know much about.

P.P.S.- If I, somehow, offended anyone...I'm sorry. I'm not saying the Christian religion is "wrong." I'm saying the extremists are disturbing. ...I'm also not saying your scriptures are "right." Also: please don't pray for my soul unless you genuinely know me. Thanks.

Tragedy.

2011-03-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure you've all heard: the Pacific is experiencing the horror of a natural disaster. I can't even express how my heart melts and aches at the thought of all those innocent people losing not only their loved ones, but also suffering the loss of everything they had worked to obtain.

Imagine waking up and suddenly remembering: I don't have a home; I still haven't heard from my children; the hospitals are destroyed; my farm is under water; my country is in chaos. It's a reminder that even though we - as humans - try our damnedest to prepare for the worst, we... aren't invincible. We can't control everything, let alone Nature. Let's be honest with ourselves: it's stronger than us. Always has been, always will be.

Again, I reiterate that it's tragic. That on Friday I was literally brought to tears by everything I saw on the news and by phone calls from friends in Japan. Yet, despite these heart wrenching feelings...I'm furious. There is no other word that describes it.

Let me expand on that: I'm not pissed off at God. Not pissed off at Nature. I'm pissed off - to the point where I'm actually shaking - at people.

Why is it that we only come together in disasters? Why is it that we only start appreciating what we have when others lose everything? And why - throughout history - do nations only come together as friends and companions when there is destruction (natural and man-made)? It reminds me of a family only coming together during funerals.

Everyone comes together in an awkward silence at first, and then it's like they never stopped speaking, never hated each other, never betrayed one another. It's like they forget everything wrong with their relationships and begin a performance worthy of an Oscar. Why? For the benefit of the deceased.

Know what I say to that? Bullshit. Why should we act in the first place? Why do I have to pretend my uncle isn't a dipshit? Why should I hug my aunt after she talked smack about my mom? Why should I pretend to like my cousin after she made me feel sick about what I did when I was a kid? Oh...because people are people and we all make mistakes. Got it.

But when it comes to just being respectful? I mean, come on now. My aunt could have decided to not talk smack. Instead, she could have respectfully told my mother to her face that they have opposing opinions. My uncle doesn't have to be a dipshit. He can just respectfully sit down and shut the hell up once in a while. I don't have to pretend to like my cousin. I could probably respectfully tell her to shove it.

But we're all afraid to confront our problems. We all are. I'm afraid to talk to my cousin because I don't want to ruin the "peace" among my family. In being afraid, I'm allowing my resentment to consume me. Not always a good idea.

"What does this have to do with Japan?"

Has nothing to do with Japan. Poor people...they're suffering. This rant is all about those reacting to the situation and coming together for a "family funeral" with pretenses of concern and peace, etc. In a few months (I'm probably being too generous with the estimation) everyone will pack up and move on. No one will care anymore. No one will bother thinking about Japan and it's people. Just like after a funeral: a few days pass on and suddenly you don't think about that aunt, or that uncle, or that cousin. You just worry about your own business. You go back to being...selfish.

On another note: Who the hell is talking about Pearl Harbor at a time like this! That was 70 years ago. Get over it, people. I mean, yes. That was a disaster all on its own. It was tragic. People died. People fought. It was horrendous. So no, the US will never forget it.

But I'd like to direct all of your attention to something the US should never forget as well: August 6th and August 9th of the year 1945. When the US of A dropped two atomic bombs on Japan soil. Children were killed, lives were destroyed, and they felt the effect of the radiation long after the fact. So...to all of you who "won't forget Pearl Harbor," I also hope you won't forget when the US decided to be monsters.

Smiley.

Have a good day. And, please, do what you can for Japan and the Pacific. Whether it be donation or prayer...anything helps.

Best,

C

Obsessions.

2011-03-08T13:31:00.000-08:00

I have some unhealthy obsessions. Very unhealthy...

Pens.

Yeah, it doesn't seem so bad. Until you borrow a pen of mine and don't return it. I don't get violent. Not at all. I get bitchy. Scary bitchy. I love my pens. And I'm not talking about stupid pens. I'm talking about the good stuff: uni-ball. Oh my word. I love uni-ball pens. I would go pensexual for them. No lie.

Unfortunately, it's still illegal to marry a pen...so I'm stuck with fantasizing.

See? It's sick, right? But then it gets worse:

Paper.

Oh, paper. I love paper. I have a stash of paper. Dark blue lines on bleach white - now that is what I call sexy. And if it's thick paper, too? I think that's my heroin. Really. I could get nasty with paper. But paper cuts and all...so I refrain from it.

And that's pretty much it. Those are my twisted little obsessions.

What really tickles your buttons? I'm genuinely curious.

Best,

C

Edit:

Stupid me. Why bring up something so juvenile? Pens? Paper? Let me be honest about what I want - about what we all want: power. Hey, at lest it begins with a 'p.'

But honestly, how many of us want power? For men, it's usually the power to overcome an obstacle, to conquer a quest, or to get what they "rightfully" deserve. For women, it's usually the power to overcome stereotypes, to raise a family, or to simply be successful.

Power, my darlings, is what we all want. Gay, straight, bi. Woman, man, or N/A. Whatever we are outside, we all want the same inside. Power is control. Control is power.

This quote by Baron Acton: "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

It's bullshit. It isn't power that corrupts, it's us who corrupts power. Our wants are innately selfish. For example, I want to be a writer. That's the single thing I want to do with my life, if I'm being genuinely honest. And if I ever get there, I want to dedicate my time and my "power" to children who don't have much. See...I have a soft spot for kids, as I'm sure most of you do. But I think of all those children, of how they're so...defenseless. And how they're so willing to trust and love somebody - whoever that somebody may be. Can you imagine the people who actually fantasize about hurting a child? About looking into their eyes and physically or emotionally causing pain? It honestly makes me sick, and it hurts me when I think about it. So I would dedicate myself to those kids...just so I know some of them won't be in that sort of pain. It seems selfless, right? But I'm doing it so I won't be hurting either. There in lies the selfishness.

Power is a beautiful commodity. Power is also a way to abuse our selfish desires. And power is what we all obsess over. Whether we admit it or not.

...I still love paper and pens...

Diary of a Disgruntled God: Entry #1

2011-03-07T20:54:00.000-08:00

Dearest Diary,

A few days have passed since the most tragic event. My heart hurts, my mind is shattered. And my love refuses to leave my side. But I no longer speak, I no longer eat...I sit. And I stare. So I've decided to recount it all. All in the hopes of reminding me where it all began to collapse. So here, in you, I will divulge the end of the world...

I had always wanted to have children, to bask in their intelligence and their love. It was a silly wish, really. I should have been a little more concerned as to how it would all end. Because the beginning is always easy...

It only took a thought, a single idea. And that idea formed into something concrete and...beautiful. As soon as the layers were all set up, I started with the first step: light. It was the easiest, because it's the single element that is linked directly to me. All it takes is a laugh. Nothing hard, nothing but genuine happiness. And in the hysteria of my creation, laughter was common. Warm, bright, brilliant laughter spots the night and dots the morning. It's one of the most honest elements, and it is the single thing that can chase away darkness. It made sense I would give that first as a gift, considering all I wanted was to offer up only the best for them.

With light set before me, I moved on to substance. It's comical to look through their history and see what different theories they imagined: a “bang,” a “whirl of power.” And the funniest being that I simply spoke it all to life. Comical. It took more than just a few words, more than a few "magic tricks." It took time and patience. It took practice and it took all of my imagination to think of it all. And here, now, I will tell you exactly what I did to make life possible in that space of existence: I clapped my hands, took a glob of light into my palms, and mixed it with my blood. There, in my hands, substance was born. The stars, planets, trees, dirt, and every other little particle frolicking in the space of existence came from my palms.

And with all of those new elements, I gave birth to the animals that I would offer to the children I had so desperately wanted. Those beautiful animals from the furriest to the venomous. The prettiest to the ugliest…I knew my children would love and appreciate those darling beasts as I loved them. And, to be sure, my creativity had a little too much fun with those crawling things. In fact, I had more fun developing a certain type of animal...and I favored them among all the rest: the magnificent and exuberant reptiles. Not the miniature ones, but the ones that were too overpowering for Earth. Those whom I knew would be too overpowering for my children. They wouldn't be able to contain them the same way as they would any other creature. And so because of that knowledge, I knew the beasts would have to die for the life of my humans.

With the weight of my guilt, I knew the sacrifice needed to be made - I called those monsters back to rest by my side. And with them gone, I re-perfected the world. I brightened it with flowers, colors, smells, and textures that would appeal to their tongues. For a few moments I stood back and watched the Earth spin delicately among the other planets. The waves crashed and lulled; the winds made the clouds dance and gave birds song. Everything was perfection to the nth degree.

Then, with everything prepared…I gave birth to them. First, and most importantly, I created man. All as an homage to my lover. He was, after all, the inspiration for the human male. And because of such resemblance, I coddled that form, smiled and spoke to it adoringly all before I gave him a companion. For her, I used myself as the model. And I created her with a part of man's flesh. It was a way to bind them to one another, a way to keep them interlocked in a relationship. It was a strategy of romance. With that rib from man, I shaped woman. I made them perfectly opposing. Where man was angular and hard, woman was soft and curved. Where man had strength, woman had agility. While the man had a blinding rage, woman had the ability to love unconditionally. So with those differences, it made sense that the woman would have my gift, my power: the power of bringing life into the world. For man, I left him with a different gift: the child would be part of him.

With both of them ready, the moment to bring them together arrived. Two magnificent beings, two bodies of perfection…I watched as they first touched, as they first recognized that they belonged to own another. From that moment on, they were inseparable. And they were perfection.

Lovingly, I watched them hunt and farm. They laughed, played: they were marvelous with their becoming and individual personalities. Through those intimate times together, they fell in love. And not only did I see it, I felt as it blossomed through them until finally they consummated it under the blaze of the sun and shadow of a tree.

And for years – merely days for my Kind – they lived as such. They enjoyed what the world I had created had to offer. It was beautiful to see them laugh. But, more so, it was humbling to see them love everything I had provided. That appreciation of theirs was more than I could have ever asked from them.

Until one day, when man prayed for me to go to his side, and began asking questions that ended up being the beginning of the world's destruction: “Why is the woman weak? Why does she ache? Why does she need my help more than usual? My Mother, what is happening to her?”

Mind you, his questions began the destruction, but my naïve answers finished the deed…

__________________________________________

It's an idea I'm running with. And I'm trying a different voice. Thoughts would be appreciated. But if not...oh well!

Best,

C

P.S. - Yeah, I know it's a bit sacrilegious. And you're welcome to hate it and yell at me for where I'm going with it...but I figure that if some old, crazy men could write about God and "his" voice, then why can't a 21 year old chick? One with a B.A. Who has a loving family. And who isn't as crazy as some might think she is (but, really, she's totally insane).

The Greatest Potential.

2011-03-04T21:55:00.000-08:00

Someday, I would like to introduce myself to the world. In fact, someday I'd like to take every ounce of my existence and become part of something "bigger." I have that potential, you know? To be frank, I have more potential than any one of you...and I have yet to even take a breath into my fresh lungs.

But you all had that type of potential in your life. Every single one of you had the greatest potential in life before you were even discovered in your mother's womb. You see, it's that moment of conception that matters the most. That "magical" moment where your existence belongs to you and you alone. Where you are your only companion and only influence.

Too bad we all forget those beautiful moments sooner than we'd like. Too bad we're never really our own person after we're discovered like some piece of land in the Atlantic.

You try to run from your past, you try to "discover" yourself. Alas. Nothing works. The world, from the people to the food, has laid their influences upon you. And nothing short of a miracle will "set you free." Sad to say, even if you try to run into the wild, even if you cut off all connection to the world, everything you've learned from that same world - whether you admired it or resented it - will follow your steps. And it'll be there in your subconscious until the day you die. You can't change that reality; you can't alter it the same way someone else has the power of altering your potential.

Your mother discovered you one day. Suddenly, you're expected to do things to her. Fatten her up, weaken her, make her sick, and then you do the worst thing possible: you make her hope. Is there one of you? Two? Ten? Male? Female? Both or neither? And then she begins to hope it's a mistake. Or she hopes you won't be too much of a burden. Perhaps she even hopes you won't be the last.

It's time to tell the Father. But maybe she'd rather not tell him. Or are you a child conceived by force? Are you a creature of incest? The Father refuses you, he expects you to be a son, or does he want a daughter to spoil? Are you the next President? NFL player? Will you be homosexual? Or heterosexual?

They plan your life without ever considering you. In fact, your beliefs - God, Allah, Buddha, or nothing - are preplanned. So how do you break free from it all?

Look passed the expectations of mother and father. Look through the veil of religion. Look passed those who support you (most of them are lying) and ignore those who reduce you (most of them speak truth). Instead, look at the picture of yourself. No, not your wedding portrait. Not the one of your high school graduation. And especially not the one of you and your family visiting Disneyland for the first time.

Look at the one of you. As a newborn. Look at that face (mid scream, or lips parted; eyes closed, or a cloudy gaze), look at him, her, other. At the fingers - all or none. At the nose - wrinkly or narrow.

Are you looking at yourself? Now smile, because you've introduced yourself to the closest you've ever been to your greatest potential. And that newborn will introduce you to the Greatest Potential of your life.

A rockstar. A warlock. A stay at home mom. An honest lawyer. A veteran...

Anything. That newborn can do it all and more. And that same newborn will. So long as you step aside and allow it to. And so long as you keep those expectations at bay...those expectations that expect more than it's willing to offer.

In about 9 months, I'll be wondering what the world will do to hurt me next. In about thirty years, I'll be where you are: wondering who I am and what I'm capable of. And someone, hopefully, will remind me, "It's not a matter of discovering yourself; it's a matter of acquainting yourself with...yourself."

____________________________________________

Don't ask me what this is all about. I wouldn't be able to explain it to you. I can say that I imagine it to be a...fetus. I know. It's ridiculous. And it's silly. And it makes me seem a total ass. I'm sorry about that.

Best,

C

I say, you say.

2011-02-28T10:30:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I made a very short list. A list of people. Of three, to be exact.

They needed to know how I feel about them. Well, they didn't "need" it, but I needed to tell them. So I left them a voicemail. I made sure they didn't answer and I told them exactly how I feel. How much each one of them means to me. How much I love them, how happy they make me.

Why?

Because I don't want to leave this world without them knowing it. I'm sure my actions speak louder than words...but sometimes I wonder if actions are even enough.

I remember every beautiful and fun moment I had with my Grandmother. I remember my Lito and my uncles. I remember loving them and them loving me. But I don't remember what they said...I don't remember how they laughed. I don't remember how they told me they love me. Was it in a soft voice? Was it while I was hugging them? How?

I wish I could remember that last thing they had said to me. I wish I could go back and record it...and replay it over and over again when I just want to hear their voice.

That's why I left a "voicemail." None of them might have saved it, and that's just fine. But at least I know I took that step. I know, it's dumb and it should have happened all organically. To that I say, "Screw it." I can die tomorrow. I can go into a coma. I can lose all my memory in a few minutes. Today, tomorrow, here, there...somehow I might not exist. And I don't want to leave this world without them knowing.

I guess I'm trying to tie all my loose ends. And, you know, I figure why the hell not say it all the time? Why not tell them how amazing they are every chance I get? Why.Not.

Because it's "said too much?" Because it "loses meaning?" The hell it does! People are worried about appearances. Too many people are too "scared" or "shy" to say it or express it every chance they get.

I say express it! Scream it! Relish in the moment of love and of appreciation. I'd rather be dramatic and over the top than regret not telling them how much they mean to me and how much they have changed me for the better.

<3

Best,

C

Patience.

2011-02-03T15:32:00.000-08:00

I was having a conversation with someone who has my utmost respect. She had said, "Your generation - in general - has lost the sense of patience."

And you know? I agree.

I mean. Look at text messages. Yeah, I know. Conversations last hours or two minutes, depending on when a person decides to reply. But then, don't you find yourself wondering WHEN someone will reply to you? And then when they finally do, you jokingly put: About time! But you really mean it. And they apologize for making you wait.

And then there's online dating. Invented so that people don't have to WAIT for someone to come into their lives.

Then there's the internet. And typing. So that we don't have to sit and write a letter by hand or write an essay by hand, etc.

I mean, of course I take advantage of texting and emailing. But I have to admit, I wish sometimes I can go back in time and live when pencils and pens were the mode of communication (or, God forbid, walking to the other side of the city/town and visiting with someone). And I wish I could go back to where courting took years...and not measly months.

Patience isn't overrated.

Best,

C

Marriage.

2011-01-23T22:33:00.000-08:00

No. Not getting married. But this topic came up four times today. All pointing in my direction.

At work someone told me, "Honey, don't ever get a divorce." I laughed and replied, "I plan on never getting married." She smiled and said, "You say that now." Whatever, I thought. She was a customer and I was in a chipper mood and all I wanted to do was wish her a good day and be done with it.

Then I came home and found my family in the living room. They were doing what 90% of America was doing today: watching the football games! So I sat down, opened a beer and we had a blast. Good times, good times. During this I'm texting a friend. She mentions a guy she's interested in. I encourage (as a friend should), and then she asks about my "love" life. I put the typical, "Lol. No one interesting enough." She responds, "Girl! There's always someone interesting!" I say, "Overrated!" She says, "Lol. You act like we're talking about marriage." My response, "Lol." I'm done with the conversation, right? I mean...Mark Sanchez was on the screen and I was missing it! But then she continues on. Ranting about how "Love will find a way" and more nonsense (I'm a die hard defender of love, no one needs to be lecturing me about it, amiright?). I just put smileys. She continues...and ends with this, "When you get married, you'll think differently." Double you. Tee. Eph. But I end up ignoring it because the Jets had just made those two safety points and I was getting ALL into the game.

Then my neighbor shows up and we begin to talk about her daughter. I get bored with the conversation, zone into the game, then my neighbor says something about me. My attention is drawn back. "So when would you stop paying for vacation trips for Natalie?" (They were talking about Hawaii and how their daughter and her fiance will be tagging along. The tickets were purchased by my neighbor. And, as a neighbor, she was asking my mother for some advice.) My mom replied, "When she gets married...then we'll stop offering to take her with us on trips. They'll be living their lives, after all." My neighbor nods and says, "That's a good idea, I guess. I mean, once Natalie's married then there's no reason to go with you guys, huh?" My mom answers, "Exactly. And it's how I believe it should work." I smile and chime in, "See why I'm never getting married?"

The game finishes and we're all sitting and having funny and awesome conversations. Then another neighbor asks me directly, "So when are you settling down?" What the hell? I don't even have a boyfriend! Instead of that answer I give him, "Ha! Never." He looks all shocked (joke you not, like a kid who just found out the Easter Bunny is a fraud) and he asks, "Not even if you find the right guy - or girl? I mean, what if," then he began planning out my life. He went into detail, too. Because this guy/girl would be everything I wanted, everything I needed. They'd understand me to the very core of my being. They'd support me. Encourage me. They'd be the person I would want to share my life with. And then after setting up this beautiful life for me, he ended it with, "And then one day he or she proposes to you. What would you say?"

I couldn't answer him right then and there, because the real answer was sort of, well, cruel. So instead I giggled and said, "It won't even get to that picture perfect of a world, so I don't ever have to worry about it!"

But I do have an answer to it. And I'm going to pretend that the right guy is the one asking me the question. That he's perfect in all ways (for me). That I want to spend my life with him. That he'll be the man I want to adopt my kids with, that he'll be the one I want to buy a home with and a snake and a few dogs and maybe some fish.

And my answer would be: No.

Good thing it'll never get to that, because I'd hate having to convince someone that my love doesn't require a diamond ring or white dress or a promise made in front of witnesses. Because I'm sure if he's the "right" guy for me, he'll be just as stubborn as I am. And I can guarantee that the proposition would shatter our relationship. So, again, thank goodness it'll never get to that point. Because no one in the world is strong willed enough to put up with me. I assure you that.

Insert smiley.

Best,

C

Lewd.

2011-01-17T21:52:00.000-08:00

Between the ages 6 and 8, I had a crush on this boy. His name was Zachary. Oh...he was a dreamboat. Blue eyes. Gorgeous blue eyes, actually. Brown hair that was wispy. His smile was so white. And he was one of the "cool" guys in school. He was SO not in my little group of friends.

I had only a few close friends. I mean, I got along with everyone just well (except this one chick, but she's another story). But I had my knitted little playground family. And there was this girl named Jessica. Man, she was legit. Her and I got on together just great. (She had two dogs. Chihuahuas, to be exact.)

Back to my dreamboat. So in my little world at 6-8, Zack was it. He was THE one (duuuuuumb). And there was no changing my mind.

Until one day...

I was with my playground family. We were walking over to the swings. Three of us started running to them, and Jessica and I kept walking. We were talking about something silly (I think dinosaurs...). So we were walking. And out of the corner of my eye I see Zack and his friend. They come over to us and they ask, "Hey, you wanna play?" Jessica and I do this little giggle and say, "Yeah!" They both said, "Jessica, you can't play." I kind of stood there all shocked. She reacted first and said something along the lines of, "Why!" They didn't have an immediate answer. Jessica was hurt and so she got angry and said, "You guys are mean!"

Well, they didn't like that at all: "WE AREN'T MEAN!" And then Zack hit her. And, laughing, his friend did the same. What did I do? I knocked them both on their asses. I punched Zack in the mouth. And I pushed the other kid down.

Jessica and I ran to our other friends, leaving the boys there.

Fast forward to class time...

Zachary wasn't in the same classroom as me. He was in the same classroom as Jessica. Anyways, that's besides the point. My friend Ricky and I were whispering in class about the whole thing and I was still kind of shaky. I mean, it was the first time I had actually "beat someone up." And it was my dreamboat guy! I mean, what the hell?

So we're whispering during some classwork, and then all of a sudden...Zachary walks in. My teacher walks up to him and he starts talking to her all low-like. I'm just watching him, and Ricky is watching him. And the rest of my table is watching him, and then finally the teacher calls me over.

"Did you hit him, Natalie?"

I stare at Zachary, getting angrier by the moment.

"Natalie? Did you hit him?" She's very patient.

I sigh, "Yes, I did."

He hid a smile from her. That punk.

"Natalie, you need to apologize to him. You need to explain why you hit him and then apologize..." So she left him and I in a corner and I had to stand in front of the guy I had liked just that morning and explain to him why I had hit him.

I was quiet for about a minute, and in that minute I saw him smile at me. He knew exactly what he was doing. (Kids are just mean sometimes.) And I also noticed that his lip was all red and a little swollen.

So finally, after assessing him, I said simply, "Sorry I hit you." I somehow knew he didn't need me to "explain" to him. And I didn't want to explain it to him. Because, see...I didn't just hurt him...I hurt myself.

I shattered my little heart. Because it turned out he was not the guy I thought he was. Yeah, I was a kid. I get it. But you see, he was the first guy I had ever liked. He was my puppy love.

And that is the story of how Natalie first got her heart broken.

Next time learn about how DUMB she was when it came to Ricky...how he was probably the right puppy love in the first place and how she screwed that up. Actually, it's not that long of a story...

Basically, he was part of my really close friend group. And we were buddies. He came over to my house, we played all the time, etc etc. And he had a crush on me. He wrote me V-day cards (not on the designated day) and he picked me flowers at recess. He would let me pick the best crayons from the box that we shared in class, and he always told me to have a good day. He was a good kid...and I never saw him like that.

See, again, I get that I was a kid. That this is silly and probably really moronic. But look at the "adult" lifestyle. It happens every day. Some girl/guy overlooks the "right" girl/guy for them. And they take for granted that said girl/guy will always be there...

But they won't be. Such is life. And it sucks.

So stop being stupid and freaking GO for it. What the hell do you have to lose?

Insert NUDGE.

Best,

C

Portishead.

2011-01-17T20:35:00.000-08:00

That band is just stuck in my brain. Can't get 'em out of my head.

But anyways: I think I've been blunt too much lately. Sigh. I feel bad about it. Partially because it comes across as "Asshole-speak." That is totally not the route I'm going for. And, also, part of this "blunt" attitude of mine is pure sarcasm that is misinterpreted (which is my fault, of course).

I like sarcasm. Me and Sarcasm? We're buddies. We go way back to elementary school. Other people? They kind of hate Sarcasm. For them she's a pain in the ass and cruel and too "honest" and such.

Guess I've been spending a little too much time with her, because lately my humor has been getting drier and drier and...basically it's as dry as the Sahara Desert. Some people get it and chuckle along with me. Others just usually stare and think, "Douche."

My bad. Really. I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm trying to be honest. Look, I don't like it when people are cruel with their honesty like any other Jane Doe. But I haven't noticed this "cruel-honesty" until, well, today. It's funny...I've been dealing out this C.H. to only specific people. Why those certain people? Not sure. Can't access that part of my subconscious. But I can tell you that I feel really crappy about it.

I sound like a kid, but I can't help hating this b.s. I mean...I thought I was a nice person? (BTW. Being "awesome" doesn't signify "nice." Not in my book, at least.)

Anyways. The majority of this blog is going to be full of sarcasm or pent up frustration or words of passion-filled-*insert emotion.* It's just what it is. And I don't mean it in any sort of malicious way. So my apologies ahead of time.

Also! If I ever sound preachy, please stab me in the face. Thank you. Insert smiley.

Best,

C

P.S. - No sarcasm until the last line. Please do not stab me. I do not want to deal with the hassle of going to the hospital and such. Thank you again.

Booyah.

2011-01-16T20:35:00.000-08:00

Someone had once told me: "You bring out the worst in me."

I dunno about you, but who the hell wants to hear that? Especially coming from someone you care about?

A little history: this said person was a guy I had once been totally head over heels for. He was also totally out of my league (Like She's Out of My League status. Except he was the chick. And I was the dude. Anyways...). So when he told me that, it shattered me. I thought I was a good friend, ya know? I mean I was there for him and such. And yeah, I'll admit I was probably annoying with my random and dumb text messages...but was that even enough to bring out the worst in him?

Now, what inspired this? Well, some people have been saying that a lot lately. Things like, "He brings out the worst in me." "She brings out the worst in me." "This whole situation brings out the worst in me." Etc etc.

You know...it sucks. It sucks being a "friend" who has the ability to bring out all that pent up anger. Because it makes me wonder, "What the hell did I do?" To be honest, I don't think I did anything wrong. I just think I was an outlet. Sucks I had to be that kind of outlet...(too bad it wasn't angry sex, instead).

I hope one day I can be an inspiration. It'll sure be much nicer to hear: "You bring out the best in me."

Well, until then...

Best,

C

Work.

2011-01-16T15:49:00.000-08:00

I'm a cashier at a retail store that shall remain anonymous.

For a while I had been a cynical kid. You can't blame me: I dealt with the worst of the human species - customers. They nag and nag and nag and everything is YOUR fault. The price isn't what they want? Your fault. The music is too loud? Your fault. The other customers are too rude? Your fault. The store has an ugly color to it? Your fault. And yes, I'm not bullshitting you. I have actually dealt with people who complain about the COLOR of the store. And they speak down to you. They disregard your thoughts and opinions, they overlook your emotions, they see you as someone less than them. Why? Because they're handing their money over to you, and it's not the other way around.

So I despised work. I felt disgusted every single time I walked into the store with my little name tag. I wanted to stab my eyes out every time I had to speak to one of those pricks. So, yeah. It sucked.

But now? Oh, I forget about every cruel customer as soon as they leave my sight. They aren't worth that anger. They aren't worth me feeling less of a person. See, they're just bitter people. And I can't help but feel sorry for them now. So I still smile at them, I remain patient, and I wish them a "Good day." Por que? Because it's the right thing to do. It's the nice thing to do. And it's also pretty awesome to remain collected when someone is trying their damn hardest to ruin your day - it's actually pretty funny when they get flustered and you're just smiling. I mean, why not smile?

[Just before this edit, I had a really messed up thing written here. And by "messed up," I mean way out of line. See, that's not the attitude I'm going for. That also isn't me. So I felt the need to delete it. Why am I putting this little insert? Because I have nothing better to do...and maybe because I'm trying to get to a word count. No on the latter, yes on the former.]

Best,

C

"I'm Sorry. Nice to meet you, World."

2011-01-15T22:06:00.000-08:00

So in lieu of speaking about this really depressing day, I'd like to pay tribute to my Epiphany. Said epiphany shined it's pretty light on me just a week ago (I'm still basking in the pretty light, mind you).

Anywho, let's move on, yes? Last week I realized: "Hey...I'm pretty awesome." Yeah, I know by writing that I'm just asking for people to start thinking really horrible thoughts about me (AKA "This bitch." "She thinks she's so cool? Whatever, I'm sure she's a stupid wench." "HA! I know her...she's a waste of life!" etc. etc.) Despite that, I stand by what I wrote - I AM awesome.

See, it's strange for me to write that and it's even stranger for me to believe it. Because - before a week ago - I had never thought of myself as a good person...let alone "awesome." Why the sudden change? I'm not sure. I think all my 21 years of existence led me to the moment where I came to terms with the person I am today.

As a kid, I was a brat. Such an understatement, actually. I didn't live with both my parents, I had four sets of "parents" raising me, and I basically got whatever I wanted if I tried or lied hard enough (yes, I know - issues). And a little over a week ago I hated that person. I hated that kid. And I had wanted nothing to do with her.

I even hated all the phases she had gone through. The moments where she lied in the principals office, the day of her grandmother's funeral, that time she chose an enemy over a friend - hated all of that about her.

Then last Saturday happened, and things flipped for me. The whole week before that I was in a state of "thought." As the blurb "About Me" states, I've just graduated. I have more free time, I've never been busier, and I'm now stuck with myself. With all this time to myself and with others, I guess my subconscious came to the conclusion that I needed to settle some old resentments.

And I did just that. All those mistakes I had made, all those poor choices...well...I had never lived a day without thinking about one of those instances. I had lived with that guilt and self hate and disgust.

I have this idea that all of us sit in a pile. There are those who take those mistakes and learn from them. There are those who forget about them and think nothing more of them. There are those who relish those times. And then there are those who live their lives trying to make up for all those times that they were idiots.

The last pile? That's where I had sat for a long while. But not anymore.

Yeah, I'm about to do it. I'm about to use the oldest cliche in the book: I am who I am today because of those mistakes. And let me tell you, I rock. I'm a better person because I had been an idiot in the past (still am, actually).

I was so ready to owe the world. In fact, that's how I lived my life. When I was a kid I wanted everything. To make up for that I gave up a lot of things. About 6 years ago I wanted all of the attention in the world. To make up for that I tried giving everyone all of my attention at once. When I chose an enemy over a friend (more times than once), I tried making up for it by giving myself over to enemies.

So, I sacrificed and hated myself and I acted like none of it bothered me. When "friends" used me. When they made fun of me. When family stepped all over me. When they made me feel like shit. When classmates made me feel stupid. When they abused my hard work. All of that and more...I took it. I took it because I felt I deserved it. I was the monster, right? I had made all those mistakes...I owed the world. I owed it everything I had to offer - my flesh, my blood, my tears, my morals, my dedication, my love, my soul...my everything.

Last Saturday I finally said, "Bullshit, World. I'm done being sorry. I'm done feeling guilty. I made those mistakes. I learned from those mistakes and that's all there is to it. So all that good stuff you keep throwing at me? Yeah, I'm going to take it. I deserve it all."

And here I am. Happy and content with who I am because I realized I did learn. I'm Natalie. I'm awesome. And I'm okay with those wrong choices. In fact, I appreciate them.

So many of us regret those mistakes. So many of us learn to hate those mistakes and hate ourselves for those same mistakes...but why? Why not appreciate them and cherish them the same way we cherish the days we're good people? Because - good and bad - we are who we are. And we gotta love ourselves. Or, at least come to terms with ourselves.

So here's a toast to Mistakes. Here's to many more to come. And here's to all the good that'll come from them.

Best,

C

Death.

2011-01-14T16:16:00.000-08:00

I've thought a lot about it (as I'm sure others have). But...lately it's really hit me: death's so inevitable.
I feel like it'll be as if I'm just closing my eyes. I hope that's what it's like. I hope I dream...forever.

I was thinking about how atheists or those who don't believe in an afterlife must feel when they think about it. Some of them are very apathetic to it. But then some are terrified. And I guess I can see why they're so frightened by the idea. I mean, they don't have a heaven to go to. They don't have a God or Allah or anything to look at and say "Hello" to. They don't get answers at the end of their life. They don't see all the loved ones they've lost.

They just stop existing. Their memories live on (for the most part) but they don't. The person they were...stops existing. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine never existing? Because that's what it's like. Just...not being there anymore. Not having your thoughts. Not having your biased opinions. Not having something to live for. That love you felt for someone? Never was. That hate you harbored for all those years against your family? Pointless. That secret you kept from your friend in second grade? Psh. Never even happened.
All your life erased, having meaningless value, and almost a joke.

Man. How fuckin' depressing. I mean...if you believe all that...then what really is the point?

Oh! Before anyone bites my head off, I'm not ragging on the atheists or any similar believers/non-believers. I'm just stating my little opinion. I mean...doesn't that idea just make life terrifying and death seem so permanent?
Ha. I guess it is though.

Well...here's to hoping all of it is bullshit. Here's to hoping there's a heaven. Here's to, well, hope.

Best,

C