I’m BAAAAACK

Hi All,

I guess, I don’t even know how or where to start. It’s been almost 4 years since I last posted on here? What? Don’t worry, I’m still here being just as awkward and trying to be fab… and still failing. But hey, I am no quitter!

So what’s new? I moved to Boston, fucked up grandly in more ways than one, got an adult job, hated it, left it, moved to DC, have another adult job, still don’t have a 401k cause my money’s in my shoes, and live with my sis now. Uh, I think that sums it up pretty nicely.

So, here’s what’s new with the blog – I want to continue posting about fashion and all that jazz. But I also am going to post my creative writing. As well as any random thoughts/memories/stories that pop into my mind.

Right now I need a creative outlet, and THAT’s what you guys are going to be for me. I need a place to be me without giving a flying fuck about opinions or seeming PC. 9-5 life will do that to you I suppose.

***********************************************************************

So, here’s a fun little tidbit of juiciness. I WANT TO PREFACE THIS by saying this story (and any of the stories following) are not being written to make ANYONE, except myself, look bad.

Once upon a time I was young, naive and insecure. Basically, I was every college student trying to “find herself”. Any who, I met this guy, who we will call Joe. I cannot recall for the life of me HOW we met, but it was some type of cyber way, because my brain cannot really exact a physical meeting. Anyway, Joe, for my standards and tastes, was a regulation hottie. He had that classic Guaynabo look (this would make sense if you’re from Puerto Rico) tan skin, brown eyes, brown hair, tall, lean. IDK if I can speak for all girls from other places in PR, but guys, I’ll admit it, I had a thing for Guaynabo boys. Why? IDK. They were a mystical creature from another planet from my point of view. At that time. However, he was not all there in the head. I can’t speak for him now, but he definitely was missing more than a few neurons back in the day.

I didn’t care. I thought he was the cutest thing to look my way. Boy, was I an idiot. We continued this shitty “relationship” (if you dare call it such a thing!) where we spoke all the time ABOUT NOTHING and hardly ever saw each other. Please note, I have been in denial of getting my driver’s license and have made all boys who date me have to pick me up and drop me off in the hell hole called Dorado (not so close to the rest of the world) all my life. In other words, I sucked. But I digress. He called me nearly every day, like I was drug that he needed. I made him feel better about himself when he fucked up. I was there to listen. I was there for him. Snoooooooze fest.

So the time of year came around for Las Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastian (translates to: a party where all Puerto Ricans get drunk collectively and have a shitty time but MUST ATTEND or else you’re nobody). I had planned on meeting up with him, but as goes with this party yearly, your plans usually change. People get lost (once my boyfriend and I lost each other in a crowd NO JOKE NO LIE) and sometimes (most times) people get in arguments and just abandon each other. Ours was a much more drama free situation, I think he just ended up bailing cause his friends were doing so as well. Whatever the case was, I ran into this girl we all (people from Dorado) knew. We will name her Karen. I, being the idiot I was/am, go chat to her because I remember she knows Joe. I’m so excited to finally talk to someone who actually knows him, and after our small talk I ask enthusiastically “You know Joe, right?” and Karen, the young doll that she is, answers “Yeah, I made out with him the other night!”

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

Awkward silence.

Pause.

“I’ve been kinda dating him” I reply while my body slowly contorts itself into fetal position on the street. (JK! Kinda)

Pause.

Awkward silence.

“Omg, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I-”

Goodbye Karen.

 

Needless to say, he wasn’t hot enough for that shit. I know guys, what a dumb story, but hey, don’t you love awkward moments! I know I do……n’t?

Leave  me a comment with some love and sugar. Or some hate. IDC. #desperateforattention #maybe

xxxxxxx

Advertisements

Thought of the Day: Exes

There comes a time in every end of relationship, that the dump-er and/or dump-ee wonders, “Is my ex still the same person I was with?”

            Relationships are complicated in their own right, but breakups are far worse. You suddenly find yourself wandering through the unknown. No matter who did the breaking, it’s still hard to recover from a breakup. You were with someone for some time, your life revolved and shaped itself around that person, and suddenly… Not anymore. So, it’s been established that getting over a breakup is hard. I think, though, that the worst part of a breakup is knowing the person you were with no longer exists.

Past relationships, in my opinion, are great practice. You can’t look back on a relationship and be like “What a waste of time!” If the guy was a dick, you learn you no longer want to date dicks. If he cheated on you, you learn the signs of a cheating man and how to guard your heart a little better. And you also learn how to total someone’s car without leaving evidence… Kidding. All of these relationships in one way or another, shape you. They’re events in your life that take part in shaping the final version of who you are.

With that in mind, not only is your ex different, you are, too. Think about it for a second, if you’ve ever lived through a traumatic experience or something similar, you know that after it happens you’re not the same. So, if for instance you suddenly feel like being around your ex is different and you see him/her leading a different life… Be proud. You know what that means? That means you were enough a core-shaker to alter the way he/she is in some way. Yes, it is hard to look at your ex of only a few months and think, “God, he or she is not the guy I fell in love with”. But keep in mind, you meant something to him/her.

So, I guess the answer is no, your ex is not the same person you were with. He or she is the same person, post-you. As well as you’re the same person, post-him/her. Like John Green says, “The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.” Forgive, learn and move on. Great things lie ahead.

Forgive and Forget

It kept replaying over and over and over in my head. It was like a CD when you scraped it a bit at the bottom. It just, it was just as painful. His hand in mine, the bullet causing blood to run down his chest. My hands were trembling and his were becoming more and more cold.

“You’ll forget this,” he said in his last breath. FOR-GET THIS. What did he mean? Forget us? Forget him? Forget what happened? None of them were possible.

I bumped into someone and caused her to drop her keys. “Sorry,” I mumbled. She grabbed them and gave me snarky look as she trotted off. Yeah, I hate myself, too.

As I passed the park where he and I had said we would take our children, I saw a pair of cops drinking coffee looking off into the distance. I felt a sudden urge to puke, or yell at them. Not in that exact order.

I don’t know why I blamed the cops. Well, the cops and myself. The therapist kept telling me not to blame myself, so I stuck with the cops. I just, I couldn’t forget it… the call. The cool, calm, collected operator on the line asking me stupid questions while people were getting shot. People were yelling all around me while I hid behind a clothing rack trying to urge the police to GET THERE. And Aaron, he was just being him, watching out for people. Helping a person that had been shot nearby. Every few seconds, I’d look for him to make sure he was okay.

“Finally!” I heard Solomon yell as I approached him. “Took you long enough.”

I tried to contort my face into something that could be considered a smile. Didn’t work. “Sorry.”

His bleached eyebrows shot up. “Dear, you look like a mess.” He wrapped his arms around me and tugged hard.

Pity.

I hated pity.

I pulled out of the embrace and brushed strands of hair out of my face. “So, what was it you wanted to give me?”

He gave me a half-smile that reminded me a bit of Aaron’s. Brothers after all. He searched in his pocket for something and pulled out a small box. One of those boxes.

I took a step back. “Are you telling me you’re proposing to Jack?”

His blue eyes widened, “NO! No way we’re anywhere close to that yet… This is yours.”

My heart stopped. Like the moment I heard the gunman near to where I was on the phone. He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of behind the rack. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I couldn’t think. The gun was resting on my cheek and I could feel my face burning. “I-I…”

Suddenly there was a huge noise coming from where Aaron had been. I could make out a few words. “We’re a Westwood mall, the gunman is about 6’1, Caucasian…” It was Aaron yelling out the man’s appearance.

He pushed me to the ground with all of his force, but I crawled to where Aaron stood with a phone to his ear. His eyes found mine before the gunman shot, he mouthed the words I love you. And before it even happened I knew I was yelling.

“How is this mine? I’ve never seen this before.” I buried my hands in my pockets. It was a terrifying object the one he held in his hands.

He looked down at the ground and sighed. “Aaron gave it to me, to keep safe. He knew how nosy you were. He knew you’d find it.”

I shook my head and my eyes stung. “Why are you doing this?”

He looked at it intently and shrugged. “I somehow know he would have wanted you to have it. To keep it, or sell it to pay for bills. This isn’t mine.”

My breaths became short, I couldn’t even move. “He was going to propose.” I said it, I didn’t ask it. It was clear.

Solomon nodded.

Before I stood up, the gunman had shot himself as well. I just stumbled my way to him with tears clouding my vision. All I could see were red stains across his new blue t-shirt. His skin had become pale. “I love you,” I repeated over and over. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“You have to take this” Solomon said insistently. “He would want that. You know he would.”

My dry lips suddenly spoke, “I’m not sure what he wanted anymore.”

Solomon’s eyebrows pulled together in concern. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. He told me to ‘forget this’. What does that mean?” The words came out of my mouth before I could think them through. I had never told anyone what he said.

He seemed unsurprised by the words. “He wanted you to move on.”

“And how is this helping at all?” I asked pointing at the box he held in his hand.

He stood there, in silence, for a while. He was contemplating the answer. “I guess, to move on, you need to face the pain and the sadness head on. Face it, but not let it consume you.” He looked me over and I knew he meant I had let it consume me.

I looked at the box in his hand. And it was painful.

“You need to face it and forgive.”

I looked up at him and suddenly appreciated him more than ever. He held out the box for me to grab the way Aaron held out his hand for me to grab. “Promise me…” he said as I grabbed it. And well, you know how he ended that sentence.

As Solomon let go of the box and I held it on my own I promised, “I’ll never forget you.”

 

You Should’ve Listened to Your Mother (Short Story)

“What is that?” Felix asks with his nostrils flaring. I look at what he’s pointing at on the nightstand.

“It’s called a tampon,” I answer mockingly.

He gives me his “you’re hilarious” look and glares. “I know what it is smart-ass.”

“Then why did you ask what it was?” I ask turning away to change my shirt.

He follows me to my closet, “It was a rhetorical question! I meant ‘what is it doing on the nightstand’?”

“It’s not doing anything on the nightstand, I mean, it’s not doing its intended job,” I answer nonchalantly. I push him out of my way after I’ve finished dressing. He follows me to the kitchen.

He sighs, “You’re so smart-mouthed, you know that?”

I shrug, “You should’ve listened to your mother.” I grab a few pans and heat them up to make some scrambled eggs.

He puts his hand on his forehead dramatically. “I know you have your lady things, but I don’t want them in my face. It’s gross.”

To this, I had to reply. “Oh, ‘lady things’ is what you call it? What are you, nine?” I can feel my heart racing and my blood heating up. These are topics I never like to discuss with men.

He brushes his hair behind his ear nervously. “Look, I just think you should respect what I feel. I think I’m pretty respectful with what you dislike. I dislike very much seeing tampons lying around.”

I break open the eggs in a plate with so much strength that I do it wrong. “You’re lucky they weren’t used tampons. Those I put under your pillow.”

He rolls his eyes disgusted. “You don’t have to get so angry. I’m just saying…”

I turn to face him and his blue eyes are pleading, but not enough. “I’m not allowed to get angry at the fact that you’re disgusted by what nature has burdened me with, but you’re allowed to get angry because I leave the tools that help me get through the crime scene in my pants lying around? That’s very fair.”

He tries to grab me, but I pull away. “Ugh, I hate when you get like this.” He walks away and props himself down on the sofa. This time, I follow him.

I take a deep breath, “You want to know what I hate?” I ask calmly.

His eyes widen, “Not really, no.”

“I hate when you leave your underwear lying around, when you clearly farted and left ass marks all over it. I hate when you leave the toothpaste’s lid off. I hate when your junk stinks and you still expect me to touch it. I hate when you scratch that same junk and then don’t wash your hands before you eat” I say quickly in the scariest tone I have.

He bites his lip nervously and looks up at me, “I hate when you’re on your period.”

I smell burning and run to the kitchen. My scrambled eggs were burned to crisp. Murphy’s law.

“UGH!” I scream. I take a deep breath and recover my posture. I turn back to where my lovely Felix is sitting and sit next to him with my head in my hands. “You think you hate when I’m on my period? Try being on your period.”

He puts his soft hand on my neck and I pull away. “Sorry!” he exclaims. He knows I hate when people do that. It makes me feel like they want to dominate me, like a dog, or something. “Look, I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

“I’m sorry you’re a dick, too” I say with a half smile.

He chuckles a bit then turns my head to face him. “You know you’re a total bitch when you’re on your period?”

I nod.

“…Well, you’re a bitch when you’re not, too.”

I punch him on the arm. “Like you’re a walk in the park.”

He smiles that brilliant smile that turns me into mush. “So, does my junk really stink that bad? ‘Cus this is a recurring argument of yours. I’m starting to worry.”

I smile sweetly as I touch his face gently. “You should worry.”

I go back into the bedroom to grab my purse to head out to work, I’m already late.

“Hey! So, are you gonna make me breakfast?” he yells out from the family room.

I come out of the bedroom, grab a plate from the kitchen, and hand him his feast.

“Bon appetite!” I say as I walk away smiling.

“Tampon for breakfast! Very original! I’m throwing it away!” he yells as I close the front door.