February 24, 2009

The Integrity of a Pancake: Beach Edition V.1

These are actual thoughts processed through my head and written down on a fat small notebook while at the beach high, I am transcribing it as is, no changes or editing.

- Coca-Cola is gross. Really. Completely fabricated fake artificially created FRANKENSTEIN!!! And we all swallow that noxious liquid. Today is the last time that I drink a fantasy beverage*. T. just sprayed me with 2% sunscreen**. Today and forever will I ever bring near or drink Coca-Cola. Nevermore.

- T. doesn't know the words of some gay-ass 80's song. I wish I could re-create the beauty of the moment, but alas my words are not lovely or detailed enough.

- Clean coal?? Noooooooooooooooo

* In Chile all carbonated drinks like Coca-Cola, Kist, Sprite, etc. are referred to as bebida de fantasia thus fantasy beverage. We know where beer comes from, we know where wine comes from, but what is Coca-Cola? There is no Coca-Cola tree! I bet it (Coca Cola) has some kind of ingredient that makes people addicted to it because how else could anyone enjoy that disgusting liquid? I will clarify that I have always been a Coca-Cola addict until this realization appeared and the awful truth poked it´s head (Good Idea Gone Wrong: Google evils of Coca-Cola, damn!).
** In my head I probably meant 2 SPF but somehow along the way it got changed to 2%.

I had a good time at the beach. We went to Rio Teta for a couple of hours and climbed trees and rocks, catapulted ourselves into the river via rope, swam, meditated, dove into the river from trees and rocks, and floated blissfully. From there we went to the beach where the ocean was at high tide and the waves were calm and small just how I like them. I was able to relax and disconnect and the best part is that on the way back the traffic wasn't terrible at all which made the empanada from Quesos Chela all the more delicious.
Yesterday I made the realization that my best friend is probably the biggest spaz ever. She's so bold and daring in ways that I could never possibly hope to be. She goes after whatever she wants and doesn´t let anything stop her from being the crazy person she is. I will have to write a little story that just so happens to be true to outline just a fraction of her joie de vivre. I think that simple words would not be able to describe her personality. But I will try! Some other time. Not now. But in the near future.
Today I made the realization that people are fucking weird. I mean we all have those little things that we might think is completely normal but if seen from outside our perspective we'd noticed that it was a weird habit. I mean, like I had a friend that could not sleep with both feet under the sheets; she'd have to stick one out to "let it breathe". I have another friend who used to shave her arm hairs. Things like these freak me out because I guess I don't notice them. Maybe I've known the person for such a long time that these little habits don't stick out. But when I see the same things with different eyes I can't help but be a bit bashful or embarassed about them. The point is: I am so oblivious. It's terrible! Do I always go about the world in a giant bubble or what? Am I living in a bad 1980's anime inspired cartoon? Am I Candy Candy? (Good idea gone wrong: Wikipedia Candy Candy and slowly get absorbed by her life as you envision each and every thing about this article. Nobody's life can be so cruel!)

I also made the realization that some relationships with people are taken for granted; you don't exactly realize the ease of flow of it. You don't feel rushed, you don't feel intimidated; you let your guard down and the real you appears slowly, like a warm sun emerging into the morning sky. I love those easy relationships where speaking is optional. Bonding over music, bonding over experiences, knowing innately what the person is all about. I do believe in love because I believe two very odd people can somehow overcome all their weirdness, get used to living or being with each other, and do this day in and day out. All those little things that seem monotonous and confining to me might seem like a dream come true every day for them. Some people truly mean it when they say they are thankful for having so and so in their life.

I just wish and hope that I can one day be in that position where I truly mean it when I say I am thankful to have so and so in my life.

This post quickly turned sappy!

Abbridged Version: I had a great time at the beach. The End.

February 11, 2009

I'm in Mourning

Nobody died. Well, maybe a piece of my soul. An itty bitty piece of my soul.

I am mourning the death of a great relationship that I was perhaps too scared to take the next step with. I am mourning the instant disappearance of my best friend, he who probably knew most of my facets by heart. I am mourning our inside jokes, now long gone and relegated to each other's memories (which are already rapidly disappearing). I am mourning us, together, a couple, a pair, against everything together. I am mourning my stupidity, which has not gone away and probably will never go away. I am mourning spilled milk because this is not going to change. I am mourning change and a time and a place and ViƱa del Mar. I am mourning my youth which I feel is fading fast. I am mourning a life long gone.

I am so fucking sad. I haven't stopped crying all this damned afternoon. It's a never ending well of pain, the tears creeping up on and embarassing me. All that I have not cried, all that I held inside, it's pouring out now, enough for ages and ages. Enough to fill in the Pacific oceaan. Enough to take me to Taboga.

I cannot say how sorry I am. I cannot say it enough times and yet I wouldn't change any of it. Or maybe I would. I'd be more open with my feelings. I'd be straight up. Would it change anything? Probably not. I'm still so fucking sorry. I pushed you away, I pushed you away so far and now that you're beyond my reach I am sorry. The sorry's you don't or can't or won't hear. The sorry's that have lost all meaning.

I'm mourning your kisses, yet I don't want them back. Does that make any sense? I want it all and I want nothing.

I am never happy with anything. I can't just be content with what I have, with what I am, with who I am with, with my goals, with my dreams. Nothing is never enough and I feel I am going to grow old and never find any inner peace. I am not talking about settling, but about seeing a good thing when it's there.

Through it all I am sorry. People ask me all the time how I am. I was doing fine. I don't know what happened or when it happened, but it all started falling on me. Every iota fell on me and I couldn't take it anymore. I was doing so well, so single and carefree (which ironically is part of my 2009 goals). I miss you. I didn't realize the full extent until someone else was enjoying your company. Laughing at your jokes. Playing with your hair. This is not jealousy, just a rude awakening.

I don't, can't, be with you right now. But I miss you. I can't have it both ways, so I will have none of it. I'm going to miss you. I can't say exactly till when, but I am going to miss you till my bones ache and my eyes dry out and pop out like raisins.

It used to scare me to death when you'd say that I was the best thing to ever happen to you. I just couldn't believe that someone like me, ME, could be the best thing to happen to anybody. I still can't believe it. And yet you are one of the best things to have happened to me. I don't say that lightly. And yet I cannot be with you right now (not that you'd want to anyways, after the way I have treated you). I don't blame you.

So is it better to part ways, to say goodbye, to breathe you in one last time and wish you well? I am a coward; this you know well.

This is my good bye.

February 6, 2009

Kiss me on my Little Pearl (huh?)

Maybe now is not the time to try and write poetry. It's hard, so hard to write good poetry. Easy to write whatever you want and call it a poem, but so difficult to write something good that makes sense and doesn't sound pompous or that you're trying too hard. Poetry should be like an extension of how you think, but in a more fluid rhyme-y way. It should make you reflect, think upon a moment, try your brain. A good poem makes you want to dissect every word and wonder why it was chosen. Take apart the structure, ponder the meaning.

Hmmmm, as if I am a fucking English Major. I'm not. On to lighter subjects, I actually played Rockband and sang Paramore's That's What You Getand sang it well (or atleast it sounded pretty good....). I would love to make some whack-ass-crazy-experimental band which crazy cute lyrics and weird outfits. I can't sing and I don't know how to play any instruments, but I am oh so willing to go at a bass and tear that shit apart.

Today I almost got a little bit of ink on my feet, but it fell through because I am working irregular work hours that demand a crapload from me. Been so exhausted this week that by the time I get home I have no urge to go out. Yeah, it's fucking nuts, I know. Andddddddd, I haven't been able to exercise this week for that same reason. Next week I'll get started again and work out everyday regardless of how exhausted I am (that's what cellphones are for right? I can just dial SOS if I pass out from exhaustion).

Current booty shakin' song: T.I.'s Whatever you Like which should be renamed Whatever you like that will keep you having unprotected sex with me and let me fuck other bitches as well.
My lyrics would be:

You're the kind of girl I like
wearing your booty shorts and hoe heels.
Your gold diggin' style is smooth
and your grill is not full of spinach
baby girl let me give you a Choo
but it'll cost you a chrome job.

February 3, 2009

My day was filled with the following:

- Rammed Earth (or pise de tere)
- Chickens and their breeds
- ZombieDonald's
- At home operating procedures
- Gluteus Maximus cramps
- MaryJane/Chyna and Uncle Crackie (those are not synonyms for drugs)
- Glorious iDump
- Armadillo

I wish I could write more but I can't.

February 1, 2009

A) I need a booty call. But it just can't be any old booty call. It has to be someone I am not close friends with ('cause it would be awkward to run into this person all the time), but someone I have a connection with, but haven't gotten to know really well and doesn't hang out in my same circles).

B) When taking pictures I want to take only natural in their element photographs. None of this looking at the camera with a fake ass smile on their face. In fact, I am going to stop smiling in pictures all together. From hence on forward I will be serious in all of my pictures. The Era of Serious has started.

C) Quiz time:
So you know you're a pothead when:
a) You smoke pot all the time(3-4 times a week), but you don't buy your own shit.
b) You buy pot all the time, but you only smoke 1-2 time a week, maybe less.
c) You buy your own pot which you then smoke a shitload of (7 times a week or more).
d) You look and act like Shaggy from Scooby Doo.
e) You can spell internauta backwards really really slowly.
f) You cannot finish any story without some kind of help or hint (What was I saying?).
g) You drive at 20 kph.

D) Today I had a medium McDonal's fries and I feel like I broke the control your mouth code. Someone get me a muzzle please.