Wednesday, November 23, 2011

AMBIVALENT




torn between two opposing forces of action

Thursday, August 25, 2011

i've been listening to this song on a loop for hours now, non stop.



"and if you don't love me let me go..."

Is the (perhaps obvious) first line that attracted my ears and brain to this song, and it's all I can listen to whiling away the restless night.


But having listened to this song non stop in these wee morning hours, another lyric has attracted my attention and it is so much more worthy of my attention, I mean after all, why fixate on the past? I want so much more, so this is my future, this is what I've always wanted, and this will consume my attention rather then the aforementioned subject:

"And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I am a writer..."

Okay now, that's the last of my emo-self for now. resolution. 

Thursday, February 17, 2011

smashes into house with car, happens all the time, amirite?

So I haven't been shoveling down the usual high fructose meals that I generally masticate, no I've been eating other things. 
Things with stuff like Fiber and Protein, but I've been awfully ill lately too, and I think that "real food" is making the situation worse. 
Whole lotta good "real food" does me, amirite?  

-Well that or the fact that the other day for dinner I had 1/2 a pound of raw uncooked meat...-but my bets on the "real food." Anyways I've got a lot of couch time on my hands, so here's something I felt like sharing:

 2010 was a car accident free year for me!*
And so far, 2011 is accident free as well!
(Please, be impressed)

Yes I haven't been in an accident, but my car's still taking quite a beating out here.  The other day I rammed him into a snowbank, I was certain his tires would go rolling off but they didn't.  Then the other night I plowed him into a house, but he's okkay.

Now don't think I'm some sort of abusive car owner, I'm not. I know, I know, that's what all sadists say, but let me say somethings before you cast your judgment:

First, I didn't plow into any old house, 
I plowed into my brother's house. So 
I feel like that makes it a little bit better.  
Also, I didn't realize I had plowed into his 
house. Well not until 4 days after the fact. So 
I feel like that makes it a little bit better.  


Parking at my house is tight, there are many cars, and not enough spots.  In the parking lot, we become hostile and distrusting.

"They're going to park there?!? How's anyone suppose to squeeze around that stupid obese car? Not all can do those Fast-Furious moves you can MOM, pshh the nerve."

 On top of this, my little brother won't let me park next to him.  As he explains "You're smart Maddyline, but you're stupid at walking, and turning on the lights, I can see you swinging around the corner to park, and *whoopsy daisy* so yeaaa maybe you can fit in that corner over there."  

So I've been reduced to trying to wedge my car in this ditch of a corner.  Impossible, but I've manged, until last week.  I had left my car at a friend's house while I was off in Canada, and while I was gone it snowed.  I drove carefully home and pulled into the driveway to park. 

Except there was nowhere to park. 
Literally, not even my ditch.  

It had snowed a bunches, so naturally the driveway and parking lot had to be shoveled out -except it hadn't been.  Rather, people had only shoveled their respected parking spots. Huh.

(Me) "Hey Mommy, little Brobee I'm home. So Canada was so cool, I wore iceskates and-"
(Ali)  "Hey yea yea -watching the Office right now so..."
(Me) "Um so where am I suppose to park?  There's no spot, and the snow is rock hard, so there's no way I could even try to blast a parking spot through--"
(Mum)  "Madeleen es Office tiempo, go away!"
(Me)  "But Mum, where am I suppose to park?!"
(Irate Mum)  "Find spot somewhere and walk."

And so throwing popcorn kernels to shoo me away I find myself driving to my brother's house because he has a nice flat spacey driveway.  Unfortunately the cars are parked haphazardly, but I see a space where I think I can manage to fit right next to his house.  I sidle up closely with my music popping. It sounds different, but I haven't listened to music in a while.  Oh did I bang against the corner of the house? Maybe... NO. If I did I definitely would've heard it over the music. I'm really tired. Reverse. Forward. Forward, Reverse. Gah. Just park.

Days later, I catch up with my brother. Earlier he slipped on ice and reached for the porch to catch himself, but it fell apart, and so he fell and took his porch down with him. Preposterous.  I take the opportunity to go to the car wash (long story, but l can only go with Miz, it's a requirement actually) and that's when I notice the huge dent on the right side of my car and a whole bunch of scratches.  I tweak out.  

"Where did this come from? I haven't even driven my car since leaving it at your house."
He quickly defends himself "Hey we didn't touch your car, so it wasn't us." 

Replaying the brief driving I've done, and with a clear head it dawns on me, I know exactly how this huge dent and scratches happened.  And so I confess to my brother:

(Me) "Hehe, yeah I wasn't accusing you.  You know I would never get angry at you, even if it was in some weird way your fault... uhh by the way, so before this morning your porch was of sound quality?"
(Miz) "I didn't do it Maleen, and yeah, I mean we don't really use it, why?"
(Me)  "Ehh the other night when I parked at your house, I was really tired and listening to music and it sounded different, but that's 'cause I hadn't listened to it in a while..Or so I thought... Eh I might have um hit your house..."
(Miz)  "What?!"
(Me)  "Yeah but I though it was my music so I just kept pulling forward and backward, I think at one point I thought maybe I had hit your house but then I thought nah it's just the music so I kept pulling forward... and maybe i dragged your porch forward, and when I reversed I think I dragged it tentatively back into place... but it wasn't attached to your house anymore so... that might be why it feel apart so easily... I mean maybe, it was probably a crappy porch anyways, hehe"
(Miz) Blinks at me.
(Me) "Don't tell Ali, this will just be one more thing I'm not allowed to do, like turning the lights on at home, or car washing, or come on, please? I've never done this!" 
(Miz) Blinks at me.
(Me) "Let me treat me you to McDonalds."

-yep that's me, stay classy, maddy :)

*well technically I was in one minor accident but it wasn't quite my fault, so naturally that doesn't count

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

do you have hairnets?

Sadly this was the highlight of my day:    

      "DO YOU HAVE HAIR NETS?" was the question asked, but it got filtered through my brain as "Do ya have inna-net?"
     "Yeah but there is some for free downstairs. you don't have to pay" I conspiratorially whisper, because after all, we are suppose to encourage customers to use Starbucks internet.

     wrong answer.

     The obese wannabe- midlife fashionista of a women shots me a dirty look, glares and snarls, "Not for me. For you." 

     "you idiot"
     The last part she doesn't actually say out loud, but she doesn't need to, because we all know what words fill in the pregnant blank pause. A cascade of questions rush through my mind; why is this women concerned about my internet access usage? I mean that shows that she cares, right?  But why does she care about me? Because caring is like love, right? How did she form such a deep well of emotion (for me!) in the brief period of time that I've been making her drink?  But if she does care about me and is so concerned about my internet options then why is she being so snarky, and openly mean to me?  A myriad of emotions filter through me.  I feel special, hurt, confused.  Trying to drum up an equal amount of emotion and care for this women as she has for me, I wonder exactly where this conversation is headed; and reply "What? I don't need it, I never use it, I have it at home."
     In a caps lock voice she barks "You have to wear one. You look like you're about to start shedding.  In about an hour you're going to shed."  Then it dawns on me that she said hair net and not internet.

     Oh.

     She snatches her nonfat smoothie (
yeah, that will help) and punctuality states "Put-- One-- On--" Pausing after each word, probably catching her breath because it's the most effort she's put into anything all week, yelling at a barista. Congratulations this is the highlight of your week. idiot.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Things To Do: Lie

The average person lies 4 times a day.
I don't though. and I just assumed that generally people don't lie.  

Naive child that I was. 

*******

I like busy full days.  I make lists of "Things To Do" with boxes, just so I can check-mark them later.  It makes you feel like you've really accomplished something when you see all the boxes checked off.  The lists come in handy too.  

For example:
Once, I went to Foxwood Casino's and watched the entire series of Laguna Beach straight (in just 3 days! not once leaving the room!).  A Coworker once heard this and said "Maddy you have no life."  Pulling out my notepad really fast I shouted with righteous indignation "What did you say? why yes I do have a life, let me show you these list. Man you're going to feel really stupid once you see these lists. Yeah you see those checkmarks? That's right! Who doesn't have a life now, huh? huh? Yeah. Step-off. What?!" 

Yeah, you can earn mad respect with those lists.

So anyways, it was a Friday.  I was dawdling around downtown, lazily finishing up some errands, and I was feeling pretty good about myself.  The sun was shining, birds chirping, men dabbing ketchup off their ties waiting for seconds at hot dog lady's cart, it was just a nice day to be downtown.  Along with the weather, I was looking pretty nice myself.  Now mind you, I'm not one to brag about myself, but that Friday I woke up incredibly early and thus had enough time to pick out a cute outfit, my hair for some reason was shiny and frizz free, my  eyebrows didn't look like fat caterpillars, and I had gone for a run that morning so according to my mom my "Face looks alive, not like skin of dead man." 

I looked great.  When you know you look great you act more confidant.

So I'm slapping high fives, saying hi with some of the regular good looking customers I bumped into, even the homeless were in awe of me because they didn't ask me for any money like they always do.  I was quite taken with how everyone was reacting and treating me differently due to my awesome appearance.  It was magic.  So the day was winding down and I had one last task, I had to get my picture taken for my school ID.  I find my way to the ID center and the other students let me go in front of them, and I find myself at the front of the line (magic, right?).  I say my ID number (earlier that day I had a dentist appointment and had a filling done, so my mouth was still a little numb from the Novocaine, but I managed to slur out my numbers) and finally time for the photo.

I smile.

The guy looks out from over his camera and says "Actually why don't you just look at the fish, you don't have to smile." 

Weird. Alright.  

I look at the fish, wait a few moments and finally get my ID.  I was expecting it to be my best ID yet but words cannot describe my initial reaction.  Surely there was some kind of mistake? Bad lighting? But I knew that even bad lighting couldn't make me look this bad. I bolted to the nearest bathroom covering my face with my hands.  

My ID didn't do me justice.  Have you ever seen a person's face who has had a seizure?  Often a side is entirely limp, no muscles, no structure, just there, blah.  That was my face, but ten times worse.  I knew I couldn't talk very well, I was slurring my words all day, but since I thought I looked awesome I wasn't really listening to myself and just assumed I sounded like a cute foreign girl.  My left side was, oh my.  It looked like somebody had used only the left side of my lips as a punching bag, huge, inflated, purply, and droopy.  When I smiled it just made it hang and droop more so.  My eye was hiding behind the fluffy folds of my massively inflated left cheek.  And there was some saliva... dribbling off my chin. I had absolutely no control of anything, and when I attempted to talk it just made more dribble. I was a monster. The grossest looking monster I'd ever seen.    

My 1st task for that day was a dentist appointment (fillings).  I have always had laughing gas administered, because I can't deal with needles.  That morning I decided I was ready to face the needle, and so Novocaine was used.  Leaving the dentist I couldn't feel the left side of my face, or really talk, but I managed to ask "Is my face puffy or something?" he said "Not at all, you'll talk funny for  maybe an hour and a half but it will wear off."  

I left, putting full trust in what my dentist say.  

There I was all day, saying hi and being all flirty and cute.

With everyone.  I was so happy. 
Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees was playing in the back of my head while I walked down the streets that day because I felt like magic. Turns out, nope, not.  When people said "Hi Maddy!" they were actually saying "um hi... Maddy?"  
And the high fives, ouch, I don't really want to think about how I looked.  Shouting not "High Five" in a cute little foreign voice but more like "Huhwhy Fuhwhy! Huhwhy Fuwhy!" in a special type of voice.  And of course they gave me a high five, I'm the town simpleton, pity the special kid with drool on her chin and just give her a high five.  Man I looked... Of course the homeless didn't ask me for money that day, would you ask for money from a person who had a seizure?

Moral of the story? I'm allergic to Novocaine. and also:

Never put full trust in anyone, much less your dentist.  

Anyways, I hope life has treated you far more kindly then it has me recently.



-m&m

Monday, January 3, 2011

dating my little brother, an option?


Hey so this is what I've got to say:
So it seems like life is throwing me alot of awkward situations lately, and it's getting kind of annoying. 

In the past month I've been asked out three times; which is nice and usually a major self esteem booster, but not really.  Anyways here's one out of three:


So my little brother asked me out.


I guess it's kind of my fault, but I didn't know that this was going to happen.
He just showed up at my work like he usually does, but this time instead of discussing how much we hate bums he was said "Hey you want to go out with me sometime? Get drinks or something?"   


*silence*


Awwwwkward.


Right?


That's what I said.


"Oh no! This is super awkward, umm... that's really sweet, yeah I like you, you're really nice, but, umm... you're my little brother, so it kind of makes me feel weird, sorry if I gave you the wrong impression and yeah..."


Then I scurried to the back and hid until he left.


This is kind of my fault though, it started a couple of weeks ago, and maybe if I hadn't said anything to him this never would have happened, but I was so happy to see him that of course I said "Hey!"


It was a busy hectic Saturday afternoon and I was on bar making drinks.  I was in a zone. Ignoring everything and robotically making whatever was thrown my way.


ice grande skinny carmel latte!
 BAM
 tall non fat extra hot latte!
 BAM
 venti vani--- "Hey!"  


And there's Ali eyeing some merchandise, and I'm so happy to see him.  You see, my family never goes into my work, ever.  My mom has been into a Starbucks twice I think, and Ali (my little brother) is not interested in coffee, and thinks the Starbucks scene is too fake anyways.  So it's weird that he's here.  He nods at me, and then he grabs the drink I placed on the counter, and starts to leave, but I shout "Hey come back!" 


I've got so many questions running through my mind, like: When did he start drinking frappaccinos? And my, my, my, isn't he looking quite posh, (he's decked out in Hollister and Abercrombie), what's up?  


He comes back with a very confused look on his face (but I don't notice) and I just start talking "Hey Ali what's up, you're looking quite nice, why are you he-"  


"My name's not Ali," he says flatly.


I start to laugh, take a second, stop making drinks, and look very closely at him. 


Yep, it's not Ali.


But the only outstandingly clear feature that this is not my little brother is his teeth, this kid is slightly snaggletoothed, and Al certainly doesn't have the best teeth, but they're better than this kid's. 


Now normally I would be incredibly embarrassed by the situation, but I'm not.
He reminds me so much of Ali that I immediately feel comfortable with him. 


So I keep talking


"Oh man, hey my little brother looks just like you, like wow.  Anyways so today I parked. I saw a mangled Aux cable outside, and thought "I pity that fool" 'caus they're like 20 bucks, and I got mine free, I'd never want to actually pay for one, but then I looked over and realized "oh crap that one's mine," it had been dragging outside of my door the entire way over here so now I have to buy a new one. Fail. Its been a bad day, how about you buddy?"


And so, he came in whenever he worked (he works at Abercrombie) and I found out he's Mexican too (but his name's Enrique), and he called me Maddy 'cause he heard Ali call me that (I dragged Ali into Abercrombie, and yep, he agrees, they do look similar) and I called him Little Brother #2, and he trusted my opinion so he always bought whatever I recommended, and it was great, it was really great...


but then he messed it all up, and asked me out on a real date, and now, well, it's awkward....

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

you're invite to my dance party!

DANCE PARTY IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW
DROP EVERYTHING 
AND COME CELEBRATE WITH ME

Preferably if you're holding something fragile (e.g porcelain doll, ice cream, baby, plate of dishes) you're near a pillow or something to cushion it's fall.
why the celebration?
Because i'm not sick anymore!  
(Actually I quite enjoy being sick) 
You dawdle all day in deliciously warm comforters napping, it doesn't matter what you eat (you're just going to throw it up later!) and thus you almost always lose weight, Rufi acknowledges your existence and pays some attention to you, and you finally get to wear your most comfortable clothes in the world because nobody’s going to see you, so bust out the plus sized maternity wear you’ve bought and snuggie-up because being sick is vacation.
Except this time.
So back in high school days, I would often cut math class because I’m a blooming idiot (with anything math related) and so why be in class?  A fellow classmate shared my sentiments, so we would nip over to her house where she would feed me EasyMac (my “land of milk and honey” food, it was all I wanted in high school, and was always slightly out of reach because Rufi thinks it’s food for the street, i.e only trashy people like harlots and hustlers eat EasyMac).  One day though she didn’t have EasyMac to share all she had was shepherd’s pie. 
oh my.  
And that was the first and last time I ever had shepherd’s pie; until last Monday, when I found out Rufi had taken a stab at making a classic American dinner and made just that.  I ate 89% of her shepherd’s pie dish that night and went to bed full of mashed potatoes, corn, and beef.
so happy.
Unfortunately I don’t think Mexicans are suppose to excel at American cooking (we can’t be great at everything).  The next day I walked around in a nauseous queasy state the entire day.  
Work, school, work, school, finally! home.  
On top of the massive pit of shepherd’s pie in my stomach I had managed to catch a nice head cold that day as well, and finally my body violently took me down.  
Throwing up, down, sideways, everywhere.  
Barely conscience, curled into the fetal position, I realized I had to open the store tomorrow morning, and that was the last thing I remember thinking about. The following is the best description of the voicemail I sent her that night.
“Eeeehhhhh Moooooo? Mooooo? Mo it’s me Marilyn. *weeping openly into my phone* I dunno if you’re there, or if this is you, but I’m not s-s-strong, I wish I could be strong for you, but I don’t know if 5 AM is gonna happen for me, I’m sorry, I just- - *throw up* ohhhhh Moooooo I’ll do it if I have to but I don’t what’s going to happen to me, I’m so scared, hold me, Mo, please” and then I guess cried for the next 3 1/2 minutes into her voicemail until it disconnected.  
Now again, generally I don’t mind being ill, but that Friday I had setup five interviews to go on, and somewhere in between that I had a huge exam to turn in.  So I emailed my teacher explaining how sick I was but she was nice enough to reply back “Aww that’s too bad, hope you feel better! The policy is though there is no makeup, so if you’re not in class you get no credit.”  
“Hope you feel better!”  
stupid exclamation point. 
heartless wench.
So Friday I make myself decent.  Got out of the maternity wear, wash up, brush up, and smile. I knew that was the classiest I was going to get so I head out hoping that I can keep my act together for at least two interviews.  
Thankfully (?) I bump into a friend downtown and she informs me “You look lovely Marilyn, but maybe you should buy a new sweater if you have time, just you know.. ‘Kay hope it goes well!” and she abandons me.  I don’t quite know what she inferring about my sweater but I decide I might as well buy a sweater.  I head into the nearest clothing store and grab the first sweater I see.  When I look in the mirror I realize why my friend told me to buy a sweater.  Unfortunately I didn’t want to show up at an interview blowing into Kleenex (very unprofessional) so I didn’t bring any with me, but because of that throughout the day I had been discreetly (so I thought) wiping off my nose with my sleeve.  Except it wasn’t so discreet, and I was basically wearing a snot covered sweater.  
Classy.  
I buy and change into a nice fresh sweater (the sales associate that was helping me was acting crazy psycho saying such things like “What a great sweater! It’s sweater weather already! burrr! Where do ghetto people live in your sweater? THE HOOD! hardyharhar” and I’m like OKAY, yeah have a good day. BYE) and head to my first interview.  
On time, I’m sitting at the table trying to keep my composure.  Fixed smile, I easily breeze through the interview until my nose starts to drip.  Like mad.  I focus in on the napkin at a nearby table and wonder if it’d be rude to grab it and blow my nose...?  I don’t know the rules, so I do what anyone does when they have nothing, I start wiping the nose on the back of my hand.  Casually.  Trying to make her not notice, I start unintentionally talking crazy “Hey Deb, by the way have you noticed how cold it is lately? Burrr. It’s sweater weather! 
*leaning across the table I whisper*  
I just bought this great sweater actually... Hey where do ghetto people live in a sweater? THE HOOD! huyuck huyuck huyuck!!!!”
(sadly, that’s actually exactly what my nervous laugh sounds like)    
Needless to say the interview ended shortly after that, and again, not knowing what to do, I offer a handshake goodbye, except she’s been watching me wipe my snot on the back of my hand for the past twenty minutes, and she doesn’t want to shake my hand, I can see that in her eyes, but now we don’t know what to do, and it’s weird and awkward, and finally she grasps just my fingertips and I walk away knowing full well that there is no point in continuing my day, and head home, and throw  back on my maternity wear.  
Now I feel better, so hopefully I catch up with life,
after my awesome dance party in my room though :)