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Wheelchair Asshole

2011-04-07T12:38:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my berfday (go vampira!). I made plans to hang out with two of my favorites, John and Irmy, at the 11th St. Diner on Washington Ave for some cake. Two out of the three of us are avoiding alcohol for a little while so we were like, "No alcohol, just CAKE." They got to the Diner before I did, so I was speed-walking my way over there. There was a hot black guy walking down the sidewalk towards me and when he saw me he stopped and waited for me to walk past him. He had take-out food in one hand and held out his other hand for me to shake. Being the friendly tranny that I am, I smiled and shook his hand, and kept walking. He turned around and asked me, "When do I get to see you again?!" I yelled back, "You don't!" That reply prompted him to run after me. Whaaaat?! Dude ran down half a block to catch up to me. I started laughing and yelled, "FASTER!!" When he caught up to me I stopped and we talked for a little while. He gave me his number and we chatted for a little while. He seemed like a really nice guy but I'm not dating anyone until I start to look my age. And by the looks of it, that will be when I am deceased and decomposing in a grave somewhere.
I made it to the Diner and my babies were sitting outside waiting for me. I asked if we were gonna stay outside or go indoors and grab a booth. The weather was nice and the people-watching was interesting so we decided to stay outside. Across the street we saw this dude in a wheelchair letting out these weird crack-addict screams. At one point he stood up from his chair and walked over to a garbage can. We were like, "Awesome, he doesn't even need the wheelchair... "
While we waited for our waitress to bring us some menus, we saw two guys walk down the sidewalk right next to our table. One of them was a tall white dude, with a shaved head and a handlebar moustache, and his arms were sleeved up in colorful tattoos. I said, "That dude is delicious." Irmy laughed and John wanted to take a look, so he pretended to be a super-obvious Peeping Tom and look through the bushy potted plant right behind him. Irmy and I laughed at the way John was rustling through the plant, when he could have easily leaned forward and taken a better look at Delicious Dude. I asked him to hold the pose so I could get a picture of him, when we noticed that the wheelchair crackhead had Fred Flinstone'd his wheelchair across the street and stopped right next to our freaking table. I put my phone down & told John, "Ok, wait, I'll take the picture in a little while."
I didn't know crackheads had bionic hearing, because this motherfucker called me out on my putting my phone away. He cracked out, "What, I come over here and you put your phone down? Ahh! What, I'm not a person? What, you're better than me? Ahh! What, I spent five years in prison! You don't learn shit in school!! Only on the streets and in prison! I was in prison!!" He rambled on about how... um.... crap, I don't remember the rest of his crack monologue. He spotted a man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk behind us and yelled out to him to bum a cigarette. Then he pretended he had difficulty standing up out of his chair, yelling, "Ahhh my leg is broken!!" The other man walked over and gave him a cigarette, and then crackie sat back down and .... fucking stayed there, watching us. Very casually. Dude was not going anywhere. When the waitress came out, John said to her, "This guy won't leave... maybe we should go inside...." The waitress said to the Wheelchair Asshole in Argentine spanish (I can always spot the Argents), "Señor, por favor, se puede mover un poquito, porque los esta molestando." (Sir, please, can you move away a little, because you're bothering them.) This request provoked Wheelchair Asshole to yell, "YO ME VOY PA' LA PINGA!!!" Roughly translated, this means, "I'm gonna go fuck myself!!!" The awesome Argentine waitress calmly replied, "Bueno, ¿se puede ir para la pinga ahora?" ("Well, can you go fuck yourself now?") Irmy and I were dying laughing because she was so calm about it, she spoke with the same intonation as when she greeted us and brought us our drinks. The four of us collected our things and everything on the table and high-tailed it inside. It took us a few minutes to compose ourselves and stop laughing at how awesomely our waitress handled that douche.
At the end of the night, we Mission:Impossible'd our way out of the diner, sneaking around the corner, waiting to see if there was a super-pissed-off-ex-felon-crackhead barreling down the sidewalk, trying to take one of us out with his wheelchair of delusion. The coast was clear and the night was saved, all by one petite Argentine waitress with an immeasurable amount of sass.

Donald & Tina

2011-04-04T17:05:00.001-04:00

Donald Glover, (Troy from Community) on Tina Fey: "Tina Fey had probably the biggest influence on me other than my parents. She's just not afraid. I loved watching her work cause she was so brave. I was really scared when I got to 30 Rock, she was like "I don't give a fuck. Be you. If it's funny, it's in the script." And watching 30 Rock, there's so much Tina there that it made me see how I should start being me more too. Started putting out more music and started not being as afraid to be me. Tina is a true gangsta. She don't give a FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK. I put her against any chick in the game.

EDIT: "Against ANYONE in the game." She'd destroy anything. If she started rapping, I'd quit. I don't want that.

Lost and Fou---WTF IS THAT

2010-11-29T21:57:00.002-05:00

The other day at work there was this thing laying on the ground and I walked over to pick it up and throw it away because I hate litter. When I got to this object I stopped dead in my tracks. The little Hispanic lady standing next to this thing was staring down at it. We stared quietly at this object for a few seconds, then simultaneously looked at each other and were like, "¿¡Que es eso?!" I asked her where it came from; she said she didn't know, that she just saw it laying there on the floor. I said, "Que cosa mas rara....." then scooped it up in a tray. I stared at it in the tray for a good while, longer than I should have I suppose, but I just had so many questions for this little guy!!!
I wanted to know where it came from. Did this fall out of someone's suitcase or purse? Did this fall out of someone's pocket? Or did this fall off someone's hand? Was this a prosthetic thumb?! What happened to the biological finger this fake finger replaced, was it severed in a heavy machinery accident? Did the wearer take off fakey to sleep at night? Did the wearer have a special dish on their night stand for this little guy? What was the purpose of the red fabric inside? And furthermore, why was this thing never washed?! Oh filthy little angel prosthetic thumb!!! Where have you been in your travels that your owner couldn't once take you in the shower with him?! You poor little fake thumb......

Also, I should mention that this fake thumb was hard as heck. It was not rubbery or squishy but hard and plastic-y. I turned it in to the Lost & Found, just in case the owner came back for his yucky digit.

5 things VIII

2010-11-25T23:34:00.000-05:00

Five things I'm grateful for, in no particular order:
1. Ikea
2. My dermatologist
3. Unlimited texting
4. Cheetos
5. Ryan Gosling

xoxo

5 things VII

2010-11-24T23:45:00.000-05:00

Five words I love, Wednesday, 11/24, 11:44pm.
1. sociopath
2. uterus
3. frenzy
4. exhilarating
5. translucent

xoxo

5 things VI

2010-11-22T23:48:00.001-05:00

Five things that will always be awesome, Monday, 11:41 pm:
1. Netflix.
2. My homeboy Scott's texts in "Spanish." That white boy cracks me UP! (ok sorry, I know you're not 'white,' Italian-German mofo.)
3. Tina Fey.
4. Twinkies.
5. My bro. Diego will always be awesome.

xoxo

5 things V

2010-11-21T23:59:00.004-05:00

Five things I love, Sunday, November 21st, 11:44 pm.
1. Spent the weekend with my super-amazing brother, his super-sweet new girlfriend, my tranny-betch cousine, and my bro's friends, who all, understandably, adore my bro.
2. Having friends that don't yell at me for texting while driving.
3. I love the sepia setting on my camera. I love it so much.
4. Simultaneously texting my TWD buddies during the show, discussing our thoughts, feelings, and rage at the survivors/walkers/vatos.
5. Singing along to Nirvana at the top of my bird-lungs in my car on really long drives.

xoxo

5 things IV

2010-11-05T22:41:00.001-04:00

Five things that are totally awesome, right now, November 5th, 2010, 10:14 pm.

1. My body is really sore from my kickboxing class last night, but I haven't felt this good in a really long time.

2. Meester Escott, my rad internet friend that lives in one of my favorite cities in the world (Richmond), telling me I'm a "down-ass bitch."

3. Watching an encore presentation of AMC's The Walking Dead, and accepting the fact that this is something I may very well develop a '30 Rock'-like addiction to.

4. Going to Ikea tomorrow with Belinda-tran.

5. Knowing that I'm gonna be working with two of my favorite work buddies for the next year (I'm lookin' at you, Rashaund and Chiqueta, I'm lookin' at you...)

xoxo

5 things III

2010-11-05T00:04:00.003-04:00

Really quick, before midnight, 5 things that I love, November 4th, 2010, 11:55 pm.
1. Mama Isabel saying, "they sell like hot bread" instead of "they sell like hotcakes," in her cute Argentine accent.
2. Um hello miss lady my super awesome cardio kickboxing class I had tonight!!!
3. The tranny I met today, named David, with lots of plastic surgery and a botched nose job.
4. The first phone conversation with my internet friend who is totally rad (and btw laughed at all my jokes)
5. Sitting in the bathroom with my MacBook, naked save for undies and a heaping pile of hair dye in my weave, 'cause you know i gotta wash the grays right outta my hair!!!!

xoxo

It finally happened.

2010-11-04T23:56:00.000-04:00

I recently began a new shift at work, where I get off at sweet and lovely 2:30 pm, but I go in at the exhausting and brutal time of 8:30 am. Which means I set my alarm at 6:45 and snooze 'til about 7:10. Today though, I overslept until 7:18. That is very late, you see! So, I jumped in the shower, got dressed, hurriedly brushed my teeth, and put some self-esteem, AKA makeup, on.
Later in the day at work, I went to the bathroom and as usual, I looked at myself in the mirror. Primarily because I'm vain and I love checking myself out in any reflective surface I walk past, but also to check on my hair. I'm letting it grow out, and it's beginning to evolve into a big curly mess. Also, I don't really bother doing anything to my weave in the morning. I just pull it back with a headband and call it a day. Because of my chronic hair-styling-in-the-morning laziness, I tend to have this constant flat spot on the back of my head, where my head and pillow have made sweet, sweet love all six to seven hours that I am getting my beauty sleep.
Well, when I looked in the mirror today at work, I looked ... weird. I was like, "Damn gurl, what's wrong witcher face?!" I thought I definitely needed to get more sleep, or maybe even some sun. I couldn't recognize myself. I just stared at my reflection until I finally began to identify the face looking back at me. I recognized the face in the mirror from a small, obscure movie... maybe you've heard of it? It's called Mommie Dearest. I actually managed to pencil in some Joan Crawford eyebrows in my sleepyface rush to get to work on time.

I was so freakin' amused with myself. I mean, I love Joan, I really love Mommie Dearest, and I really, really love my eyebrows. I just never thought I would subconsciously merge the three on my face, by accident, without being in full costume or character. (Oh, who am I kidding? There's always a little Joan Crawford in me. Trust.) Although I adore Joan, I really need to sharpen my eyebrow pencil before I fill in my eyebrows in the morning, because, as Tim Gunn would say, "That's A LOT of look!!" And really, only Joan can pull that off. I just looked a little ... a little too Baker acted, if you know what I mean...

xoxo

5 things II

2010-11-03T22:31:00.001-04:00

Five things that I love, right now, Wednesday, November 3rd, 2010, 10:23 pm:
1. Modern Family.
2. Sharing a PBR tall boy with my mom.
3. Making racist jokes at work with my girl Chiqueta.
4. Little Debbie Nutty Bars.
5. My brand new purple watch.

xoxo

5 things

2010-11-02T23:47:00.001-04:00

Alright, really quick, five things off the top of my head that I love, at this moment in time, Tuesday, November 2nd, 2010, at 11:40 pm.
1. Watching Everybody Loves Raymond with my dad.
2. Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime Tea.
3. My new dark green and sparkly nail polish called Emerald City.
4. The sound the doggie door makes when Nina goes outside.
5. The new embroidery piece I started last night and finished a little while ago.

xoxo

Belinda and Her Owl Hat

2010-11-01T22:34:00.000-04:00

On Halloween Belinda and I headed down to Flamingo Park to have a photo shoot with the owl ear-flap hat I crocheted for her. I took about fifty pics, and these are my favorites.

Little Baby Babies

2010-10-29T22:46:00.004-04:00

Meet some small creatures I have given life to.

First up, we have little Walter. He just started first grade in Richmond, Virginia. He loves ice cream, polka dots, and walking around barefoot.

Next up, we have lovely Sabine. She is an Accessories Designer from Paris. She loves to play board games and belongs to a Synchronized Swimming team.

Finally, we have Mosquito. He hails from the Black Hills of South Dakota. He is very charming and has a great sense of humor. He loves to play the drums and is a part-time pastry chef.

This is their last week living with me. Next week they will be moving to their new homes, but I'm sure they will be loved and cared for as much as I have. I love you little babies!!! See you later!!! Don't forget to write!!!

Enlightenment

2010-10-29T22:19:00.000-04:00

On Tuesday night I went to my first yoga class in years. The instructor and her assistant laughed when I told them I had bought my yoga mat a year ago, but had just taken it out of the plastic package the night before. True story. The class was really great, and I definitely will return next week for some more yoga action, and also because I don't really think I went where the instructor wanted me to go. I mean, while she was leading us through meditations and breathing exercises, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I like the way my legs look in tights, but I also kept thinking, "Please Tina Fey, do not let me get a camel toe."

This One's For My Trannies

2010-10-27T20:20:00.002-04:00

Last weekend I had a three-day weekend due to a change in my work schedule. I used to be off Fridays and Saturdays, and now I'm off Saturdays and Sundays (go on and hate). I was thinking about how to spend my three-day weekend when I heard the call of a tranny in distress. (The tranny-in-distress call is not unlike the sound of a young gaysian belting out terrible karaoke songs.)
I hurriedly packed my fabulous PBR duffle bag and hauled ass outta Miami to visit my Tampa Bay tranny, my cousine Goldie. We spent Friday night surrounded by fabulous gays and manly drag queens at Hamburger Mary's in Ybor City, where we ordered, among other things, fried twinkies. Um hello miss lady yes you are imagining that correctly: super tasty and super fried Twinkies.

As far as the entertainment at Hamburger Mary's, I kept thinking, "These queens ain't got shit on my ladies at Lips!!" (Haven't been to Lips, in Ft. Lauderdale? GO. Make reservations RIGHT NOW and go. You will NOT be disappoint. Trust.) After Hamburger Mary's we went to a small gay shop where I found the perfect magnet for me:

Oh, you haven't heard about my last break-up? Yeah, this magnet sums it up REAL. QUICK. ::finger snaps::

On Saturday, Goldie and I wandered around Ikea, daydreaming about all the things we would buy if money were no object, and also speculating about how many germs were on the beds and mattresses on display. We also thought it was hilarious imitating our moms getting in and out of bed. Our grandmother is right: we're shitty daughters. (Just kidding, brother, don't get all dad on me.)

On Saturday evening we joined our other Tampa tranny, Mia, and a few other friends at a German restaurant. My first time eating German food was uh-mazing. Loved it, LOVED IT! The food was super delicious, and there was this tiny little old lady playing the accordion and singing. Sweetness!!!

The food was so delicious that Mia couldn't help but lick her plate.

Seriously:

"Damn, Mia, chill the fuck out!! You in public, girl!"

This might be one of my most favorite pics I've ever taken with my iPhone.

After dinner we got down to some good ol' fashioned pumpkin carvin.' Goldie, Mia, Andrew, and I headed back to Goldie's house to get down n' get dirty with some pumpkin goo. We had some Octoberfest beer and some candy corn. Even though Andrew kept saying how disgusting candy corn is I couldn't stop shoveling them in my mouth; I will always love the candy corn!!! You can't make me stop loving candy corn, Andrew, you failed candy corn interventionist!!!!

Ok so with three pumpkins and four people, Goldie and Andrew tag-teamed a pumpkin, while Mia and I each had our own. Goldie and Andrew used a pattern from a pumpkin-carving book, and they went straight for the four-pumpkin patterns. I speculated that the number of little pumpkin icons a pattern had should be indicative of how many pumpkins you'd fuck up before realizing your pumpkin carving mistakes and correcting them on yet another pumpkin. The number of little pumpkin icons a pattern gets is in direct correlation to the difficulty of carving that specific pattern on your big, wonky, orange, goo-filled gourd. (Can we talk about yummy pumpkin goo, and how fun scraping it out of the pumpkin is? Can I get a job where I just mash my fingers in pumpkin goo and pumpkin seeds all day? Email me. Serious inquiries only.)

Mia and I wanted to go pattern-free and wing it, and so we drew inspiration from our roots. Here are our pumpkins:

Goldie and Andrew's Four-Pumpkin Pumpkin

Mia's Pumpkin:

My pumpkin:

And the pumpkin pageantry on full display:

The Wu Pumpkins:

I was able to perfectly carve out each letter, so of course this provided us with more photo opps:

This was my tribute to Liz Lemon:

On Sunday morning, Goldie, Mia, and I had Mexican for breakfast at Taco Bus. I had a really tasty tofu quesadilla, but I don't remember what the other trannies ate because we were having a serious tranny discussion. Mostly sharing tips on maintaining and maximizing our fabulous tranny ways, and what to do when we hear the call of a tranny in distress.

Also, the words "douchebag," "idiot," and "fucking low-life" may also have been dropped a few times. Just sayin.'

Overall it was an awesome weekend spent with strong, fabulous trannies and lots of really good food. I tell ya, having a bird stomach makes me re-consider my whole stance on bulimia sometimes. Don't judge. Fried Twinkies and a four-course German meal wouldn't DARE judge you, so don't you be judging me as their vessel, their super fabulous (oh Tina Fey, more food, fuuuuu, how the hell am I supposed to finish all this delicious food) vessel.

I wish I could quit you!!!

2010-08-27T01:43:00.004-04:00

It's been a little over twenty-four hours since I quit facebook. I wasn't sure how to commemorate this triumph until I checked my email and saw a new message from my gay husband, Luz Clarita De La Playa. He sent me this video with the message: "I saw this & instantly thought of you. Enjoy." I watched the video, fell in love, and replied with, "He wears a bigger bra cup than me."

Congratulations to me for going a whole day without facebook. I am awesome! Or as Nick puts it, "brave."

Hank

2010-05-16T23:15:00.002-04:00

A little something I made for a friend. Charles Bukowski quote, hand embroidery on canvas.

Sometimes the back of certain embroidery pieces are so lovely to me.

The Night We Met Tyler: Part 2

2010-05-16T00:40:00.002-04:00

I just unhinged my jaw and swallowed whole three quarters of the biggest burrito I've ever had in my life. I now lay immobilized on my bed with an engorged stomach, so naturally I felt it was the right time to continue my Tyler story. I need to type fast before my body begins to violently reject my late dinner and I'm sent running for the hills. The hills being my kitchen, where I can puke in the garbage can, surrounded by the comforting sight of all the PBR cans strewn about this afternoon by Billy, Bel, and me. We abandon empty beer cans on any flat surface, and later as I go about collecting them I reminisce about whatever random ridiculousness we were laughing at that distracted us enough that we would forget the can completely.

In "The Night We Met Tyler: Part 1," I left off at the part where the three of us became a unit. During our initial bonding experience, a tattooed guy walked into the bar. (You know how I feel about tattooed dudes...) He sat to Tyler's right and they talked to each other for quite a while. Then he came around and started asking me who tattooed my arms, and what my tattoos meant, etc. He asked what nationality I was, and when I told him my parents are Argentine, but I was born and raised in Miami, he instantly became the most fucking annoying person in South Beach.

He started talking about Che Guevara, and giving me his theory as to why "this country fucking sucks," and how he "can't wait to get the fuck out," and it was all just a shit-storm of anti-American sentiments. My dad's a Vietnam Veteran and my brother's a veteran of both Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom wars, so I was about ready to gouge out this fucker's eyeballs. Which brings us to how he got his nickname, Crazy Eyes. He had light eyes; on a well-adjusted individual they would have been really attractive. However, on a drunken, bellicose, idiot, they made him look like a psych ward escapee. Especially 'cause he was all wide-eyed and shifty. After what felt like an eternity, and after he nearly had me in a boredom-induced coma, I looked at Tyler and Belinda with pleading eyes that screamed, "HELP ME!" I think they were enjoying my uncomfortable body language and overall look of despair, because I was slowly sliding off my barstool and must have had the worst posture ever. At one point I just leaned over and said to them, (not even caring if Crazy Eyes could hear me,) "This guy is insane, he's insane!" Tyler just laughed, and I was like, "Do you not care? He's nuts. Really. Belinda help. Help me please. I'll buy you a beer. Get him away from me." The music in there was loud enough that I thought Crazy Eyes wouldn't hear me. When I turned back to Crazy Eyes, his eyes had gotten wider, and he puffed his mouth up like a blowfish. I thought for sure he heard me talking shit about him and was gettin' ready to knock me on my ass, when he continued talking about how America is such a huge piece of shit. Apparently, not only is Crazy Eyes partially deaf, but he has a unique way of catching his breath when he's in the middle of a rant. Acting like an underwater sea creature only added to his batshit crazy vibe.

Eventually Crazy Eyes left me to go empty his angry bladder (at this point I just assumed he had lots of misdirected anger in his small tattooed frame and that he must have really violent bodily functions). Belinda, Tyler, and I regrouped, and I explained to them that they are not to allow Crazy Eyes to get that close to me again. I asked Tyler, "What the hell were you two talking about for so long? 'Cause all I got was crazy-talk." Tyler was too nice to say anything mean about Crazy Eyes. Which is really fine with me, 'cause I got enough bitch in me for a small village. (A small village populated by a dying breed of tiny people.)

So there we were, the three of us, sitting at the bar talking while simultaneously shunning any stranger that tried to infiltrate our Circle Of Trust, when Belinda and I were approached by a super cute, short-haired, tattooed girl. She asked us a question about where would be a good place to go dancing, when Belinda pointed to a tattoo on her inner arm. Immediately recognizing the Hedwig tattoo, I grabbed her arm and shrieked. I think I freaked her out because she politely yanked her arm out of my grip. Belinda laughed and I was like, "OMG OMG HEDWIG!!!!"

That's how we met lovely Dominique and her beautiful aunt, Annika. They were on vacation from San Francisco, weren't shifty-eyed, and seemed well-adjusted, so we allowed them entry into our Circle of Trust. After a little while, Tyler and Annika kind of drifted off into their own conversation, and Belinda and Dominique did the same. I was left an open and easy target for Crazy Eyes, and he didn't waste any time in gettin' back to me. This time around, however, he didn't talk about what he feels is wrong with this country, he talked about his failing marriage. I was thinking, "Dude, talking to girls in bars is not the way to repair your marriage..." but whatever, the guy already seemed a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. Not the sharpest tool in the shed. The lights are on, but nobody's home. I'll stop.

After Dominique and Annika left, we quickly formed our trio again, and went back to shunning outsiders. Belinda and I decided that Tyler was nice enough and non-creepy enough that we would want to hang out with him again on his vacation. Belinda and I put my number in Tyler's phone as "Belinda & Kat, Tour Guides." He was going to be in South Beach for a little over a week, and the next day his friend/bandmate, Mike was flying in.

Which brings me to the next installment in my blog, "The Night We Met Mike, Tony, Eric, Howard, Danny, and Crazy Eyes 2.0."

The Night We Met Tyler: Part 1

2010-05-15T10:10:00.003-04:00

As you know by now, Belinda and I frequent a small bar two blocks away from my apartment: Lush!!! It has one pool table, two big bathrooms, and three cool bartenders. The best part is that it's not your typical "South Beach" bar by any means. It's a great place for low-maintenance-personality types; a haven for genuine people with real hang-ups and occasional social-anxiety disorder. We went to our home-away-from home a few Tuesdays ago, and as we walked in, were greeted with an awesome thank you from the HBIC (Head Bartender In Charge) Justin, for finding him a ska band to play the following night. He was so happy, he gave us each a beer on the house as we took our seats at the bar. I said to him, "God, I really hope they don't suck... I've never heard them before but they came highly recommended from a reliable source, so they should be... sorta good...?" He said, "I don't care, I don't care, I'm just happy to have a live ska band here tomorrow night!!" Earlier when I said, "God, I hope they don't suck," the bearded guy sitting at the bar to our right laughed at my comment. I thought, "Well, there's a friendly fellow..." Little did I know that we were going to be spending the next crazy week with him and his friend. (That's not a euphemism; his "friend" is actually his buddy that flew into Miami the next day.)
So Belinda and I sat there making small talk with Justin, while Bearded Dude drank his beers and politely eavesdropped. Justin asked us where we were from, and Belinda said, "I'm from Jacksonville, and she's from Miami." He looked at me and said, "Miami? Really?! You don't look like you're from Miami." Belinda said, "Well, she does have those chola eyebrows..." I laughed and said, "These eyebrows are from South Central, honey!" Justin, Belinda, and Bearded Dude all laughed out loud; they understood that my eyebrows are a status symbol one should not fuck with.
Since we don't own TVs, Belinda and I always get sucked in to the hypnotic flat-screen TV that hangs right over our seats at the bar. They usually have an EXTREME sports reality show playing. We sat there silently watching skiing on TV and then for some strange reason, we started talking about dying, specifically, ways we would prefer to die. Because naturally, skiing makes me think of death.
When it comes to death and dying, my feelings and thoughts on the matter have changed over the years, except for one thought that's remained the same: I hope nothing happens to my eyebrows. (One day I was thrift shopping with my cousin and brother. Diego grabbed a funny hat and plopped it right on my head. The look of horror on my face was his cue to take it off immediately. He said, "Sorry! I forgot how you are with germs and other people's hats." I replied, "No, it's not that. My eyebrows! Did you mess up my eyebrows?!" I was more concerned that my eyebrows had been temporarily messed up than if some tiny critter laid eggs in my hair. True Story.)
I was telling Belinda that I would rather be set on fire than die by drowning, and we were discussing the logistics of the two, when Bearded Dude started laughing and said something like, "Are you two really talking about ways to die?" Belinda said to him, "Yeah, she says she would rather die from a fire than from drowning, which I think would be less painless and more peaceful." So the two of them started trying to convince me that I was fucked up for choosing fire over drowning, at least, that's the way it felt. Those goddamned bullies. They had me imagine myself dying from drowning, floating towards the bottom of the ocean, at which point my lungs began to close up inside my drunk birdcage chest. After I could breathe normally again, the three of us were emotionally attached for the rest of the night.

to be continued.... (in other words, I forgot details of that night [don't judge] so I gotta call my partner-in-crime Bel.)

Fear and Loathing In ... The Lounge Car

2010-04-19T23:02:00.007-04:00

Meeting and finding out all about new people is one of my favorite things. Seeing a really cute guy but not having the courage to talk to him is one of my least favorite things. The two of these happened to me on the train ride to Tampa on Thursday afternoon in the Lounge Car. If you're on a train ride and want to meet, share a beer with, or simply stare at, random strangers, you head to the Lounge Car.
After having woken up from a seriously uncomfortable and short nap in my seat, I realized that the blonde lady that sat next to me was gone. She had been friendly and I knew I could strike up a conversation with her. A baby was crying a few rows ahead of me, and some inconsiderate douche was watching a movie on his laptop at full volume and without headphones. My options for decent behavior at this point were limited. I couldn't tell the crying baby to shut the hell up, but I was about to channel my frustrations with it and with the action-movie-loving-and-headphones-hating-douche entirely on the dude with the laptop. I was wondering how to handle the situation, if at all. The only things dancing around in my brains were really mean, laced with profanities, and completely passive-aggressive. Something along the lines of, "Excuse me, but do you have your headphones with you? Because no one else here wants to listen to your shitty movie, and clearly you and that baby are the two rudest motherfuckers in this car. So either put on some headphones or turn that shit off and read a book!!!" (I really can't stand the sound of a baby crying. I once told a co-worker I'd rather hear someone get shot than listen to a crying infant. The fucked up thing is I really meant it.)
I got up from my seat and headed to the bathroom. Using a bathroom on a train requires great balance and coordination, neither of which would ever be used to describe me. I'm more clumsy than a baby bull in a china shop. I was happy and relieved (literally and mentally) that I didn't come within an inch of that toilet. Yikes. Also, let's talk about the fact that I didn't have to use soap to wash my hands because the water was so damn scalding hot, I'm pretty sure it burned off whatever germs I had hanging out on the surface of my hands.
I made my way to the Lounge Car which was about three cars away. I stumbled my way through the cars trying not to fall on anyone's lap as the train was going so fast it was almost flying off the tracks. When I opened the sliding door to the Lounge, I scanned the room, first, to see if there were any available booths, then, to see who was in there that I would be drawn to in order to extract their whole life story. And that's when I laid eyes on him. He was sitting in the last booth on the right, in the corner, against the window. I thought to myself, "Hello.... that's a hot piece...." We made eye contact and of course I was instantly shy; it's like I crawl into a shell and the only way to lure me out is either with gay guys or tacos. I walked into the small cafe area to buy a Red Bull, and then walked back to the lounge. I picked an empty booth facing him, because even though I didn't have the sober courage to actually speak to him, I did want to just prop my head in my hands and gaze at him constantly, then look away nervously when he would catch me staring. It's really mature of me, I know, I know, you don't have to say it.
I pulled out my Chelsea Handler book, "Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang," and read a little bit here and there in between observing the other passengers, lookin' out the window, and getting caught starin' at him. He looked like a younger, more innocent Johnny Depp, not young like 21-Jump-Street-young, but maybe a few years older. More of a Secret-Window-Johnny. He was wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt over a t-shirt; the sleeves were rolled up and so his tattoos were visible, and you all know how I feel about a cute guy with nice colorful tattoos..... Crap I'm getting carried away. Ok let's continue. He was wearing a fedora and had such a nice smile. Oh wait, let's clarify that he wasn't smiling at me (yet) but because he was smiling at the people he was sitting with and I was facing him I would catch glimpses.
He was sitting with an older man and two women, and I was trying to figure out what their relationships to him were, in order to see how good my chances were of making my way onto his lap. I thought they might be his family, but then I heard the most magical thing: they asked him how old he was! Then, they asked him what his tattoos meant!!! I suddenly knew that they were perfect strangers and the door was wide open. I would not get shanked with a broken beer bottle for trying to talk to him.

::sigh:: Even though I knew that he was traveling alone, I still did not have the courage to talk to him, and I was growing more and more frustrated as the time passed. He began smiling at me, which was lovely, but how was I supposed to break the ice when he was surrounded by three drunk people that seemed to really like him, and as a result, not leave his freaking side? As I was thinking of how to pounce, another guy walked into the Lounge Car and asked me if he could sit at my booth. Of course I said yes, while two words flashed in great big neon letters while fireworks fired off behind them, in my brains: COCK BLOCK. I really did appreciate that I finally had someone to talk to, I was just bummed that it was a young man around my age who could potentially turn away any hot, tattooed, fedora-wearing guys that might be interested in talking to me. I mean, shit, I had the entire booth to myself!! I put my book away and started talking to the New Guy. We never exchanged names, just where we were from, where we were headed to, our ages, and a little bit about who we were visiting and why. He had such a strange dialect; when I could understand what he was saying to me, I laughed because he was funny. We joked around about a few of the other passengers in the car, and he laughed at all my jokes. I decided to go buy a beer in the cafe because I had relaxed a little in talking to New Guy, so it was time for some liquid courage in order to talk to the hot, tattooed, fedora-wearing dude.
Even though I had Blue Moon coursing through my veins, it was still impossible to take the hot dude away from his fan club. The only thing that would have been a guaranteed tactic would have been to stand up, point at him and say, "Let's go for a walk!!" then grab him arm in arm as I lead him away to a more secluded car. Totally romantic and non-creepy, right?? Totes mug-otes!!!
Finally the train slowed down and approached the Tampa station. One of his fans said the saddest thing, "Good luck in Atlanta!" I knew we were parting ways. The other blonde lady, who I recognized as the blonde that sat next to me for like five minutes before taking off for the lounge, said to him, "Call me if you need anything!!" I felt so frustrated with myself!!! I hate being shy, I'm really not that shy anymore, but when there's a hot piece in the mix I resort to a catatonia that can only be cured with beer.
I knew I better head to my seat, get my PBR duffle bag, and get off the train with the rest of the Tampa crew. I said goodbye to New Guy, but couldn't bring myself to look at the tattooed wonder.
Once back at my seat, I said to the blonde, "The guy at your table, with the tattoos.... tell me all about him." She went nuts! She said, "Ohhh, that's Matt, isn't he cute??" And I said, "Yes! He's very cute, what do you know about him??" I knew she was drunk because she kept saying how cute he was and if she wasn't engaged she would totally try to hook up with him because he was just too cute! She said, "His name is Matt, and he's a musician, and he's moving to Atlanta, and he's sooo sweet and cute!!" I said, "You have to text him for me, please! Tell him I said 'hi!'" She was quick to whip out her phone and text away, and we both waited for the reply like a couple of game show contestants waiting to see what we had won. He wrote back and we shrieked, and by this time every passenger within earshot knew what we were doing and how cute Matt was. Kim asked Matt if she could give me his number. He replied, "Ha ha, did she ask for it?" Then drunk Kimmie gave him my phone number, saying, "You don't mind, right?" I said, "Oh Hell no! You give him my number!!! Oh my god... how excitiiing!!!" Clearly, Kim and I are cut from the same cloth because every time Matt would text her back we would giggle. (Heaven help us.)
We made our way off the train and Kim stopped outside to smoke a cigarette. I told her I needed to get to the bathroom as soon as possible because my bladder was about to get up and walk out, all the while yelling at me about how irresponsible I was to let her get that full and did I not know how unhealthy that is?!?! My organs can be really passive-aggressive and controlling.
Matt texted me a little while later. We became facebook friends that night. He sent me the link to his music, and I listened to it and liked it so much. It's very reminiscent of Bright Eyes, which I love. I joked with him that it was a really good thing I didn't listen to his music before getting to Tampa because I surely would've missed my stop and stayed on the train with him... yeah... I totally would have. ::sigh::

liquid courage.

I shall call him... Bartender

2010-04-13T20:34:00.002-04:00

Thursday night I went to a local dive bar with my girl Belinda. We walked in with our own beers, sat at a small table, and talked while drinking our beers, very casually. You see, we're very casual ladies. There were five other people in there: a couple playing pool, two guys sitting at the bar (one had a skateboard with him: major sighs), and the bartender. A little while later the skater took off and we both sighed heavily, as he was quite tasty. We decided to go sit at the bar and order a couple of beers. The bartender smiled at us and said, "So you finally decided to join us," to which I replied, "Yes, but we're very anti-social, so please don't talk to us. Look away!" He laughed and said, "Ok, I'll get you your drinks, then leave you alone." The guy sitting at the bar finished his drink and took off. A few minutes later the couple playing pool walked out, leaving just the three of us in this tiny bar. I said to Belinda, "Are we driving everyone away?" The bartender heard me and said, "You guys are bad for business!" We giggled and I believe we simultaneously had the same thought, "Um, helloooo bartender.... (wink wink ....)"
So I waved him over to us and he smiled and said, "Oh, now you're ready to talk?" And I smiled and said, "Yeah, I just have a few questions." If you know me, and know what my definition of the term, "just a few questions," is, then you know that I interrogated the shit out of that bartender. I asked him why he didn't have a dart board in the bar. He said they once had one, but people kept walking in front of it. I said, "Um... if you're walking in front of a dart board, you deserve to get hit with a dart." I asked where in the bar had they placed the dart board, and we talked about other areas where it could work. I asked if he was a surfer. I forgot his reply to that question since I was distracted by his nose; he very much resembled Michelangelo's David. I asked what was up with the stripper pole in the corner; he said, "That's not a stripper pole, that's a support beam!" I asked if it was his bar, I asked where the airline seats against the wall came from, I asked about the red lighting in the ladies room, I asked what his favorite beer in the case was, I asked about the deli case, and I asked about the jello shots. He brought Belinda and I a couple of jello shots. I looked at her and whispered, "I'm still recuperating..." I was still recovering from my cray-cray birthday Tuesday night. Belinda told him it was my birthday the other day and we had a crazy night. He said, "Well the jello shots are my birthday gift to you." So charming, that bartender... He said his favorite beer in the case was Sierra Nevada but lately he'd been drinking lots of Blue Moon. Belinda said she once had one with an orange wedge, and it was delicious. Bartender said he heard it was really good with the orange but they didn't have any orange wedges. I told Bartender that next time we were going to take our own dart board and orange wedges.
For a little while Belinda and I were mesmerized by the flat screen TV. Neither of us have TVs and rely on Hulu and the Internets to watch our shows. So we weren't so interested in the content of the programing as we were by the crispness of the images and the vibrant colors playing out before us on the big flat screen TV hanging directly over us. We explained this to Bartender and he said it was a good thing to not have a TV. The three of us stared quietly at the TV for a little while, and a few people started to trickle in.
Early on in my questioning a group of blondes walked in. I thought they were totally gonna ruin the vibe the three of us had going. Luckily they only wanted to know where the good restaurants were and had no intention of staying. They asked if he had any drink specials, then yelled, "Okaaay, we'll be back!!" We were like, "Yeah, they're definitely not coming back in here." I was happy to see them leave; they didn't even seem interesting enough to talk to or interrogate. Plus I wanted Bartender's undivided attention.
So, Belinda and I are making our way back to that bar tonight. I wanna talk to Bartender again and get more material for another post. And stare drunkenly at his lovely profile.

Bartender.

The Undead

2010-04-13T09:42:00.001-04:00

I crocheted a severed zombie finger. Pretty self-explanatory, so here are the pics.

Go Aries, it's ya berfday

2010-04-06T12:55:00.002-04:00

Yippeee!!!!! It's my berfday!!!! And I'm so happy to share my berfday with two people I love Love LOVE!!!!! Happy Birthday to Paul Rudd and Black Francis!!!!!!

Paul Rudd, yummy actor

Black Francis, yummy Pixies frontman

He likes skulls

2010-03-27T23:14:00.003-04:00

I embroidered these little skulls for my cyber- and now real-life-crush, Mr. Lightfoot. I embroidered the sugar skull first, but thought it might be too feminine. I then embroidered the black one, thinking the whole time, "imperfect" and "metal." I gave them to him when we finally met in person last weekend. I was nervous as hell. So nervous, in fact, that I took a small bottle of wine with me on the train ride to meet him. Yes, I took the train to meet him. Shush; don't judge. I knew he wasn't capable of murdering me within the first few minutes of meeting. When we shared our first drink together, we made a toast to rope and chloroform. Oh and he doesn't know this, but when I would text my Top Seven with periodic updates on my safety, I would say things like, "still alive," "happy and unmurdered," and "not strangled yet." Is that morbid? I don't know, I mean, we did meet online... At one point in the past he questioned my desire to kill him. The nerve. You know I'm too lazy for that.

sugar skull

close-up of sugar skull

lots of french knots!

the back of the "metal" skull. i like it so much next time this will be the front.

metal!!! \m/

small skulls

this is how I finished the backs of them. it's not perfect but it's cute.

So I think he liked them because he... um... yeah, he liked them ;o)

Thank You Dave!!!!!

2010-02-24T10:41:00.000-05:00

My buddy Dave (that I've known since fourth grade) made a bunch of mix CDs for Batina's potlick (typo but it's fitting). I got first choice and picked the one he had drawn a big flower on. He is now my official go-to mix-CD guy. This is one of the songs that I fell in love with on the CD. LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!

What My Insides Look Like

2010-02-18T09:38:00.002-05:00

Three Blind Mice

2010-02-13T12:09:00.003-05:00

I really shouldn't be awake right now. Considering how much I drank last night and how little I slept, I should be in bed, under my covers, with Murray in my neck, and sleeping. Last night's craziness started out when the power went out in my building. Thinking the maintenance men blew the fuse, I opened my back door to see if I could see anyone and was aggressively greeted by some hurricane-force winds and hostile rains. I named the storm Tropical Storm Coca Ina.
I took off my Chucks and lay on my bed thinking, "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" I was friggin hungry but didn't think I could manage to get around in that storm. I was just laying here texting my cyber-crush Mr. Lightfoot when I heard the downstairs door open and a male and female voice in the stairwell. I assumed it was my cute downstairs neighbor and his girlfriend, rubbing it in my face that he had someone to get down with in the power outage while I was up here texting a hot piece four hours away. I was so happy/relieved/grateful to get a knock on my back door from Billy and Sh'Angela. Her name is really Angela but I've been watching RuPaul's Drag Race lately and those queens have permanent residence in my brain now (and in my heart, and Raven, in my loins).
Having gotten locked out of their apartment and getting soaked in the rain, they came to scoop me up to go eat and drink. Dee-lish.
So began our evening. We started out at Waxy's for dinner, pitchers of PBR, a Bloody Mary, and some Coor's Light. Afterwards, we headed to the Deuce, where we met an older dude named McCloud, who was quite the chatterbox. I think Billy and Sh'Angela heard his entire life story, while I continued to text Mr. Lightfoot. Seriously, he's freakin' dreamy.
After the Deuce we wanted to take Sh'Angela to the hostel to show her where we spent last Saturday night and where we plan on spending future Saturday nights (two words: hot foreigners).
Billy wanted to change his wet clothes so we went back to their place. There, I drunkenly nailed the shit out of my shin on an insanely heavy van seat they randomly have sitting in their living room. We hung out there for awhile, and Sh'Angela and I walked over to David's to buy some water and sugary treats.
Back at their place Sh'Angela mixed up some Root Beer Vodka drinks and I couldn't drink it; I retched with every sip. Who thought a root beer flavored vodka was a good idea? It's not. Not at that board meeting, not when they manufactured it, not last night, not tonight, not next month, not when the world ends. Root Beer flavor + vodka = the taste in your mouth and the back of your throat after vomiting.
Billy changed and came out to the foyer where I had just taken a picture of myself and realized that my skin tone blended into the color of the walls, which were painted a ghostly-white not commonly found in nature. I took my hoodie off to take more pictures and when Billy zipped up his hoodie right behind me he managed to get the skin on my arm caught in his zipper. HOW does that shit happen?! It hurt like a mother, but definitely not as much as when my shin was violently introduced to the metal frame of the van seat. (Billy had said to me, "That's gonna hurt when you're sober." Uh, no betch, that shit hurt then, drunk and clumsy, that shit hurt.)
We never made it to the hostel. I was about to curl up on the van seat with Buggy but Billy handed me a jump rope, saying, "You need some energy? Here, jump rope!" For about fifteen seconds I was Rocky Balboa, jumping the shit outta that rope.
Once at Automatic's Sh'Angela's friend wouldn't take no for an answer and got me a beer, and then after I finished it, handed me another. I kept telling him, "No, really, thank you, but no, I really can't drink anymore." You wanna know what this guy said to me? He said, "Well, just hold it then." Clearly, when you give a clumsy drunk another beer to "hold," she's gonna drink it, and then, when the slutty barmaid pours a shot of vodka into said drunk's mouth, the clumsy drunk will spill her beer all over the bar. And that's when my liver got up and yelled, "SHUT IT DOWN!" and walked out of her therapist's office.

Billy always manages to find the most random things laying around on the streets and sidewalks of South Beach.

A piece of meat that looked like a whale. And yes, that is blood shooting out of his blowhole.

Sh'Angela and I at Waxy's.

Sweet Buggy

Still life.

Those creme-filled vanilla cupcakes were super tasty.

Is that a ghost?! Oh.. no, it's just me.

Sh'Angela is offering me some bronzer.

I love these two.

Strikin' serious poses.

Vodka bottle in the shape of a skull.

Billy, the skull-shaped bottle, me, and my bird hair.

I Think You Have Too Many Shoes

2010-02-12T15:03:00.002-05:00

I made this bookmark for my cousine's bff Dave. One side reads, "these shoes rule!!!" and the other side reads, "these shoes suck!!!"

Handstitched with love for a fuckin' rad dude.

Don't be a BETCH.

2010-02-12T14:53:00.004-05:00

My cousine Carina, AKA Goldie Hawn, is the most awesome female I've ever met in my life. She is a librarian, a feminist, a rescue-dog owner, and a constant reassurer to me that I also am awesome and it is the WORLD that's crazy, not me. Goldie is the only person that I actually enjoy talking on the phone to. She also introduces me to the greatest things, like Kelly (Lemme Borrow That Top), Psych, and the most annoying person I've ever met, our friend Rey (or as I like to call him, Rey-Rey).

For Christmas this year I made her a bookmark with the word "betch" on one side, and "to goldie ... love joan ..." on the other. (I'm Joan Fucking Crawford, bitches)

I used a satin fuschia floss and it was pretty tricky at times but I really like the end result. Also, because I used fabric glue to adhere the two bookmarks together, it is very firm. (That's what she said!)

Diego Rafael

2010-02-12T14:28:00.000-05:00

A few years ago I made a small cross-stitch for my brother Diego. I finally framed it and gave it to him this Christmas. (I know, I know, I take forever.) The original design was a Halloween theme; the skull and crossbones had small candy corn down the left and right sides and it read "Trick or Treat" over the skull. I wanted to personalize it for him so I kicked the candy corn and the original lettering to the curb, and stitched up his name. It came out pretty rad if I do say so myself. And I think I've gotten better with my time management. (Nope, I really haven't. I'll be late to my own funeral.)

F%#&

2010-02-11T07:16:00.000-05:00

It's 6:29 am and I just woke up from one of the shittiest nightmares of my life. It was horrifying and SO highly detailed, and I think that's why it scared the motherfriggin Hell outta me. I am literally about to start crying because it was just that. awful.

I dreamt that my friend Nehemie was killed in a freak car accident. I woke up, waited for my sleepy fog to dissipate, had to repeatedly tell myself it was just a dream, then text her telling her that I loved her, that she is such an awesome chick, and that I'm so happy we're working together. I can't go back to sleep. I'm in shock. I'm traumatized. I had even started going through the feelings of "going back to work after a co-worker dies" and I swear it totally took me back to my senior year of high school when my friend Adam was killed by a drunk driver.

I'm so distressed right now!!!!

I googled "death in dreams" and found this: "Death in a dream can mean the death or change to a part of your personality or the end of a certain phase in your life."

I understand and accept this explanation, since all the other times I've had dreams involving death were at transitional stages in my life, but this one is different. I mean, the details!!! The news reporters were at the scene of the accident, and the flashing lights on the police cars and the ambulance were so vivid, and then they confirmed it was her, but the only thing that didn't make sense was her age. In my dream nightmare she was thirty-eight years old. In real life she's younger than I am. Does this mean something major will happen in my life when I'm thirty-eight? (That's in over ten years!!! [wink, wink])

Oh my GOD. I'm so scared right now. I feel like I just watched Paranormal Activity. Damn that movie!!!

Speaking of which, have you seen last week's episode of 30 Rock? Tina Fey pays tribute to Paranormal Activity, but even in a brilliant comedy it was creepy...

I need to do something to relax and fall back asleep. There's only one thing I can think of that will help me right now.... RuPaul's Drag Race on Logo.

Don't judge; join me.

Good morning, medicine cabinet.

2010-02-09T10:10:00.002-05:00

Who dat?!

2010-02-07T20:18:00.098-05:00

It's 3:55 am and I just got home from what could easily be described as the most interesting night I've had since I moved to South Beach. My co-stars for the evening were Billy and Belinda, and our night included an unusual hodgepodge of characters: Jesus-freaks on Ocean Drive, a near-fight in Jerry's Deli by two drunken football fanatics, lots of slutty girls walking around in bikinis (it was 51 degrees outside), the Miami Beach International Travelers Hostel, a wasted Steve Zahn look-alike and his delirious best-friend with a strange and ever-changing accent, three drunk British guys that live in New York temporarily, one of whom was a redhead (!!!), one who just turned 23, and the third who looked like he was from Pakistan but was named Vinnie, giggled alot, and wore pointy metallic shoes, a sassy black lady named Sha'mae, who was from Detroit and in town for the weekend, "just for fun," and an Australian, a German, and later, a Mexican. The night would never have been made possible if it hadn't been for the late night/early morning hostel employees: Phil, the reception guy, Mama, the geriatric "Mother Hen" of the place, who desperately needed a belt on her jeans, and Scary Dude, the big, black, and tall bouncer (and no he wasn't scary 'cause he was black, [that's racist!] he was scary 'cause of his facial expressions and the way he paced around watching everyone).

As usual I had my camera with me and took a gazillion pictures.

Enjoy the photo essay I have affectionately labeled,

"About Last Night...."

Ocean Drive was littered with Jesus Freaks. Did they really think they were gonna get through to wasted football fanatics? Silly Jesus Freaks, will they ever learn?

After we saw this sign I turned to Billy and yelled, "REPENT FOR YOUR SEXUAL PERVERSIONS, YOU FAGGOT!!," and then of course we giggled like a couple of little schoolgirls.

It was freezing outside, so we ducked into Jerry's Deli for some hot foods. Look at Belinda, she is so pretty!! A little while later two guys had to be separated 'cause they were about to FIGHT!! Weird thing is, one looked like he could be the other guy's dad. We wanted to yell out something totally irrelevant, like, "Yes we CAN!" or "Cowabunga!!!" (File that under, "Shit Only My Friends And I Find Hilarious.")

Billy and me, or as Belinda put it, "a gal and her gay." We were pretty cold, and there were some skankish chicks sitting at the bar in their bikinis. And we're not talkin' 'bout some Victoria's-Secret-model-type girls, we're talkin' 'bout some omg-what-happened-to-the-front-of-your-torso-why-is-there-extra-skin-there-that's-not-what-a-stomach-should-look-like-and-why-do-you-have-lumps-hanging-out-of-your-lower-abdomen-type girls.

Steve Zahn look-alike!!! Seriously, this guy could do stunt work for Mr. Steve Zahn. For the record, here's a picture of Steve Zahn:

Here's another shot of him:

He was all, "I look like Steve Zahn?!" Oh and for the record, he had no idea I was taking pictures of him.

All the actual employees were outside when the phone started ringing incessantly, so Belinda was kind enough to answer the hostel's telephone and give directions.

One of the hostel guests we met, and the only female we met, was this lady from Detroit named Sha'mae. She was hot, sassy, and fierce! She came down this weekend by herself, and was planning on going to P.Diddy's party tonight at the Fontainebleau. She was really upset because while she was touching up her lipstick in the bathroom in her room, one of her roommates turned the light off. She told me she "wasn't gonna go all Detroit on their asses," but "you don't. DO. that. to people." I've never stayed in a hostel before so I was asking her lots of questions about where you keep your valuables when you leave the hostel, for like, sightseeing and parties. She took me to her room so I could see the "broke-down trash with the bumps and bruises all over her skin" she was sharing a room with that turned the light off in the room while she was in the bathroom. You DON'T. do. that. Thankfully they were sleeping/pretending to sleep 'cause I really thought Sha'mae was gonna git all Detroit on their asses. She refilled her drink and gave me the rest of the wine in the bottle. We did lots of high-fiving. And yes, this is a picture I took without her noticing, of her leopard print heels. The last thing I needed was to get caught taking a picture of Sha'mae, 'cause she's from "the D," and I've heard stories about Detroit that will scare the chest hairs off an Australian.

Which brings us to our next subject: The Australian.

Belinda taught him a new phrase: camera whore. This dude was on. point. No matter how far from him I was, if he saw my camera in hand he posed. And posed. And posed. And posed. We were like, "This behavior, what you are doing right now, this is called a camera. whore."

The photographer with her eager subject.

The hostel guests would ask us, "So, where are you from?" or "What room are you staying in?" and we would say, "Uh.. well, we actually live a few blocks away, and were just walking home when we decided to stop by and check out the hostel." We are seriously so fuckin rad!!! And this photo is the tamest photo of the night. This is the "civilized" (one of Mama Isabel's favorite words to use) shot.

This is one of my favorite pictures of the night. It looks like I'm picking my nose, but I was probably just pushing my glasses up, or pointing at my nose and whispering, "nazi blood... jewish nose..."

So much happened last night but I honestly don't have the energy or the desire to divulge all of our scandalous secrets. You know how the saying goes, "What happens at the hostel, stays at the hostel... and the free clinic." (I'm joking people. ... Or am I?)

Let me just add that Scary Dude, the hostel bouncer (and yes I did call him that), asked me if I was a journalist, 'cause he said I asked lots of questions. He also said he liked my glasses and my boots, and that I had the sexy scientist vibe. Then he asked if he could "knock my boots." I was like, "Hey there, subtlety, well, uh, maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow... (crickets...)"

Oh and The Australian had me laughing out loud when he drunkenly yelled, "You crashed my hostel!!!!"

So, um... that about sums up our lovely evening. I love Billy and Belinda soooo much and I can't wait to blog about our future adventures!! (hopefully involving more unsuspecting hostel dwellers!)

Gainesville.

2010-02-06T18:16:00.003-05:00

Today I was messin around with the animoto website and made this short video with some of the pictures I took last weekend. I'm hooked and I gotta make a bunch more!!!

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

I'm a girl.

2010-02-06T12:20:00.002-05:00

Sunday morning I walked into the ladies room at work. I was the only lady in there, and as I walked into my favorite stall (the spacious handicap stall) a woman walked in and spoke out loud. Thinking she must have been trying to talk to me, because again, I was the only lady in the ladies room, I turned and looked at her. She asked me, "Is this the ladies room?" I replied, "Yeah." Then she just looked at me for a few seconds, with this expression on her face that said, "Then why are you in here? You look like a boy, I'm confused, did you understand what I just asked you? You look like you should be using the mens room, because you have short hair, and you are manly, and you look like a man in that manly uniform." I thought, "Wow, this is happening again?!" If I had a $10 bill for every time some random female thought I walked into the wrong bathroom, I would have lots. of. money. Naturally, my knee-jerk response was to send out a mass text to my awesome friends, and the replies I got were hilarious and way too sweet. My bro-bro Diego texted, "Kathy. That's not the first time this has happened. You need to come up with a funny but bitchy comeback." (Ok, can we talk about the way my brother texts? I wrote his text exactly the way he wrote it to me. He uses proper spelling and grammar even in his text messages. LOL)

My friend Robbie said: "should have shown her yr vag." Believe you me, if this had taken place at a bar, and I had already drank the two beers it takes for me to get super-buzzed, that woman would have come face-to-face with my knockers. Not my "vag," because I have body image issues with the lower half of my body, but my boobs. My boobs are great. Trust.
My girl Savina was more aggressive with her reply: "WTF indeed! You don't look like a boy, what the fuck is wrong with people?!" If I ever get in a fight, Savina's definitely my number one choice for back-up. That girl can get feisty as fuck!!
Then we have my super-pragmatic friend Alex, with his goddamned logic:
"Lmao!!!!! well you are dressed like a boy and you have short hair so if the lady was super old i can see how that could happen." For the record, the lady was not super old, maybe early-to-mid fifties, and she had super short hair herself!! She seemed very beige, like she was probably from Nebraska, or wherever it is that beige people are manufactured.
My cousine Goldie Hawn was very cut-and-dry with her response. She is a very busy librarian and doesn't have time for bullshit: "That lady is a fucking idiot." Again, another perfect-spelling-and-grammar text message. I guess it runs in the family, along with our passive-aggression and paranoia.
I have to say though, that my favorite reply was from my friend Nicole, who is the sweetest lady I've ever met. She wrote, "If u were a boy u would b the gayest looking pretty boy i know," adding, "That lady was probably heavily medicated."
When I got back to work I told my co-workers what happened. Some got a good laugh, others were more like, "What the hell? Maybe it's the uniform, but you really don't look like a guy." For the rest of the day my buddy Rashaund kept calling me lady, woman, girl, or female. He would say, "You are such a pretty WOMAN," or "Hello GIRL, how is your day going?" LOL!!! He also loves serenading me in front of passengers and telling them that he loves me so much. It's funny and sweet, and the passengers that aren't there to verbally attack us enjoy it too.

Hey babe

2010-01-03T22:21:00.002-05:00

That's how several of the gazillion OkCupid e-mails I've received begin. Real nice.
This online dating thing, it's a killer. Sometimes I really, really, like it; I'm happy when I get that little pink envelope icon meaning that I have mail. Other times, I feel like I'm in a bikini on stage and all these gross guys are ogling me, judging me, and making inappropriate sex noises while they rub their hairy, portly bellies, much like the way I envision trolls to act. Thanks, but no thanks!
I've received three messages from one particular human, a member of the male gender (I'm being generous here), and his profile picture, actually, his ONLY picture, looks like something you'd see on a Sexual Predators bulletin. I had to block him. He really had a way with words; each message to me was no more than two sentences, but they had so much power, so much perversion and degeneracy, that even the low-down scandalous broad in me shivered in disgust.
I have received some nice messages from some seemingly nice men, but I still am not sure what to do with them. When I write to a guy, I have a formula I like to follow. I keep the e-mail short, I try to make it really funny and ridiculous, and then I finish it with a vague remark, so that the receiver of my message is left baffled, intrigued, and perhaps, wanting more. The last e-mail I wrote was to a guy whose profile stated that he had an excellent bedside manner. The subject title of my e-mail to him was, "I like a good BM." My first sentence then was, "I'm interested in hearing more about this excellent bedside manner of yours." The pre-pubescent boy in me thinks it's hilarious that the first thing this guy will read from me is, "I like a good BM," which we all know stands for "bowel movement," but then I turn it around and ask about his Bedside Manner. I'm so curious to see how he will respond to that...
Also lately I've been thinking that I really have nothing in common with hetero dudes. I couldn't care less about sports and I've never seen a single episode of Lost. That to me sums up what straight men like. The only groups of people I can get along fabulously with are gay men and funny women. Everyone else pretty much falls through the cracks. Sometimes I wish I could just date gay guys. They make me laugh, they have a great fashion sense, a good eye for design, they have manners and smell nice, and we could just cuddle for a little while every night. They'll tuck me in and do my dishes before leaving my apartment without stealing or breaking anything. That would be the ultimate for me. Well, not the ultimate ultimate. Earlier this evening I was having dinner at Miss Yip's with Billy when I told him that I was messaged by a guy in Key West. I said, "He seems alright, like we could get along great, but he lives in Key West. What am I supposed to do with that? Is he gonna teleport his penis to me?"

(Aw crap... I think I better put Lost on my Netflix... shit...)

Little Ladybug

2009-12-30T10:28:00.002-05:00

One night last week I barged into my apartment and turned my lights on. I had my jacket draped over my arm and as I attempted to hang it up in my closet, I noticed a ladybug on it. I literally freaked out because all I could think of was "BUG!!!!!!!!" but after calming down I saw that it was a ladybug. It wasn't the traditional black-and-red spotted ladybug, this was a light pink, almost translucent, ladybug. I gently brushed her off my jacket into the hallway, and then, she vanished. As suddenly as she appeared, she was gone. Nancy loved ladybugs. She loved them so much that every time I see one, I immediately think of her. In that moment all I could think was that was there, with me, letting me know that she could still scare the crap out of me whenever she wanted.
Many years ago I went through an online tetris addiction. It was bad. Really, really, bad. I was still living at home with my parents, and my dad would get SO friggin pissed that I would stay up late WASTING my LIFE on the computer, playing a STUPID game and wasting ELECTRICITY, instead of READING or SLEEPING (his angry words, not mine). Nancy was living at home at the time also. She had moved down from New York and was planning on staying home with us for a while to help take care of our mom, who was scheduled to have surgery to remove an acoustic neuroma (benign tumor on her right acoustic nerve). It was around this time that Nancy began experiencing the crippling migraines. Unbeknownst to us, she had a brain tumor the size of a tennis ball (yeah, we're all about the tumors). She began hating not only bright light, but light in general. One night, as usual, I was up late playing tetris in my parents office wasting both my dad's electricity and my life, when my sister decided to use the bathroom right next to the office. As she was a tiny little bird, she made no noise, and because lights would aggravate her tumor-induced migraines, she didn't turn any lights on. I needed a tetris break, so I went to the bathroom, the same bathroom she was in. The door was wide open and she was sitting on the toilet in the dark. She was wearing a nightgown and had her long hair draped down the sides of her face, in front of her shoulders. When I saw this, when my tetris-gorged brain absorbed this image, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Do you get it? Do you know why?! Because she was sitting, she appeared rather short. Her long hair was parted down the middle and draped forward, covering her face. She was wearing a light-colored nightgown. In that moment, she wasn't my sister. She had become the little girl from The Ring. THE RING!!!! I screamed out of sheer FEAR that the little girl from The RING was in MY bathroom, not only sending the message that I would die within seven days, but also totally fucking up my tetris program, and MY screaming caused the little girl from The Ring Nancy to scream also. She was probably thinking, 'What the hell is wrong with this girl?!' It must have been around 2 am, and we woke up scary-dad Papa Carlos, because he hauled ass over to the bathroom and proceeded to yell at us. After a few minutes of SCREAMING, Nancy and I began laughing hysterically. Papa Carlos was still NOT amused. I guess he didn't appreciate being woken up to the sounds of his two daughters screaming bloody murder? Some people.
Anyhow, this is one of my favorite memories of my sister. I know it sounds completely ridiculous, but it was Just. So. Funny!! First she scared me so I started screaming, then my screaming scared her, then she started screaming at me, then our screaming woke up our dad, then he must have gotten scared, then he started screaming at the two of us, then Nancy and I started laughing hysterically, which angered our father, which caused him to scream even more. It was all so slapstick and silly, but I always think of that incident fondly and laugh to myself. You know, I just thought of something. I haven't seen The Ring since before that night. I wonder..... If I watch it now, do you think I'll find it funny? OMG. I need to put The Ring on my Netflix. I love a good comedy!!!!

Put Your Tiny Hand In Mine

2009-12-11T11:50:00.007-05:00

I. Am a Sigmund Fruit. According to "Food Court Druids, Cherohonkees, and Other Creatures Unique to the Republic," by Robert Lanham, I am a Sigmund Fruit. I am a person who insists on telling you about my dreams. In my defense, my dreams are truly truly truly outrageous!!! (Jem!)
Last night Nancy came to me in my dreams again!!! Sometimes I say "my sister," other times I say, "Nancy," but I think everyone that knows me by now knows that my sister Nancy died five years ago from malignant melanoma (WEAR SUNBLOCK BITCHESSSSS).
Out of all my family members, I am the one whose dreams she visits the most often. I accept that the reason behind this is because I am the most emotionally unstable in my family. HA HA HA HA HA oh hello prozaczoloftlexapro!!!
Sometimes she has her long, blonde, curly hair, like she had when she was healthy. Other times she has short, thin, baby hair, like she had while she was sick and undergoing chemotherapy. In some dreams she is healthy, strong, and able to kick my ass, in others she appears frail, weak, and vulnerable. She was older than me, but shorter than me, so I used to call her my "little big sister." When she was sick, I was very overprotective of her, but we were each others' "little bird." When she was healthy, if she wanted to, she could probably have beat the crap out of my brother and I at the same time. When she was sick, I would be able to lift her little body in bed and rearrange her pillows so she would be more comfortable. She would say to me, "You're the best sister in the world," and she would tell others, "Kathy is the best sister in the world." Thinking of her in those moments makes my eyes well up.
Well, the original point of this post was to say she came to me again in my dreams last night. She had long, blonde, curly hair, and we were all spending time at my parents' house for the holidays. I wanted to bring her and my brother to see my new apartment on South Beach. Our time together was limited because my brother had to drive back to Gainesville and she had to go back home also. Although it was never spoken, I assumed "home" for her was New York.
I've been trying to figure out when it is that she comes to me in my dreams. Is it when I feel utterly hopeless, when my grief and despondency are severe, or when I'm happy and loving life and wishing she were here on Earth so I can share my happiness with her?
It feels kind of like a pattern that I can't quite figure out. Perhaps I am scared to figure it out, because once I do, her visits will decrease?
In the moments right after her soul/spirit left her shell, I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt free, strong, at peace. I asked my mother as I wiped away tears, "Mom, I feel different, it's like I don't feel sad anymore! Don't you feel that?!" My mom just looked at me like I was crazy. My therapist at the time said that Nancy had left me her strength. I believed that for a short time, then realized it could NOT be further from the truth. Losing Nancy, losing her as my sister, altered my identity tenfold. I was lost, broken, fractured, my spirit was deeply shattered and I had no idea how to live; I couldn't fathom a life without her at my side. I grew to resent girls with sisters; I saw my girlfriends sharing their happiness with their sisters, and I hated them. I hated that I would never have her to call, to go to the movies with, to travel with, to have her as my Maid of Honor at my wedding. I felt that as long as she was alive I would be okay; now that she was gone, I was just a shell. No spirit, no soul, no happiness, no pain. I was going through the motions, just so that my life would eventually end and I would be with her again.
My relationship with my brother strengthened, as a result, even though we were always close, but we were both incomplete.

Woah. Ok. I just re-read this post, and I'll be the first to admit I'm a Debbie Downer!!! Sorry. I admit I was listening to depressing music while writing this. I blame Adam Levine and Alicia Keys!!!

So sorry. I hope I didn't upset anyone. Maybe this video will cheer us all up:

Don't Tell Mom The Online-Dating Is Dead.

2009-12-09T10:39:00.002-05:00

In order to distract myself from the constant and profound depression brought on by the collapse of my relationship with my "Life Partner," I signed up for what could possibly be one of the most masochistic experiences I've ever put myself through. Even more painful than the time Patrick Dempsey wished me a happy birthday at the airport and I froze, literally FROZE, while clutching my chest like my heart was about to DIE, online dating has brought me to a new all-time low. This train wreck beats my last all-time low, when, after our breakup, and after I spent most of the day laying in bed, I dragged myself over to Publix to buy a cake. I hadn't showered or brushed my teeth all day, my hair was a nappy, mangled, bird's nest, and I wanted to buy myself a "Break-Up Cake." The older man that was bagging it was very careful with it; I said, "Don't worry about it. That cake's not goin' anywhere."

Here's a picture of the cake I ate to take the edge off of my despair and despondency:

This time around, there is no amount of cake that can help take the edge off the mortification that is online-dating. Except I just stuffed my face with three mushroom chicken fajitas and I feel like a goddamn whale that's about to explode. But that's not numbing the pain, so hold on a second while I go get a beer from my fridge. Don't judge. Don't you even judge.
Alright bitches, I'm back.
Where was I... oh that's right, my life sucks so I'm pimping myself on the internets. Whoa HOLY SHIT I JUST HAD AN EPIPHANY!! WWJCD?! WHAT WOULD JOAN CRAWFORD DO?! Would SHE have a profile on okcupid?! Well, clearly, we all know she wouldn't. Honestly, everyone (especially my co-workers) know that I can be a huge Joan Crawford-esque betch sometimes. I am not yet as powerful as Joan was so I took the initiative of joining the dating site to see what the hoi polloi do to meet other sociopaths. In other words, to quote Winona Ryder, I am doing research for a role.
Before I continue, I feel I should point out that a good friend of mine met her fiance on okcupid, and they are both well-adjusted people. They have never in my presence exhibited sociopathic tendencies. I just feel that my online dating experience has thus far provided me with endless comedic material, and I plan on taking advantage of that. Fully. Every day. Until the train wreck comes to an end, or until I delete my profile. Or until Joseph Gordon-Levitt starts replying to my fan mail and realizes we were destined to be together. ::sigh::

More later, my little alien babies!

Let's go to China!

2009-12-05T23:15:00.002-05:00

I have everything we'll need.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To My Car

2009-12-04T17:08:00.001-05:00

I went downstairs to get my dad's monkey wrench from my car so I could finish building the Ikea dining room chairs I purchased about two weeks ago. (Depression takes up lots of my time, ok? Don't judge.) As I crossed the street to head back to my building, I encountered a tall, pierced, freckley white guy who asked me about my tattoos. One thing led to another and he is now my New Favorite Person In The World!!! I gave him the ochoplacas shop website, we exchanged numbers, we live a couple of buildings away from each other, and OMG he has my name tattooed on his arm!!!

He was so funny and witty, and had so much spark that I was immediately enthralled. His name is Billy Mia. Get it?! Bulimia?! I mentioned that I could be Anna Wrecksia but alas, that name has already been taken by a bigger, better, and more fierce queen.

Ummm.. he just texted me that he was eating a pear that matched his body shape. LOL!
I adore him already!! Trust that we will be trollin' the poop-ladened sidewalks of South Beach very soon!!
You. Havebeenwarned.

This Is The Beginning.

2009-11-11T22:40:00.002-05:00

My apartment is a mess, my car is a mess, my purse is a mess, and my hair is a mess, but I have the greatest family and the most awesome friends anyone could ever ask for. I wanted to start a new blog with fresh energy for this new chapter in my life. And right now I'm really lovin' sequins, sparkles, and the term BUH-NANAS, so I think the name for this new blog came together nicely. I DIE. Shit Rachel Zoe has taken over my brains!!!! Anyhow, this is kind of a work in progress, you know I have to jazz it up a bit, but until then, deal with this plain ol' format 'cause I'm fuckin hilarious and you're gonna enjoy this ride!!

xo
kat