So You've Ruined Your Life.

A conversation in the Garcia household:

[backstory: we were discussing teen pregnancy]

Me: Pregnant at SIXTEEN? Wow, your life is pretty much over. You're screwed.

Jose: Well, look on the bright side. If this was the 1200's that would be totally acceptable.

Me: We don't live in the year 1200, Jose.

Jose: Well that's good, because then she would get the plague in five years and die anyway.
 

Sorry guys, I've been working (a real grown up job, oh shit!), plus I have recently discovered that ever since I switched the blog over to a new email address all my pictures and such pretty much vanished. WTF BLOGGER. WAY TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD.

Anyway, my next post kinda fell into my lap when a good friend of mine had her yahoo email hacked. Shenanigans were had. Stay tuned!

You Can't Spell Diet Without DIE.

For those of you who regularly read, you know that one of my recurring topics is Baloo, my constant, my Caballero Numero Uno.

Baloo and I are currently engaged in a battle of wills. He is overweight, and I have been cutting back on his kibble and replacing it with green beans or carrots. For the last few days, each morning/evening when I go fill his bowl, I find that he has somehow managed to eat all his dog food, while strategically eating around the vegetables. I've kept at it though, seeing as how I hold the power. And I have opposable thumbs.

Only one will emerge as victor in the Game of Bones.

UPDATE: The remnants of tonight's dinner. Bear in mind that I actually MIXED the veggies into his food, I didn't just dump it on top.

Back to Life

Lying on my bed, it's 2 minutes to midnight and I'm surrounded by books and papers, most of which will now be promoted to fire kindling. I just submitted my Capstone paper, my thesis of sorts, for my Master's degree. I may have turned it in late, due to unforeseen circumstances (I's workin hard for the money! Though not a lot of it...), and I may have not gotten to enjoy my spring break (Spring Quarter starts in thirty seconds), but that shit is done. and it feels AMAZING.

Party on, freakonauts!

The Perks of Being an Observer.

I hung out with my sister yesterday. She made corn chowder (someone go tell Father Vincent that she is, indeed, giving out her best corn.) and we watched The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I have not had the chance to read the book. Aside from Emma Watson's best efforts to hide her accent (which, at times, she failed) and being reminded of how much better high school would have been had I not given a shit, it was a good movie and I recommend it. One scene that stuck out to me was an exchange between Paul Rudd's character, Mr. Anderson, and Charlie, the main character. It's pretty much the central theme of the entire film.

 

There is no simpler way to put it. If we've ever wept over someone we know isn't worth it, if you've ever watched your best friend love someone even though you know they can do better, or you wonder why someone keeps dating the same kind of crazy chicks over and over even though it NEVER ends well, this is your answer.

Someone once told me that it was possible to love someone even though they themselves are broken. How can that be? How can you give something you don't have to someone else? How can you love another when you have none for yourself? If you've ever asked yourself why you keep falling for the same crazy bitch/deadbeat asshole who is going to treat you like shit, now you know. You're going to accept shit because that's the standard you have set for yourself. Set the bar a little higher and you'd be surprised with what you get in return.

Some of you may be wondering where these recent love-centric posts are coming from. No, I'm not single and bitter. I have other priorities at the moment and dating is not one of them. But, as a single lady, I am in a position to observe the relationships of others. So yes, that means I'm watching you.

CREEPY ALERT.

Your body language. I read between the lines of your texts, your Facebook posts, and the way you guard yourself. I can't outwardly say what I think. So I watch, and listen. And I write. And if my silly musings and sometimes incoherent babbling make you set that bar just a little bit higher, than I have done my job.

What Time Is It? IT'S VAMLUMTIMES!

Today is the day when husbands on their way home from work will buy flowers for their wives, countless couples will sit in crowded, noisy restaurants where the boyfriend will worry she won't like the ring even though HE WENT TO JARED, and still others will stay home eating Ben and Jerry's, watching The Notebook, and crying into their Chunky Monkey.

And looking at bad pictures with shit filters and stupid quotes.

I recently came across this Facebook page that seems to be run by 12-year olds called, wait for it, "Boyfriends who treat their girlfriends like princesses". I shit you not. And all it seems to be is photo after photo of shitty Instagram stock pictures with some generic, baseless quote about love on it. And women read them and go, "OMG SO TRUE" and then they share it on their own page while singing "I Will Survive" to themselves. Or Taydolf Switler songs. I'm not sure.

I edited this one for accuracy.

My question is this: really? Why do you need to read this high-school rhetoric and then take is as gospel for relationships? People hook up and break up every day, that doesn't make us tragic heroines in our own Nicolas Sparks novel. Stop wearing your heart out on your sleeve and then wondering why it's so easy for people to rip it off and tear it to pieces. Life isn't a romantic comedy. Get over it.

My mom has always said that it's better to be alone than in bad company. And I firmly believe that, having been in both. Being alone is nothing to be afraid of. People feel loneliness because they willfully disconnect themselves from others and as long as that disconnect remains, the loneliness won't change, even when they are surrounded.

Will you meet that special someone one day that will accept you in all your messy hair, burpy, sometimes my legs are hairy glory? Sure. But in the meantime, you have complete freedom to do what you want, when you want, with whomever you want, and not worry that your boyfriend or girlfriend is unhappy with you for drinking those last two Jack and Cokes.

My point is this, single people: own it. Being single doesn't mean you are incomplete somehow. Happiness can be a solo endeavor, a partner in crime is just a bonus. More importantly, have that same love and respect for yourself that you would give to a significant other, because at the end of the day, every single being on this planet is worthy of love, but that has to start from within. You can't build a solid house if the foundation sucks.

Love or love not. There is no try.

And in the meantime, At least these (mostly) dead dictators think you're nifty.

It's like Fargo. Watch Out for the Woodchipper.

Still working on school stuff, but I thought I'd drop in for a chuckle. It's fifty degrees right now, and for a house that's only roughly 30 years old, it's surprisingly drafty in here...probably only about mid-fifties (we have a thermometer in the kitchen but I just came from there and I'm too lazy to go check). 

Not that I'm procrastinating or anything. 

Pardon the Dust.

Holy shit! SHE LIVES.

Howdy party people...quick update for those of you (all...six?) who actually read this blog. Right now my brain matter is leaking out of my head because the big bad grad school is insisting I write some stuff about some other stuff. Anyway, I promise I'll have something kinda sorta funny or semi-introspective in like, a month, once school is done having its way with me.

Also: the email address I used to have is no longer relevant and I never use it, but I kept it because it was the admin address I used for this blog. And since I'm not good at the interwebs I couldn't figure out how to change users. Plus I figured it was time to change the admin name to something much more mature.

Forget Doodyhead. Doodyhead is dead.

My blog name is now Taco Jenkins.

Much better, don't you think?