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Friday, May 30, 2008Yeah, My Heart Was Singing
Have you ever had one of those perfect moments in life, a small moment when your senses conspire to make your heart sing? A moment when you realize this trip called life is amazing and beautiful?
For me the Zen like moment arrived out of the blue on Memorial Day when all of my senses seemed to be in tuned with the world around me. Maybe it was because it was the first weekend of my vacation or maybe someone had slipped some hard core drugs into my cocoa puffs earlier that morning whatever the reason everything seemed new to me, as if I were seeing and hearing them for the first time.
Watching a boat slowly making its’ way down the river from my window I noticed the sun’s rippling reflection on the water, the way the water seemed to sparkle like gold glitter in certain spots amazed me. Several sea gulls flew close by my window on their way towards the river. I could clearly see their eyes and I felt a chill go up my spine as I realized they were checking me out too. The day was perfect; the sky was clear, white cotton candy like cumulus clouds framed by a perfect blue sky. I closed my eyes it was all just too beautiful to take in at once. A warm breeze perfect for kite flying caressed my face blowing my hair away from my face gently rocking the wind chimes above my window a beautiful “ting… ting” ringing in the air. I’d never noticed how pretty the sound was before, it made me smile.
The gentle yet persistent breeze carried all of the aromas of my neighborhood up to my window introducing them to me one by one in waves. Luckily for me it chose to bring me the good ones, the ones that smelled of freshly washed laundry hung out to dry, cut grass and blooming flowers leaving the eau of sweaty ass and arm pits back in the park where they belonged. Keeping my eyes closed I concentrated on the various scents delighting in them. One minute I was enveloped in the scent of the ocean of the nearby Long Island Sound then the breeze died down only to pick up again several seconds later this time carrying a trace of burning charcoal from all of the barbeque grills being fired up in the neighborhood.
From the right of me I could hear the faint sound of salsa music playing as the crowds down the block on Stickball Blvd cheered the players on in the annual memorial day stickball tournament, New York’s Bravest vs. New York’s Finest, the fire fighters against the cops were playing. From somewhere in the back of my mind the fact that Stickball Blvd was renamed Steve Mercado Way in 2002 in honor of the 9/11 fallen fire fighter and stickball player surfaced. I opened my eyes slowly force myself to look towards the right beyond the tree line beyond the water towards the empty space where the twin towers once stood. I remembered it had been a beautiful day back then too. I felt the familiar sting of tears behind my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. I forced myself to look away from the glaringly empty spot in the skyline and to look towards the Statue of Liberty. The fact that both a symbol of terrorism and a symbol of freedom were part of my view was not lost on me.
Suddenly I heard a rumbling in the sky, a squadron of air force jets flying over my building. At first I was alarmed wondering what was going on then I remembered the air show, and the fact that it is fleet week and thousands of service men were in the city for the event. I found the rumbling of the jets comforting and my thoughts turned to our servicemen stationed in countless of places some of where we are actually welcomed and others where we’re as popular as a case of herpes. I whispered a silent prayer for their safety, for their families.
I lost track of time standing there observing my little corner of the world. I remember a feeling of tranquility washing over me and a feeling of gratitude. I reached I was grateful that I was alive to experience the moment. Corny as it may sound I wished that everyone could experience a moment like this one of complete peace. Yeah my heart was definitely singing.
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Darla tagged me with a 5 Things Tag so here we go…
5 things in my bag:
5 things in my room :
Besides my bed and dressers...
Play Station 3
Flat screen TV
Ode to my teen hood display: A 22x28 poster board it contains the first love letter I ever got (Montero), a lot of pictures a couple of them featuring some of ex- boyfriends Chris posing on his block, Montero in his backyard and me sitting on Patrick’s lap. Various concert ticket stubs, a photo of me and my crew hanging out at the prom.
5 things I've always wanted to do:
Learn how to ride a bike
Visit the Great Wall of China
Slap the hell out of every over exposed celebrity, yeah Paris Hilton I mean you.
Wear a bikini on a nice tropical island as I sip a margarita while a hot looking cabana boy fans me down feeding me chocolate
5 things I'm currently into:
Learning a new language
Playing “Zelda Twilight Princess” on my Wii
5 people to tag:
Feel free to hop on the tag bus and let me know about it.
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2 comment from: darla, Mia,
Friday, May 23, 2008Chalk One Up For Karma
Pulling into Fort Washington (Little Santo Domingo) a neighborhood we Hispanic New Yorkers affectionately call “Que Lo Que Land” the bus was already fairly crowded when a woman got on with her little girl. Almost immediately a little boy around 10 years old stood up and offered his seat to the lady and her child. Naturally everyone's heart just melted, beside him his mom beamed with pride.
Once the lady and her little girl had settled in on the seat the lady looked at the little boy and in Spanish said, “Oh he is so adorable and sweet what a little gentleman!” His mother replied, "Gracias." and looked lovingly at her son, her little Sir Galahad. The lady smiled at him and then gave him a tradtional hispanic blessing, “May God bless him, the saints protect him and may the Virgin Mary always favor him!” she said. When imparting blessings the old school latinos don't play they try to cover all the bases. I suddenly had the urge to cross myself and say "Amen".
Maybe the kid was an atheist, maybe the kid was the anti-Christ in disguise and the blessing made his ass itch, or maybe the kid just couldn’t handle the compliment. For whatever reason as soon as the blessing left the lady’s lips the kid gave an evil smile, locked his eyes on the woman’s face,stuck his middle finger up and waved in front of her face.There was an audible gasp from the people around us and his mother lunged to grab him but he effortlessly dodged her and tripped over my feet.
As he attempted to pull himself up the bus lurched and he hit his forehead on the metal pole he’d been holding onto while trying to get up. “Toma!” someone on the bus shouted at the kid. “Ay!” he yelled and grimaced as the knot on his forehead took shape. The kid stared at me as he rubbed his forehead ignoring his mother’s hand reaching out to him. “God don’t like ugly little boy",I told him “That’s why he gave you a cocotaso. It’s called Karma just so you know.” He nodded his head at me knowingly as he made his way into his mother’s arms. Chalk one up for Karma.
Labels: bus stories
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5 comment from: darla, Ritardo "Gar the Conqueror", Mia, , Mia,
Thursday, May 22, 2008Is It Because I Look Mexican?
My mom’s father grandpa Raymond had taken his dog “Ralph” out for a walk with my brother Steven when he was stopped by the police. The young officer stepped out his patrol car and swaggered over to where my grandfather was standing.
--Excuse me sir?
-Yes officer how can I help you?
--Do you speak English?
My grandfather tightened his grip on Ralph’s leash and took a step towards the cop.
-Didn’t I just answer you in English?
--Sir I need to see your ID.
The officer arched his eyebrows at my grandfather and looked towards his partner who had just stepped out of the patrol car and was walking over towards them. My brother put his body protectively in front of grandpa not fully trusting the officer with our grandfather. Grandpa placed his hand on Steven’s shoulder and told him to step back. Given our police departments history with minorities lately he didn’t trust the officer around my brother either.
--Sir your ID please. I need to see it.
-Why? Is it because I look Mexican? I’m not an illegal Mexican I’m Puerto Rican. I’m a legal citizen.
---Abuelo (grandfather) you don’t look Mexican!
--Yeah to you but you know how it is with white cops all big headed Hispanics look Mexican to them. Thank god you didn’t inherit my melon otherwise you’d been deported at birth.
The cop smiled he obviously found grandpa amusing but he had a job to do so the smile was short lived.
--No sir it’s not because you look Mexican. It’s because of your dog.
Grandpa looked at my brother as he pulled out his wallet and handed the officer his ID as well as Ralph’s license.
-See Stevie, he isn’t denying I look Mexican.
The officer checked the ID and looked at my grandfather.
--What’s this about officer?
--Your dog sir, it took a dump over there and I’m going to have to give you a ticket.
Grandpa looked at the officer and then looked at the spot where the officer claimed Ralph had done his business.
-Officer my dog hasn’t done his deed yet.
--Mr. Quills I was watching your dog for awhile. I witnessed your dog squatting over there just now. He took a dump.
-It’s Quiles (key-less) not quills and my dog just took a leak not a dump.
Grandpa waved the empty poo bag several feet away from the cop’s face.
-If he had done his business I’d have put it in this bag. That’s why I have it; I clean up after my dog.
--I saw your dog squat sir.
-Look officer I don’t like to advertise this because my dog has a reputation to protect with the other dogs in the neighborhood and you know how judgmental those pit bulls can be, especially about St. Bernards. My dog squats when he pees, he’s gay. He thinks he’s a girl.
The cop’s partner chuckled he was obviously enjoying himself.
-Officer the poo in question is so old and dehydrated it’s practically dust. You’ve been watching me since I got here true?
The officer nodded his head.
-Well then you must realize that if my dog had taken that poo the poo should be fresh and moist. Why don’t we go take a look at the poo?
My brother laughed wondering how many more times grandpa could work the word poo into a conversation without cracking up.
--Sir we don’t have time for this.
-Sure you do. I’m retired and you get paid by the hour. Let’s go take a look.
Reluctantly the cops walked over to the poo with my grandfather.
-See it’s all dried up and look at the size of it come on that’s like Chihuahua poo. Look at the size of my dog he’s over 100 lbs. The beast craps like a horse. My dog didn’t do that.
The other officer took a look at the poo and shook his head.
---Chris I hate to admit it but he’s right. No way that came from his dog. It’s been there for awhile.
--Fine Mr.Quiles you win. I’ll let you off this time but next time clean it up.
-Let me off? My dog didn’t do it so how are you letting me off?
--Next time clean it Mr. Quiles.
Grandpa waved his bag in the air again.
- Look officer I'm not carrying this bag around in hopes of catching a last minute sale. I carry this for a reason and if my dog had done it I would’ve cleaned it without having to be told.
As my grandfather and brother walked away the other officer called out to him….
---Hey Mr. Quiles before you retired were you a lawyer?
-No worse than that I was a single father who raised a couple of smart ass kids.
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6 comment from: christina/ohio, darla, Mia, DannieS72, , Mia,
Tuesday, May 20, 2008Last Week of School and Writer's Block
It was the last week of school and frankly my fellow students were starting to scare the crap out of me. They were walking around looking like refugees from Night of the Living Dead and I was nursing a killer case of writer’s block.
Monday, May 12th: The professor is reviewing for next week’s final. Students are bitching. The professor is pissed. “Do you give all of your professors such a hard time or is it just me?” he asks. Bunch of whiners they wouldn’t have lasted a semester in CUNY. I’m typing away on my laptop making notes on what I’ll need to include in my study guide. A lot of people are depending on my notes.
Either a snake’s gotten loose in the classroom or somebody’s springing a leak.
“psssst negra….pssst negrita…mi negra”
Oh snap the snake speaks Spanish!
“pssssssssssst….psssssssssssssst…oye mi negra.”
I feel a rush of warm breath on the back of my neck and fingers tapping on my shoulder.
“You think you can hook me up with your study guide?”
Why is he whispering? It’s a study guide…not crack.
“Sure no problem.”
“I’ll pay you for it.”
“Na it’s okay.”
“Don’t call me mami.”
Tuesday, May 13th : No school today I decided to stay in and wrap up the research for my last paper. Unfortunately it seems the entire student body knows I am home for the day. My phone is ringing constantly. There is always that one person a little more desperate than the others…
“Mia I’ll pay you to write my term paper for me.”
“I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”
“No. I still haven’t started mine.”
“Mia, are you serious?”
“I’ve got writer’s block.”
“Shit that sucks…one fifty?”
“No, but I’ll go over it with you once you’re done.”
“Fine, two hundred?”
The next few days are spent studying and taking finals. I don’t even look at my research material. The truth is I didn’t have it in me to write.
Friday, May 16th : I look at the flashing cursor in my Microsoft word and it seems to be mocking me, taunting me, daring me to have the cojones to come up with an opening sentence. I look at my notes I’ve got several weeks worth of research and can’t think of a damn thing to write. It’s Friday, the paper is due on Monday. The paper on women as subordinates in society has take on an identity of its own, it has decided it wants to be a killer and wants me to be its’ first victim.
How the hell did I get stuck with this subject? Monica got Chinese immigrants…what have I ever done to this professor to merit this? I thought he liked me…he complimented me on my writing. He always looked forward to my essays and papers enjoyed them immensely the bastard had said. Why, por que, did he give me this subject?
My brain has gone on vacation. I hope it at least brings me back a t-shirt.
Saturday, May 17th : Nada, nothing, zip I can’t think of a damn thing to write. I was thisclose to pounding my head against the keyboard when out of no where an idea hits me. WTF is in this coffee? All of a sudden my brain kicks starts. Women. Women as subordinates within different religions around the world! Yeahhh boy! I know some women! I know women from all over the world! I know women in diverse fields! I know women from different religions! I quickly come up with a questionnaire and log onto my instant messenger and send out an SOS to my foreign crew. Almost instantly they start replying, they're are all happy to help. God bless the interweb!
I can hear my dad singing in the kitchen he arrived from his week long Florida trip early in the morning. He’s happy to be home, and slaughtering Duffy’s “Mercy” as he preps dinner. I love the man but damn he's tone deaf.
My mother enters my room; she puts her hand on my keyboard.
“Enough,” she says
“Enough studying, you’ve been stuck in this house for two months now.”
“But nothing Mia,take a shower, get dressed,and pick up your boyfriend from work. It’s a beautiful day. Go have some fun and for God's sake do something with your hair.”
I attempt to run my hand through my wild mane of curls. It ain't happening. I could safely hide a pygmy in the nest I'm calling my hair these days.
“But ma I haven’t even started on my paper and it’s due on Monday!”
“You need to step away from it kiddo take a break. You can work on it tomorrow.”
She looked at me with a mischievous smile on her face.
“You know what you need?”
“A new brain and a bottle of industrial strength detangler?”
“No, you need to get laid.”
“What? Sex releases endorphins!
“Mother, I am so not having this conversation with you.”
I put my head down on my desk and cover my face. I could feel myself blushing. She reached out and rubbed my back.
“Yeah that’s what you need bang, bang, bang, and everybody’s happy! Endorphins are released and creativity will once again reign supreme!”
I groaned and looked at her from behind my splayed fingers...
Who is this woman and how did I end up with her?
“Ma, stop. Please.”
Oh god she was looking at me again with that smile on her face...
“I’m serious nena . Your dad was gone for a whole week and not once was I inspired to work on a sketch. He got home this morning and uhhh …well want to see the sketch I’m working on? ” I shake my head.
“Please mother no mas. You’re too much woman.”
“Yeah I know your dad said the same thing to me this morning.”
I held up my hand in surrender.
“You win woman I’m leaving. I am leaving. Maybe I’ll get inspired while I’m out. ”
“Maybe get laid too.”
An hour later as I'm about to leave I am given instructions not to come back home until I have had at least a few drinks and have stolen some fruit.
"Release some of the tension!" Ma tells me "Seriously have some fun. All of this shit will still be here in the morning but your head will be clearer."
“You need some money little one?” My dad asks reaching for his wallet.
“Na I’m good pa. Thank you.”
I smile as I see my dad guiding mom towards their bedroom.
“Woman, I missed you so much.” He says just before the door closes and I hear my mom laughing. I shake my head as I stare at the closed door.
“God I hope those two are practicing safe sex.” I mutter as I head out.
Sunday, May 18th : 8:00 am once again the cursor is mocking me. I slam a couple of aspirin down my throat and take a sip of coffee.
Oy vey my head. Wtf was in those drinks? Note to self stay away from the fruity umbrella drinks they sneak up on you.
I turn off my phone, throw on my headphones. I check my e-mail, Holy Monkey! I’ve got around 20 questionnaires all filled out! Yeah for the sisterhood! For the rest of the day my computer and I are as one. My ass print will be forever a part of my computer chair’s fabric pattern.
Monday, May 19th : 2:00 fucking crusty am…I’m wide awake thanks to the cup of coffee my dad slid my way around 11 pm and I can’t think of a closing for the paper which is due today at 5pm with final to follow. Papa Dios help a sister out here all I need is a paragraph, eight to ten sentences that’s all I need.
I raise my fingers in the space over my keyboard and close my eyes and begin typing furiously Prepare for genius! I slowly open an eye hoping for a mirace...
”@##$$^^%!!!” that’s all that comes out, symbols nothing but symbols.
Staring at my monitor resting my chin on my hands I begin to berate myself.
Why didn’t I just stop at my pysch degree? Why the hell am I putting myself in debt to get another degree? Oh yeah because I can’t do crap with my BA well at least not what I want to do. I do the mental tally in my head. God more student loans next year and then grad school. At this rate my loans will be paid off when my kids start college. "Kids? You’re having kids? Ha! And when do you see yourself making time to have these kids?" The voices in my head aka The Supremes ask. Oh great NOW you decide to speak up …where the hell were you when I couldn’t compose a sentence? "Shut up and get back to work!" they reply.
Thirty minutes later the paper is done. As the printer does its business I slip on my head phones and begin dancing around my desk waving an imaginary bra over my head. I gyrate my body to the beat and sing along to the pulsating sounds of Fulanito.
I feel free.
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4 comment from: Steph, , darla, Mia,
Friday, May 16, 2008Blood, Sweat, and Tears
Just before leaving for school I nicked my thumb with a razor blade it was nothing major but from the way it continued to bleed one single fat drop of blood at a time you would’ve sworn I had pierced a major artery.
I rinsed the thumb off applied some pressure and thought all was good unfortunately when I slipped my term paper into my messenger bag several minutes later I'd failed to notice the thumb was leaking again.
When I took out the paper at school I saw a wee bit of blood on the paper but with class already in session and my professor holding out her hand in front of me there was no time to run to the library and redo the cover page. I hoped she wouldn’t notice it. She noticed the crimson drop right away. She stared at the paper for a second and furrowed her eyebrows. As I walked away from her she called me back, “Mia, is this blood on the paper? I turned to face her and the smart ass in me broke free from her cage… “Yes m’am it is. That shows you how hard I worked on that paper my blood, sweat, and tears went into it.” She looked at me for a second and laughed.
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2 comment from: darla, Mia,
Friday, May 09, 2008The Wire
We’re down to the wire which just happens to be stretched taut over a dark abysmal pit. …BOING…the sound of the wire being stretched a little too thin in danger of being snapped. Three students have been dropped from the program. Their wires gave way under the pressure.By the end of the semester a few more students will be gone unable to maintain their balance on the wire.
The young woman took her place behind the podium quickly launching into her presentation. As she stood in front of the class I realized I didn’t know her name even though we had several classes together. Her topic was “Schizophrenia and MRI’s”, and I for one was actually looking forward to it. Yeah I’m a nerd like that. After several minutes the professor interrupted to ask if she was going to present her entire research paper or just a synopsis of it.
BOING…the wire she’d been balancing herself on snapped. She exhaled deeply and glared at the professor, “You know professor it is hard enough being up here without your interruptions. I just want to get through this!” The professor was shocked into apologizing “what everrrrr” she replied. She resumed her presentation visibly upset and slammed the computer’s mouse on the podium. With each slide she presented she grew more upset and slammed it harder, with each slide she presented it became apparent that the mouse would be lucky to survive the lecture.
The eyes of the entire class were riveted on her, we sat in stunned silence.
She bit out her words and choked on a few. Her voice wavered through out her lecture. Her distress fanned out over the class room making us all feel uncomfortable. Those of us sitting in the front could see her tightened knuckles drained of color as she gripped the podium…she looked as if she were going to splinter the wooden podium into dust. My jaw dropped with the realization that either she was having a panic attack or was suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder and the voices in her head had just called a meeting to order. Her eyes narrowed and she scanned the front row pinning us with this hard ass stare lobbing visual hand grenades at us pin out, if looks could kill we would’ve been goners.
so help me god if this bitch’s head starts spinning I’m slapping her upside her head with my lap top until she starts projectile vomiting
I was unable to focus on the actual lecture itself, it had become background scenery to her body language and the distress in her voice. She was struggling to hang on to the wire dangling over the pit and was losing her grip, sliding closer to whatever horror was at the bottom of that pit. I looked over my shoulder for my professor. Save her! Get her ass off of there, do something! For the love of god man pretend to trip over the power cord and unplug the computer…anything… just do something! The professor did nothing. I think he was too stunned by what he was witnessing to speak. It was like watching a faltering trapeze artist on a frayed wire, everyone knew it was going to end badly but no one seemed able to stop it or look away from it.
Finally it was over, her lecture ended. She looked out over the class like a trapped animal.My heart broke for her. A smattering of applause broke the silence. I didn't applaud the lecture honestly I couldn't recall one iota of it. I applauded the courage she had shown in remaining at the podium hanging on to her wire. She made her way to an empty seat on the opposite side of the room. As soon as she sat down her head and shoulders dropped and the room was filled with the sounds of her anguished crying. A few of the females sitting nearby rushed to comfort her.
The professor called another student up to the podium. The wire had been re-strung, it was someone else’s turn to walk across it.
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3 comment from: darla, Steph, Mia,
Wednesday, May 07, 2008Twenty Years Later The Taste Is Still Bitter
My friend took her two small children to one of the numerous playgrounds in Central Park over the weekend.Like a lot of Puerto Rican families the ethnic diversity of our ancestors are evident in her children. Her daughter like her is fair skinned and is often mistaken for being white; her son belies our Taino and African heritage and is dark.
Her little guy a kindergartner loves to play superhero and has taken to wearing a cape around his neck lately. In fact he never leaves home without it. The siblings were playing in sandbox when they were approached by a little Caucasian boy wanting to play with them. When the little white boy admired the kindergartner’s cape the little superhero being generous in nature whipped it off and offered it to the boy so that he too could pretend to be a superhero. Just as he was about to take it another kid a friend of the little white boy snatched his hand away, “Ewww don’t play with him he’s too dark! He’s black!” he said as he pulled his friend away from the little superhero and back towards the little superhero’s Caucasian looking sister. Naturally the little superhero was hurt and ran crying to his mom.
As my friend finished her story she started crying remembering the hurt look in her son’s eyes and wondered how this would affect him. Our friends rushed to reassure her, telling her not to worry about it that given a child’s short attention span the little superhero would forget all about it in a matter of days and not be affected by the racism at all. In my head I disagreed with them, like one’s first kiss one’s very first taste of racism is never forgotten.
She stared at me I had offered no such optimistic reassurance. I think that on some level she was hoping that I’d offer it. I could offer none. More than any of them I understood her son’s pain and knew how it could scar a child. I still carry the scars of my first brush with racism to this day when I was exactly his age. Twenty years later I can still see the little tan skinned girl sitting in the chair facing the wall looking at her hands through silent tears.
Whenever I think back on that day the pain is just as fresh as the day my new teacher said to the class, “Don’t play with Mia she’s Puerto Rican.” screwing her face in disgust as if I’d been a puppy that had taken a dump in the middle of her classroom. When several of the children former kindergarten classmates of mine ignored her instructions I was put in the corner as a warning to what would happen to them if her order was disobeyed again. Twenty years later despite the fact that I revel in the beauty of my skin my heart aches like a mo’fo when I think back to my first taste of racism. Twenty years later the taste is still bitter.
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7 comment from: , Mia, , Mia, darla, DannieS72, Mia,
Monday, May 05, 2008Ride of The Valkyries
After studying, writing, and researching I’m in bed by 1 am and up at 6 am just to start my routine all over again. Every single moment of my day is spent focused on school. My body is being fueled on orange juice, croissants, caffeine, and power naps.
The semester is almost over and in between creating study guides, tutoring, studying for exams and putting together research papers my fellow students and I are hanging on to our sanity by a thread. Our final GPA’s will determine if we are booted from this highly competitive and intensive program. In an effort to spread his special sadistic brand of sunshine into our lives one of our professors has just hit us with a last minute research paper and had the cojones to stipulate that it be no less than 10 pages, this is on top of the six we’re already doing for our other classes. Naturally his had to the one on one of the most boring subjects. “The Effects of Technology on Social Work” Shoot me. Now. Please. I can finally understand why psycho chick has threatened this particular professor’s life. It took all the strength I had not to jump over my desk and karate chop him in the throat.
Once upon a few weeks ago my dreams arrived as vibrant mini movies complete with kick ass soundtracks. These days they arrive as written words on countless reams of paper in MLA format no less complete with citations and bibliographies. My friends are threatening to put “Have You Seen This Girl?” posters all over the city if they don’t see me soon and my uncle out in Brooklyn has threatened to make my intestines into a jump rope and hold a double dutch tournament with them if I don’t show my face at a family dinner.
The other day my boyfriend made the mistake of interrupting me while I was studying to complain that I’ve been neglecting him. I looked up at him and threatened to stab him in the face with my yellow highlighter if he continued to whine. The sight of a 4ft 11 chick with a halo of wild curly hair charging at him like a crazed Valkyrie in an old faded Elmo t-shirt and sweats must’ve shaken him because the big guy slowly backed out of my room with a frightened look on his face. “For God’s sake try some decaf!” he shouted towards my room when he was safely away from it. “Kiss my ass Sasquatch!” I shouted.
My study partner fell asleep during one of our late night study sessions. As her gentle snores filled the room I found myself walking over to her with my battery operated Dove SkinVitalizer ( a facial cleansing massager) switched on. I pressed it to her forehead and as if exorcising a demon yelled out “THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU ! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU ! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!” She jumped up arms flailing all over the place scared as hell. I stepped back and howled in laughter wiping tears from my eyes I was struck by the look of utter confusion on her face.Oh this is too good. I thought to myself.
“Mia what the fuck was that all about?!” she asked still shaken from the scare. “What?” I asked innocently. “THAT!” “What are you talking about?” I said trying to match the confused look on her face. “You know!” “No, seriously I don’t. If I did I wouldn't be asking what would I?" She narrowed her eyes at me. I could tell she was confused, not really sure if she had dreamed it or not. "You must have had a bad dream or something…sheesh school’s really getting to you huh?” I said as I backed up supressing a giggle the massager hidden behind my back. I managed to convince her that it had been only a dream. Luckily for me she didn't look into a mirror otherwise the shiny and buffed circle on her forehead would've given me away.Actually now that I think of it I missed my true calling in life, I should've been an actress.
Wagner’s Ride of The Valkyries is not a bad theme for this semester. I am so ready for this semester to end.
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7 comment from: Mia, , Mia, darla, DannieS72, Mia, Mia,
Thursday, May 01, 2008I Was Murdered
I’d do anything for Jackie aka “she who plays with dead things” including accidently dying from anaphylactic shock to help her in her mortuary science studies. Until yesterday when I received my death certificate ( see above) I’d never questioned her devotion to me. Even though it lists Anaphylaxis as the official cause of death, I suspect I was actually the victim of (cue dramatic music) murder. As a graduate of John Jay College of Criminal Justice, as a person who majored in forensics and has seen every episode of the Law and Order franchise at least 4 times I declare something is rotten in the state of Cali and the smell is wafting from none other than (cue dramatic music again) Mrs. Jaclyn Himmel.
As I sit here in purgatory’s ante room awaiting my final fate I have to wonder what went wrong. How did we go from this in January 2005…
...to murder by shrimp in 2008.
Allow me to state the facts, just the facts and present my evidence that the crime of murder was committed against Mia aka the midget by none other than her beloved Jackie aka my gentle giant…
On the night in question we were supposed to have gone to dinner at an Italian restaurant yet we ended up dining at her apartment. I believe I was lured there so that when the plot was finally put in motion no one would be around to help me. Jackie and I have been friends for nearly a decade and during that time the fact that I am deathly allergic to shell fish has come up. My allergy is so severe I can’t even be in an area where shellfish is being prepared it hinders my breathing. Jackie knows this, the woman has a mind like a steel trap, she never forgets anything. Knowing this why would she be preparing shell fish in her apartment while I am there?
Jackie by her own admission always carries an EpiPen with her due to her own allergies to bee stings. How could it be that she wouldn’t have said EpiPen good to go in her own apartment? I submit Exhibit “A” a comment left by the suspect in question on this very same blog on April 17, 2008…
The motivation for the crime… temporary insanity, clowns and my twisted sense of humor. Last November I was tempted to send a singing clown to Jackie’s house, for her birthday…Jackie has a fear of clowns. When she found out about she threatened me with bodily harm and shrimp was mentioned. I never took her seriously. I present Exhibit “B” in the form of yet another comment left on this blog on November 10, 2007:
I rest my case, slap the cuffs on her. I only ask that the court be lenient on her and not sentence her too harshly perhaps a weekend at a clown convention would satisfy the cry for justice my family will demand. Jackie has been under a lot of stress since moving to California this past summer. I think that in between dealing with the lack of weed, crappy cab service and experiencing severe Dunkin’ Donuts withdrawl. the fine tight rope of her sanity that she'd precariously walked upon finally snapped. In short the bitch is crazy, and since she murdered me I'm won't be around to provide her with free therapy.
Plans are for my memorial service are still pending. I ask that in lieu of flowers donations be sent to The United Clown College Fund because a red bulbous nose is a terrible thing to waste.
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4 comment from: Mia, Mia, Jaclyn, Mia,