May 2008

Except this time it’s not “aw, look at the wittle baby illness!” It’s more like “Arg! Something’s trying to kill me!”

Ok, maybe it’s not quite fatal, but it’s all throat-hurt-y and stomach-nauseated-y and I can’t eat or drink anything without gagging and my nose is all kinds of stuffed and I can’t stand at all without feeling dizzy and every time I close my eyes I feel like I’m on some lame, shaky Disney ride. Bleh.

I blame exercise. This is totally what happens to people in my family who try to get fit. They go half-deaf, or they get thyroid infections.

You know, I probably shouldn’t try to post here when I’m all woozy and drugged up. I mean, look. But I had to, kind of, because my grandmother called and when she heard I was sick suggested a home remedy: sliced onions in a bowl, add freshly squeezed lemon juice and honey and enjoy. Yeah, I’m supposed to have a couple of tablespoons of that every few hours. It’ll cure me right up, she says. OK, grandma. I just want to remember that. In case this Tylenol/Zyrtec/Nasal Drip cocktail mix thing I’ve got going on decides to never start working.

Maybe I should add some VapoRub.



So you haven’t heard Regina Spektor’s “That Time”? That’s ok; I’m here to enlighten you. So it’s SotM!

This is my favorite Regina song, and most of that is the lyrics, which are fantastic, as far as lyrics and song concepts go. The actual music doesn’t, by itself, wow me. It’s different from her most popular songs, like “Fidelity” or “On the Radio” – I’m not a music person so I’ll describe it like this: with “Fidelity,” I do faux-ballet-mod dancing. With “That Time” I dance spasmodically and with very little conscious art. In the end, though, “That Time” is just a lot more fun, light-hearted with just enough depth to make you wonder exactly how light-hearted it really is. You can sense the complexity – it’s there – but you don’t feel particularly compelled to examine it.

There’s no official video, so you can just enjoy this static picture of the album cover while you listen, I guess.


Hey remember that time when I found a human tooth
down on Delancey?
Hey remember that time when we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth.
Hey remember that time when my favorite colors was pink and green?
Hey remember that month when I only ate
boxes of tangerines?
So cheap and juicy!

Hey remember that time when I would only read
Hey remember that other time when I would only read the backs of
cereal boxes?
Hey remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing?
A street cat got him by morning and I had to bury pieces of his body in our building’s playground.
I thought I was gonna be sick.

I thought I was gonna be sick
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I was broke? I didn’t care I just
bummed from my friends.
Bum bum-bum-bum-bum bum bum-bum-bum-bum

Hey remember that time when you OD’d?

Hey remember that other time when you OD’d for the second

Well in the waiting room while waiting for news of you I hallucinated I could read your mind
And I was on a lot of sh*t too but what I saw man I tell you it was




The first story I wrote for fun was about a regular girl named Olivia, a fiery redhead (I was ten!) who lived in a fairytale world. I never finished it (incidentally, this would become a staple of all my future work, too), but the plot was going to be: Olivia’s boyfriend goes off to be a fancy knight, and she (being very modern and anti-violence) decides to set off to find him and drag the idiot back.

I was reading through, and it’s pretty god awful. Still, probably because I’ve always been a little fascinated with myself, I can’t help but be a bit amused by some of it.

Here, I skillfully avoid having to deal with difficult dialogue by saying “Olivia argued her point of view, which resulted in the worst fight they ever had. So afterwards…” Awesome. That’s actually a technique I may start using in my writing today. I think I could make it work.

Olivia learns how soon her love will be leaving her, probably forever, probably to go die, as she notes herself, and she totally has her priorities straight about it: “That was in just two days! However, that wasn’t the worst of it. If he left during the day, not only would he miss the festival itself, but her birthday was also the day just after it!” Apparently, Olivia is the most self-absorbed, kick-ass character ever.

Also, my annoyingly persistant fondness for vampires and emo!kids was apparently pretty well established even when I was ten. At one point in the story, a vampire is captured. He has “long hair to his shoulders”, “soft cheeks” and a face full of “tenderness and sweetness” and, of course, fear. My ten year old self totally got the appeal of the whole girl-rescues-somewhat-vulnerable-but-potentially-evil-guy thing (which is what Olivia proceeds to attempt – I’ll never know what happens because that’s where the writing stops. Darn, it was just getting to the trashy romance novel level smut, too). It’s actually no wonder at all I became such a slut for Buffy. It was preordained.

All in all, terrible stories, but I love how my writings/themes haven’t really changed, after all. Except for the talking animals. I don’t do that anymore.

When I was a kid, I used to write stories. When I was ten or eleven, I began one called Bailly School Horrors; an honest to god written-by-a-kid story with talking animals that centered around a dog going to training school, or something. I never got far enough into it to actually have my main character attend the title school.

The dog introduces herself: “My name is Ally. I’m a nice cocker spaniel with white, curly hair. Unfortunately, to keep it white, I have to take a bath every Sunday and Wednesday. Oh well. No one ever said life would be fair. I like how jaded my character is. She’s that drunk in the bar who tries to talk to anyone who’ll listen.

Then there’s was this bit of dialogue between Ally her friend Tammy, who is a cat:

               ‘Oh, Tammy, it’s you.’

               ‘I thought you were supposed to keep clean.’

               ‘I slipped.’


               ‘What do you know? You’re just a cat.’

               ‘You’re just a dog.’ And at that point we both started laughing.”

And I started laughing too, because it was the most painfully horrible dialogue I’ve encountered, ever. I guess it’s just one of God’s little mercies that animals don’t talk, after all *rim shot*.

 Cont. in First Attempts, part two: Olivia

Finally bought our mother’s day presents this morning! I say “our” because I’m buying on behalf of myself, my dad and my little sister, in exchange for not having to spend my own money. It’s a fair deal, I guess, and after all, if we’re going to be honest, I wouldn’t trust either of them with picking out a gift even if they had such an inclination.

 I found a tablecloth perfect for our stylishly rustic kitchen, marked down from fifty dollars to fifteen (!). It’s pretty and I’m pretty damned pleased with myself. My mother’s been discontened with the one we have for a while now, because it’s ugly and plastic and holey and permanently dirty-looking. 

 Then I wandered around for an hour or so of confused indecision, and I had a giant cinnamon pretzel. I usually have a cinabon, but the girl at the counter was kind of rude to me, and the the pretzel boy was so nice. In his little apron and his twelve-year-old haircut and guileless smile. And, he gave me like fifteen napkins, and so was obviously utterly and hopelessly in love with me. I mean, obviously. I’m not saying that he wasn’t nice to everyone in line; just that I put a spell on him and now he’s mine. The pretzel was also surprisingly good. Mmm, pretzel. Mmm, eye candy. 

Later on, I bought these slipper-like things – well, the box calls them booties but that makes me think of babies and…I don’t want to think of my mom as a giant, forty-something baby. It disturbs me, frankly. The slippers are supposed massage and soothe your feet. I had to dig through thirty boxes to find one that was brown, and not pink or blue (again, with the baby theme!), and they cost about twenty dollars, marked down from some mystery price I never found out.


I wanted to end this post, but I felt like it was incomplete somehow. I sat there puzzling over what was missing for a few minutes before realizing it was – the lack of pictures! I’ve become addicted to having picatures accompany every post. So I ran out and took some.

These are the…slippers.

This is our dining-crook, with the plastic cover thing we have now. It looks worse in person, I think. It’s torn and stuff.

And the new tablecloth:

In person it looks really nice. Textured, like. Ooh, quality.

The picture of how it’s supposed to look on an actual table:

Fits in with our crook, right? Right?? As soon as I got to the store I obviously completely forgot what our home looks like. It’s hard to tell from the pictures, but both kitchen and cloth have a kind of soft, worn, rustic feel to them. *shrug* Well, it’s returnable, anyway.


I make oatmeal the way my grandmother used to make it for me, which means it’s delicious but both unhealthy and childish. *shrug*. I made some this morning and decided to document it, mostly because I can’t be trusted alone with a camera.

I use instant oatmeal, because that’s what’s been in our kitchen since forever, but my grandmother totally ignored the “Quick: 1 minute” directions and so do I. This takes about fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on how much of a mess I manage to make.

You pour a little bit of water in a bowl and add a bit less than a cup of oatmeal. oatmeal in water

You heat the oatmeal, stirring so it won’t burn and stick to the pot, but letting it come to a boil. What you’re waiting for here is the water to evaporate almost completely, leaving oatmeal mush in its wake.

See, turning the oatmeal grains into oatmeal mush is the first step in sucking all nutritional value out. Still, you don’t want it to be too mushy, or the milk won’t thicken enough. Which brings us to step 2: add milk to mush.

Just like you’re making chocolate milk, add chocolate (I use regular nesquik powder), sugar, and a dash of salt. And some cinnamon, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Stir occasionally, because, again, burning is not good, and will be tasted. But also let it boil every once and again. Sing a little song, check the taste, do a little dance, and once the “oatmeal” is at the level of thickness you prefer, take off the heat.

Pour it into your bowl, using a strainer to catch the grains. Wouldn’t want to ruin breakfast with any sort of nutrition, would we?* Of course, you stir with contents of the strainer with a spoon to get all the liquid through, or it will take hours. I suppose a person could eat the grains if they wanted – they’re cooked and all – but they just don’t look too appetizing to me.

 I usually just throw them away.

What’s left is something not unlike hot chocolate, but much thicker, richer and heavier.



Since my tastes plateaued at five years old, I shred some bread in (something with a certain amount of lard works best, like cuban),                              


and enjoy!

We call this pan con chocolate, which simply means bread with chocolate. I say “we” in reference to my family, not Hispanics in general, because when I google imaged “pan con chocolate” I couldn’t find this at all. Whatevs! They’re missing out.



*Nutrition is very important and you shouldn’t neglect your health. However, I enjoy spoiling myself every once in a while, and that’s what this is. Chocolate for breakfast!

Seems that now that I have some free time, I’m finally all geared up and ready to get down to some self-improvement. yay.


I’ve begun a foodlog to keep track of what I eat each day, and I plan to make a conscious effort to eat things, occasionally, that are sorta good for you. Like, fruits. Maybe even veggies (whoa, slow down there, tiger!)? Part of my problem with food (there are many, which I plan to write about at length later – to look at the whole problem) is that I have trouble getting three meals in a day. I’ll have breakfast and dinner. Or just lunch and a series of snacks. And that’s no good. I’m going to work on eating real food three times a day, even if I’m not all that hungry.

I began taking a multivitamin yesterday. I don’t know why I avoided it all these years.

I don’t, as of right now, have any plans to cut back on such unhealthy foods as salty snacks, chocolate, ice cream, friedstuffs, white bread, refined sugar, children’s cereals, donuts, and so on. Because I don’t want to. However, since I’m going to start eating fruits and…other healthy snacks (I actually can’t think of any right off the bat! Is peanut butter on toast healthy? Ok, I have research to do), that will probably cut into my unhealthy snackage. As in, I’ll be munching on an apple where previously that would have been a bowl of ice cream.


My exercise plans are pretty simple. I’m already thin, and as my goal isn’t to lose weight but tone up I’m going to be doing a lot of anaerobic stuff. Like weight lifting, crunches, ect.. I still have to look all this up. I feel as though I should probably stay away from cardio, aerobic exercises, but I can’t help myself. It’s what I actually enjoy doing, and I’ll be damned if I’m not enjoying at least part of my work out (actually, I plan on enjoying all of it, which I why I felt it was important to wait until I really felt the desire to start). My heart and lungs could probably use it, too. So I’m bicycling and having dance sessions (long dance sessions of about an hour or more a day. yay!) and jogging.

My biggest fear when it comes to starting an exercise program is that I’ll lose weight where I can’t quite afford to lose weight. I’m already skinny, and not really looking to lose what little booty I have. And god forbid something should happen to my a-cups! I’d deal, but still. What I really want is to tone up said booty, as well as my arms and legs. I’m not terribly concerned with my abs/stomach for now.


I consider this to be a kind of big exeriment. I don’t feel unhealthy now, not in relation to how I’ve felt my entire life. I may or may not still be iron deficient, but everything else (blood sugar and pressure, cholesteral, ect.) is normal and fine. Still, I want to do this for the next several months, to see what happens. Will I feel a lot better? Will I look a lot better? Will my sex drive go up? Will my face clear up? Will I be more alert? Will guys want to date me and girls want to be me? I guess I’m going to find out.

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