Monday, October 30, 2006 

I've Got So Many Problems

That aren't really problems. I just like to bitch.

So I got a new job... because I was thinking of ways to take the phrase, 'went postal' to new levels.

DrinkJack was here... did I mention that? He's cool. Even though he drank wine... I drank wine too. Did I just admit that? Fuck. I must be drunk... on MOONSHINE. That's how bad ass I am. Cindylou and I talked a lot, so much that I became afraid he was going to get up to go to the bathroom and never come back. I might not have blamed him if that did happen, but it didn't. And so he got to stay long enough for Cindy Lou to tell a racial joke to strangers and completely offend them! HA! They actually left right afterwards and all I can say is thank GOD that part of my memory isn't fuzzy. Because I will cherish that moment until the end of time.

So one of the things I told DrinkJack was how a lot of my posts aren't ranting about what I'm actually pissed about. In general, I become pissed about ONE thing, then I just start cursing humanity. There are days that I'm in the parking lot screaming into my hand, taking my shoes off just to throw them into a bush or the side of my house, nights when I want to kill someone and so I break something I own instead.

I got a new job. Hopefully that will take care of the whole, 'screaming in the parking lot' scenario. Because the janitor's starting to look at me funny.

I hate getting older though, because looking for a job took the LONGEST FUCKING TIME!!


There were so many GODDAMMED concerns this time round! Like, what's the pay ratio, well that's not what I'm worth. Do I like these people? What kind of industry is this? Does this, or can this fit into future plans? What's the bonus like (bonus? HOLY FUCKING SHIT I'M A GROWN UP)? What's the office like? Because at this point in my life I've become accustomed to certain standards.

That's right bitch.

I have standards.

Not very 'high' standards, but standards none the less.

So now here I am, finally with a job that meets most of my minimum requirements, and I'm told, no, WARNED, not to give notice until my background check comes back.

Cuz I'm all fight club, top secret alter persona, anarchist. That's right bitch. At night I break into womens stores and exchange all the size 0 tags for 4. Take that you skinny rich bitches!!

But I gave my notice anyway. Without the background check results. And I feel wierd and panicked, but I think secretly okay. Because let's say my background check doesn't come back okay, and I lose this super amazing, 40 percent pay raise job (gulp).

It'll be okay.

And I'll be okay.

I'll temp, I'll contract, I'll find another job. And I won't be here. And that'll be just fine.


Monday, October 23, 2006 

I Had A Disagreement With The Irishman

I say disagreement because no one yelled, or threw anything. He says disagreement because no one was stabbed. Apparently, since I'm Puerto Rican, I automatically stab people during fights.

Even if I don't have a knife.

Apparently I run out, find a piece of metal in nature, and instantly weld or whittle it or whatever into a knife. Because I'm Puerto Rican.

Anyway, I don't know what it is but he's slightly annoying me. Do you ever have a great day, an awesome day, and then someone comes into your line of vision and instantly you're pissed as fuck. Then they leave and POOF, happy again?

Fine. Fuck you, I have problems.

Not that this only happens with him, it happens with everyone. Sometimes it's my mother, sometimes it's my best friend, sometimes I'm just sick to death of talking to someone and need a break, a breather, a moment to not be the person that I am with them.

So he calls, all chit chatty, and I ask him if he's done that thing.

That thing he promised to do almost a month ago. Don't fuck with my memory because I can almost always point to an exact date on a calendar you SPECIFICALLY said you were going to do said thing.

I fucking CATALOGUED it in my brain.

So he says, no, he hasn't done the thing, and frankly it's low on the totem pole. No real reason for not doing it except he doesn't want to do it. WHAT?! I didn't ASK you to do it, you volunteered! So then he said maybe he'd do it, if I could just learn to LET GO of shit instead of hammering at it.

I can count how many times I've brought it up. Again, don't fuck with me, this 'THING' has been catalogued, tracked, and filed. When things are important? Yeah, I ALWAYS count how many times I bring it up, because, what if I cross the line? Piss you off? Then I will NEVER GET THE THING.


So I was all, fine, sorry, won't ask for it again.

And I won't. But the resentment will build until he does it. Just like he fucking promised.

Or maybe I WILL ask for it? Because you know what? You fucked up men are alway going around screaming, OH, I'M NOT A FUCKING MIND READER! As if the problem is that WE, as WOMEN, as a GENDER, weren't fucking specific enough when we asked you to put the toilet seat down, pick you shit up off the floor, take out the fucking garbage that we left for you in front of the door, after you ignored our repeated requests, and you STILL bypass it on your way to work.

Oh I'm SORRY! Was I supposed to ask you to not sleep with my best friend Betsy? My fault. I probably should have been more specific.

You know what? I know what you bastards are up to. You know exactly what we want but you pretend to be stupid so we'll just quit asking. It's why you deliberately break dishes, so we won't ask you anymore to clean them. Or 'accidentally' insult our cousins so you don't have to pick them up from the airport, sit next to them at dinner, or even be in the same room as them for the rest of your fucking lives.

You know what women need? Tasers. Fucking big ass tasers. Keep you mother fuckers in line.


Friday, October 20, 2006 

K-Fed is Such a Fucking Wigger


What the fuck is WRONG with this country when you can't get 50 Cent to live up to his reputation and pop a cap in someone's ass??

Are the white people going to have to do it?

The fucking Mickey Mouse Club gang planning on holding an intervention?

'Uh, gee whiz Kay Federation, can't you wear a top hat, or a three piece suit perhaps instead? We're trying to bring sexy back but you're just making women grab their vaginas when you pass by in fear of your all powerful sperm impregnating them instead. That's not good PR'


Thursday, October 12, 2006 

I'd Like To Switch Teams

I have something against ugly women. It's like, GOD, put on some damn makeup! I think the seal would willingly die if it could see you right now and know that it was dying for such a worthy cause.


Some women are really really hideous. I saw this skank driving a van, smoking a cigarrette with man hands, big ole bushy hair flying around in a frizzy ponytail, and the only reason I could tell she wasn't a man was the fact that her XXL shirt was pink. Her hands and arms were disgusting, and even her face was all pinchy looking. How she managed that when she was way over two hundred pounds I don't have a clue.

Then, while I was sitting there trying to block that out, a woman in a BMW drove by. She was very nicely dressed, hair all frosted and highlighted, with a face that looked like it had just smelled another dog's butt.

My point is, I would be ashamed of what these women do for the rest of us, but I don't think we're even in the same category. Not that I'm super hot, but I'm pretty positive that if I've ever made anyone throw up in their mouth a little bit, it was in a good way.

Or an on purpose, I just put anti freeze in your ice tea, way.


I'm out of here. Between today and Sunday I'm going to be on six different flights. That's right. Six. Kill me now. I'm going to New York. But not the good kind of New York. The kind of New York where people own tractors and make out with their sisters. I'm not even sure if they've ever seen a Puerto Rican out there, so I'm hoping I'm not sold into slavery.

Green acres is the place to be... Farm living is the life for ME


Wednesday, October 11, 2006 


My left ovary is stabbing me from the inside. I don't know how it got a knife, or what the fuck it has against me, but I do know that I feel like I'm going to puke.

Perhaps this is karma for telling Duckie that I was going to put him in a bath of ice, cut out his organs, and leave them within his eyesight but out of reach. Just so he knows I didn't even sell them on the black market... or use them to save my dying mother?

But that can't be right because yesterday I gave a homeless man a quarter and I was sure that would make everything right in the world.


Tuesday, October 03, 2006 

A Play

(Opening scene is a dark stage. Spotlighted are Terra and her Mother. Her mother wears a floral dress, perhaps a mumu, spectacles, and a straw hat. She appears to be walking around blankly, as if drugged or retarded, from this we know Terra is day dreaming. In real life her mother is sharp as a tact and therefore capable of defending her self.)

Terra's Mother: You know Terra (waves arm in air to signify superiority) I made a mistake in raising you. I went wrong somewhere (adjusts spectacles), somehow.

Terra (suprised): Really? How's that?

Terra's Mother: I made you lazy. Yes. Lazy. I picked up after you too much, and now you don't know how to do anything.

Terra's eyes get very big: How do you figure that? I had to take care of my cousins all the time, I had to help you with the baby, and ever summer I took care of my grandmother, cleaned the house-

Terra's mother interrupts: Well now, let's not get into that. That's besides the point.

(At this point Terra starts stabbing her mother)



Monday, October 02, 2006 

This Is The Pink

I've been feeling all emotional and melancholy, so I've been blaming it on the birthday, the coming of the late 20's. I feel like Meg Ryan screaming, "I'm going to be thirty!!" and then Harry yells back, "In three years!"

I guess there's two parts of me at war, the one says, Why in the hell aren't we more grown up? More established? It looks around at my house, my car, my paycheck, throws it's hands up in disgust and says, "What the fuck?" And the other is sitting around playing with the PS2, reading a book, fucking around with their hair and saying, "But remember? We were never going to grow up. THAT, my friend, was the pact."

And how can you argue with that? Sure, I didn't plan on life being this chaotic in my late twenties, but the problem is I didn't really ever plan on being here. Anyway, self one is kicking self two in the ass and I'm kind of left alone to pick up the pieces.

Just so you know, I was pissed off at myself for the same exact fucking thing last year. The difference this year is that I'm actually doing something about it. Cue the enrollment into 401k, the actually looking into different savings plans with higher rates, and the planning for GASP the future. Anyway, when reading the below bits understand that you're still reading chronicles of madness, it's just, this is the pink.


Hi bottle, sitting up there on the shelf. You're the place I stick all my icky emotions, and lately you've been pissing me off. Leaking all over the place. Sure, I shove things under the rug, pretend it's not happening, but what of it? What the fuck of it? I mean, doesn't everything sort itself all out in the end? No, I don't believe that shit, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. The squeaky wheel gets the bad reputation, then everyone sits around ignoring it. So there. What do you think of that?

I had to go to a training seminar where they talked about communication effectiveness. I've been working on communicating better at work because I'm not always very happy here, so I thought this would be a good place to start. Especially since I'm not the best at communicating my wants and needs even on a good day. For some reason I always piss the shit out of people and have a rep for being way too blunt. God. I wish people would stop being such pansies. Anyway, so I try to keep my mouth shut for the most part. And in the middle of this seminar guess what hits me? A fucking epiphany that's what. Not a field of dreams moment exactly, but a holy shit moment none the less.

I'm angry.

Really fucking angry.

And somewhere in the last three years I became highly passive aggressive, and even that has made me angry. It's why I'm always late, it's why I'm such a flake. And sure, some might think, oh that's just Terra. But it's not. I was never late like this, and part of all of that anger is me being angry at me. Make sense?

It's a vicious circle, and it involves work so I'm not really going to get into it, but suffice it to say, that I am my own worst fucking enemy. I'm mad, so I'm late, I'm mad that I'm late and that makes me late again. Anyway, I haven't been late since this seminar. Here's hoping it sticks.


I told my mom (who's on a cleaning binge) that she could finally get rid of my dollhouse. It's huge, but I've always thrown a fit whenever she mentioned giving it away or letting my little sister play with it. Which really doesn't make sense, unless you're me.

We didn't have much growing up. I always had about a fifth of the toys my friends had, which kind of made me sad, but not in the way you might think. I never asked for new clothes, mentioned when my shoes were too tight, or asked for many toys because I figured it might make my mom feel bad. And when I did ask for something big it always took me around two years to get it. Do you remember Teddy Ruxpin?? And his friend Groggle or something like that? Anyway, cute ass cartoon when I was little, and they came out with these interactive toys. I wanted one so desperately, but they were like a hundred bucks or so. So I figured I wasn't going to get one, but I kept asking anyway, figuring, maybe. Just maybe. I got him the year I was in third grade, just so you know, a little too old for him. But my mom was so DAMN excited!!

I know she had to wait 'til the price went down, but I can still feel my dissapointment when I opened that big box, and there she was with her eyes so big and excited.

So when she screamed, I screamed. And I played with that damn thing anyway. For two whole years.

Then there was the barbie mansion. Oh my! It was so big, so beautiful! Four hundred bucks I think... and I had never wanted anything that bad. I actually had a poster of it up on my wall. Why in the fuck I thought that I could get that when I didn't even have a barbie car is beyond me, but, eh. I was in the fourth grade, I'm thinking I didn't have very good reasoning skills. Anyway, end story is that my mom bought it for me for Christmas, the year I was in the sixth grade. Yeah. I had already stopped playing with my barbies and now I had this big HUGE FUCKING BARBIE MANSION.

Again, I didn't know what to do. And again I decided to just play with the damn thing. For two whole fucking years. Look, don't let into me about how lame it is for a kid in the eigth grade to be playing with Barbies. I KNOW.

So even knowing that now, at 27, I'm finally giving the dollhouse away I feel a little twinge. It's that twinge of wanting something so bad for so long, and then getting it when it no longer holds the exact same allure. It's something slightly bitter. I still have Teddy Ruxpin though. And he still works. I was the kind of kid that never broke their toys and even all of my barbie mansions features still work.

Sometimes I wonder if this is why I don't have patience with other people. Like maybe I used up all my niceness and understanding when I was a kid. Then I remember that I'm just a bitch.


"Why do you care so much about what other people think? Fuck them. You should be strong enough to understand that!"

Except I do care. And who doesn't? If you say you don't care what other people think about you than you're a god damn liar. You care. If you say you don't it's to cover up some hurt inside. Don't tear me down in the name of maturity when we both know the shit spewing out of your mouth is an ideal that no one ever quite lives up to.

You're not trying to make me better, you're trying to point out my inadequacies, tear me down, you want to watch me crumble.

And how fair is that? How fair is that to tear me down when I'm at my weakest, when I'm tired from all the trying, just when I feel as if I'll never quite succeed. My mother always told me, let them say what they want, but don't ever insult them back.

And that made me so mad that I wanted to hurt someone. So I asked, "Why? What's the good in that? They're just all happy from being mean, and everyone believes them because you didn't say anything back!"

My mother, apparently big on the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy replied, "Because someday they'll be sorry. They'll miss your friendship, and even if they never say it, inside they'll know they're wrong. But if you say something then you become the bad person. And they will never be sorry, they will never come back. In their head, they'll be justified."

So that's great. No apologies, no nothing, you get treated like shit but in the end you can sleep soundly knowing that you're the better person. What a crock of shit.

This might be where my passive aggressive tendencies pop up. This might be where I write this:

I wish I could peel back your skin, like layers on an onion. Then you would cry, I would cry, and we would look at your heart, laid bare in my hands, and speak the thoughts people only dream. Tell me who you are when I'm not here.